The Incarcerated Man

As a Black man who has fallen victim to the incarceration system more times than I care to count, I know how easy it is for someone to lose themselves inside it. I’ve personally witnessed countless brothers lose their sense of self to mental health issues or drug abuse. I’ve been incarcerated for the past three years due to a crime that was directly related to my mental health struggles.

The courts are fully aware of my condition and how it played a central role in my case. Yet rather than helping me get the care I desperately need, they’ve prioritized securing a conviction. I’m still fighting my case today.

As I look around, I see so many men like me—mentally ill, misunderstood, and often undiagnosed. Since President Ronald Reagan shut down many mental health facilities, jails and prisons have become the default institutions for the mentally ill. It’s said that the jail I’m in holds the most mentally ill individuals in New York City. After three years here, I can see the painful truth in that.

Every day is a battle for sanity. In a place that makes you feel worthless, it’s hard to find a sense of purpose. I’ve lost contact with almost everyone I once held dear. People have come and gone like the seasons, while I’m stuck in a place where time seems to stand still. Mentally, I’ve had to cut all ties to the outside world. All my relationships are now strictly transactional. I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with pain, so I guard my heart and mind just to survive.

Many others aren’t able to cope and turn instead to drugs—especially K2, which is destroying our brothers. I’ve seen men become like zombies within months. They use the drug to escape the suffering, and it’s affecting all age groups—particularly the younger ones, ages 19 to 25. They “F out,” as we say—hallucinating, losing touch with reality, and acting out in dangerous ways. The results are often violence, overdoses, or worse.

I try to speak with young men here every week. I use my story to help them find purpose and meaning in life. It’s what keeps me going. So many of them are angry—angry at the world, at the system, at life. They feel like there’s nothing to live for. That pain often turns into violence or gang activity, because gangs give them something to belong to in a place where they feel like they have nothing and no one.

I’ve seen young men get released, only to return a year, a month, or even days later. They come back more broken than before, often with no support system and deep psychological scars. Some struggle with addiction, others with undiagnosed mental illness—and few have loved ones to help them heal or get professional help. Without support, how long can they realistically last in society?

I believe that mental health counseling should be mandatory for all individuals upon release from jail or prison. And to families with loved ones incarcerated: please be patient with them. They need your support more than you may realize. Sending money is helpful, but it isn’t enough. Being there—through visits, phone calls, or letters—makes all the difference. Let them know they are not forgotten. Help them adjust when they return. Be their bridge back to society.

As an incarcerated man, I speak for many when I say—we all need someone. If you or a loved one need support, or would like to donate.please reach out to our foundation at Loveonlife.org or follow us on Instagram at @love_on_life_foundation. #powerloveslife

#depressionstands

Thank you.