The Accident

by Daniel Hurst

But there comes a point when putting others ahead of oneself becomes less of a positive and more of a negative.

Boy oh boy haven't I learned this the hard way!

That’s because being human isn’t as simple as that. It’s complicated. People make bad decisions, they push or bend the rules, and almost everyone who ever gets caught believed at one point that they might have been able to get away with it.

My feet seem to get heavier with every step, and I’m not sure if my sudden lethargy is a result of not having eaten anything today, or just the mental torture of spending another one of my days in here.

There’s nobody I hate in this life. Or at least there’s nobody I hate more than myself.

It’s funny, but you almost get used to the loss of your freedom. Losing the basic right to get out of bed when you want, go where you like and eat whatever you fancy is terrible when it first happens. But over time, there’s a little comfort to be found in not having to make as many decisions throughout the day.

But in general, being in prison is a little like running on autopilot. The routine can feel stifling, and I’m sure it is designed to feel exactly like that, but it can also make things a little easier.

I’d do anything to be on the outside again, don’t get me wrong. But I almost cringe when I think back to how much time I spent trying to decide on such insignificant things.

‘Things will get better. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but they will. I promise you.’

I’m broken too, easily beyond repair at this point, but I’m sure I can carry myself through the rest of my miserable life in some patched-up form.

life in general was something to just endure, hoping it passed quickly and without further ado.

I’ve lost all motivation, hope and ambition. I’m not suicidal, but only because I’m too much of a coward to properly think about it, plan it and execute it.

I’m a work in progress, surely never to be restored to my former glory. But while I’m a lost cause, other people don’t have to be.

It’s because I’m finding it hard to believe that she can even crack jokes after what she has been through. But it is becoming clear that she is using humour to hide her real feelings, a safety blanket to distract from her pain inside.

while I may appear like everything is okay on the outside, I’m still very much a mess on the inside.

This hits home