by ~ DeAnna
When he asked, “You’re not just going to ride out this bid with me and then leave when I get close to coming home, are you?” — it stopped me in my tracks. Because that question didn’t come from doubt. It came from the scars left by everyone who already did.
He asked me today, “You’re not just going to ride out this bid with me and then leave when I get close to coming home, are you?”
That one question hit harder than any argument, any accusation, any night spent crying after a fifteen-minute phone call. Because underneath those words wasn’t just jealousy or fear — it was pain. The kind that comes from a lifetime of people walking out the door once he started to believe they might stay.
See, loving a man behind bars isn’t a trend. It’s not a “hold him down” quote slapped on a Facebook reel. It’s constant emotional warfare between loyalty and exhaustion, between his trauma and your patience. Some days, you feel like a warrior. Other days, you feel like collateral damage.
When he asked me that question, part of me wanted to scream. Because if only he knew how many nights I’ve stayed up writing him letters, how many emails I’ve sent fighting the system, how many prayers I’ve whispered begging God to bring him peace… maybe then he’d believe I’m not here just to pass the time. I’m here because I chose him.
But trauma doesn’t understand choice.
It only knows patterns.
And his pattern has always been abandonment.
He’s been left since childhood — by parents who should’ve loved him, by people who used him, and by a world that labeled him “lost cause” before he ever had a chance. So when he asks if I’ll still be here when freedom’s close, he’s not doubting me — he’s doubting the possibility that anyone could love him without conditions.
I could tell him a thousand times that I’m not going anywhere, but words mean nothing to a man who’s been lied to by everyone who said they loved him. What proves it is the consistency — the letters that never stop, the emails I pour my heart into, the money I still find a way to send, the long nights spent on the phone when sleep would be easier. It’s the fight to get visitation approved, even when the system keeps slamming the door in our faces.
I’m not just “riding out” his bid. I’m building with him through it.
I’m helping him fight his demons, even when some of them are aimed at me.
And when he finally walks out those gates, I won’t be walking away — I’ll be walking with him.
Because love that survives concrete, cages, and chaos isn’t temporary.
It’s tested. It’s proven. It’s scarred, but it’s real.
So, no, baby — I’m not just riding this out.
I’m rising through it with you.
#BehindBarsUnfiltered #PrisonWife #LoveThroughBars #LoyaltyTested #PrisonMarriage #PTSD #BPD #TraumaHealing #RealLove #InmateLove #ConcreteConfessions #DeAnnaEpperson #RyanMichealEpperson
No comments:
Post a Comment