I have, in my life, been a girl, a daughter, a student, a woman, a writer, a critic, a friend, a mistress, a lover, and a murderer. Now I’m merely a prisoner. This is the alpha and the omega of my identity. Even being a psychopath takes a distant second seat to being a prisoner. I am a prisoner first, foremost, and always. I’m here for life, which is to say I’m here to die, slowly, incrementally, bits of me failing as the New York State Department of Corrections struggles to keep me alive. It’s a touch paradoxical, really, the fact that one of my few rights as a prisoner is the right to health
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