The Outside Looks Bad Too

An incarcerated trans woman fears what society has become as she awaits her release.

The author of this piece is a 32-year old trans woman currently incarcerated in the southeastern part of the United States. 

Over the last few years, depression and anxiety have become my undesired companions. While I've always been acquainted with both, it seems as if before we were merely neighbors and now we are bedfellows. 

I was incarcerated when I was 19 years old. For the past decade, I've bore witness not only to the challenges of the carceral environment, but also to the flailing of a nation wrestling with its own, self-created demons, all from the confines of my prison cell. 

As an incarcerated multiracial transsexual woman, I am overwhelmed by the sheer amount of fear-inducing narratives by which we all are bombarded and which portray the most desolate depiction of the world beyond my prison's fences and guard towers. I try to be an informed person, even from my cell, and so I watch all of the channels on our dorm TV: Fox, CNN, MSNBC. I also read the newspapers in the library and the AP on my prison-issued tablet. 

Along with my fears about my approaching release, I am slapped with the harsh reality of being free again. 

Isolation from the outside world and uncertainties about my future have had a negative impact on my mental wellness. I know I'm not alone in this bout, as the more widespread psychological challenges among those imprisoned continues to be a pointed actuality, revealing the failures in our legal system. I'm left wondering exactly how our country got to this point of upheaval. The echoes of history's injustices reverberate into the present, calling into question the mechanisms that perpetuate inequality and the implications they have on the lives of those on the periphery of society.

The weight of my identity intersects with the harsh realities of incarceration, amplifying the challenges I face within the prison system. Discrimination and violence haunt my every step, but even here the walls of my cell often feel like a haven from a world that seems to have set itself against people like me; people of color, gay and trans people, and those with criminal records. The criminal legal system, in which I've practically been raised, has provoked me to ponder some profound questions about fairness and equality—questions that reverberate through every aspect of our nation's current state. 

While providing a window into the outside world, the media has additionally grown into a source of anxiety. Headlines scream of bloodshed, discord, and instability, filling me with dread about what lies beyond these confines. The sensationalism of the media promotes stereotypes, feeding the cycle of misunderstanding and mistrust between a people more powerful and more capable when not divided. Perhaps there's a reason for that? 

As an incarcerated trans woman, my path has been complicated by the increasing prevalence of homophobia and transphobia both outside and within the prison system. Discrimination and violence directed at LGBTQ+ people (despite being labeled as aggressors by conservatives) have further heightened my sense of vulnerability and isolation, often leaving me with the feeling of being in fight for my life on a daily basis. In recent years, an alarming pattern of "groomer rhetoric" has emerged that is unfairly and unjustly aimed at portraying trans people altogether as predators. 

Trans people's very existence has even been labeled as "corrosive" to American values and society, and also discussed via dehumanizing terms—including calls for our "eradication." Such misinformed narratives perpetuate stereotypes and instill fear, further alienating already marginalized communities. The prejudiced perception of trans individuals as threats to society adds an additional layer of anxiety to my already burdened mind, as I worry about how this damaging rhetoric may affect my future prospects outside of these prison walls.

Rising tensions caused by polarizing rhetoric reverberate within the walls of my cell and my cranium, making me concerned about the difficulties I may face navigating a divided and seemingly feral world after I am released. As a soon-to-be formerly incarcerated person looking to restart my life, I am all too well aware of the obstacles that await me in society. The scarlet letter of my past wrongs serves as a daily reminder of the difficulties I will face as I attempt to repair my life. The two-for-one stigma of a felony record and a prison bid makes it difficult for me to get work, housing, and social acceptability, making my road to redemption difficult.

Escaping the violence behind bars just to be confronted with it on the outside is a frankly terrifying prospect. I long for a world in which compassion and understanding triumph over anger and division, and where varied views are welcomed rather than stifled.

The disgusting nature of a more murderous and unrestrained U.S. police state only multiples my anxieties. The brutality and injustice experienced by vulnerable communities, particularly people of color, highlight the critical need for comprehensive legal system reform. As I consider life outside these prison walls, I am plagued by the thought of encountering injustice once more. Furthermore, the persistence of racism in our society, led by white supremacist ideologues and frequently enmeshed with law enforcement, only serves to perpetuate systemic inequalities. 

The effect of a church culture bent on legislating from its convictions provides yet another issue in the field of religious and political landscapes. The conflict between personal religious values and the opposing desire for a more just and inclusive society exacerbates the continuous tensions over differences, prompting me to wonder if acceptance and empathy can genuinely triumph. The church's historical advocacy for the execution of nonconformists has also begun to resurface from the pulpits. Furthermore, the suppression of true Black and Latina heritage, science, and history in public schools complicates my concerns regarding reintegration. The elimination of cultural identity and the maintenance of historical mistakes impede progress toward a society that values diversity and understands the significance of compassion.

Even in the midst of my incarceration, I can still recognize that the possibilities of change and progress lies in the hands of compassionate individuals willing to challenge prejudice, engage in open discourse, and advocate for meaningful advancement of our society, and its systems and institutions. From where I'm sitting, the world may appear to be descending into chaos, but within this chaos lies the potential for transformation and unity. To paraphrase my favorite Maren Morris song: we have way too much in common for us to be at each other's throats. 

As I prepare for my eventual release, I must contend with the harrowing circumstances that await me as an ex-felon attempting to reintegrate into a society marked by judgment and suspicion. It is a journey that demands resilience, dedication, and assistance, all of which the existing legal system frequently fails to deliver. My own incarceration experiences give a vivid picture of a failing system. The overrepresentation of vulnerable communities, the paucity of rehabilitative programs, and the severely inadequate mental health care highlight the urgent need for fundamental reform. The status of our criminal justice system says volumes about the values and objectives of our society, exposing difficult realities about the depths of our empathy and compassion.

From where I'm sitting, the world may appear dismal, but I think that, somewhere within the shadows, there flickers a spark of hope.