A Caged Animal

In this moment, I grapple with a profound sense of loss, a loss so deep it feels as if it's chipping away at my very essence. The imposition of a GPS monitor, an ever-watchful eye, represents more than just a physical constraint—it's a symbolic stripping away of my autonomy, my freedom. It feels as though I'm being incessantly tracked, every movement scrutinized, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

The irony of this situation is not lost on me. I've lived my life as a man of peace, never once resorting to violence as a means to an end. My hands have always been instruments of care, never harm. Yet, here I stand, treated as a menace to society, branded with a device that screams 'dangerous,' despite my peaceful nature. This contradiction wounds me deeply, creating a chasm between who I know myself to be and how I am perceived.

The freedom to simply be, to wander into the woods and immerse myself in the tranquility of nature, has been taken from me. Those woods were my sanctuary, a place where I could find solace and a sense of safety. Now, that sanctuary feels beyond my reach. The constant awareness that my every move is being monitored has erected invisible walls around me, confining me in a world where the concept of safety feels like a distant memory.

This constant state of vigilance is exhausting, eating away at my peace of mind. The thought of surrendering to confinement, of choosing jail over this perpetual state of surveillance, has crossed my mind more times than I care to admit. Perhaps in seeking to avoid one form of captivity, I've unwittingly traded it for another, more insidious form. The weight of this realization is crushing, leaving me to ponder if the path of least resistance might bring some semblance of peace, or if it's merely another form of surrender.

As I navigate this labyrinth of emotions and restrictions, I find myself at a crossroads, searching for a way to reclaim a sense of self in a world that seems determined to define me by my limitations rather than my humanity.