From Guard to Wife: My Journey in the Shadows of the Justice System

  My husband is locked in a cage for seven years. Seven. Years. Why? Because he did drugs to himself . Let me slow that down for anyone still clinging to the idea that this system is about justice. He harmed no one else . He didn’t touch a child . He didn’t steal a body, a childhood, or a soul. He destroyed himself . And for that, the State decided he deserved a number, a cell, and years of his life erased. But it doesn’t stop there. I am now facing three years in prison too. Not because I used. Not because I sold. Not because I hurt anyone. But because I was in the car that night. That’s it. That’s the crime. A crystal-clean record. No priors. No violence. No drugs. Just proximity. Just guilt by association. Just being a woman who loved someone in the wrong moment. So let’s tally this up: My husband: 7 years for hurting himself. Me: 3 years for being present. Meanwhile… My step-father molested me for sixteen years...

  ~by DeAnna People love to bring up Joker and Harley Quinn like it’s some cautionary tale. Like it’s a joke. Like it’s toxic, delusional, reckless love between two broken people who don’t know any better. They say it with judgment. With mockery. With that smug little tone people use when they think they’re smarter than love they’ve never lived. But here’s the thing: Ryan and I are Joker and Harley — on every level — and that comparison doesn’t insult me. It explains us. You only see chaos because you’ve never lived inside loyalty forged by pain. People who judge Joker and Harley focus on the madness, the crime, the instability. They don’t look deeper. They don’t ask why two damaged souls found safety in each other when the world offered none. That’s Ryan and me. Our bond didn’t come from comfort. It came from survival. It came from trauma. It came from recognizing each other’s wounds without flinching. Ryan didn’t meet me at my weakest. He met me at my most cont...

~by Ryan I counted the days today. 1,501 days left. That number used to feel like a life sentence inside my head. Now it feels like a timeline. A mission. A stretch of road I’m walking with purpose instead of panic. Because those days aren’t just time I have to do — they’re time I get to use . Time to get clear. Time to get honest. Time to get sober and stay that way. And I’m putting this here, in words, because some promises matter enough to be witnessed. I promised my wife I will come home sober. Not “mostly clean.” Not “doing better.” Not “trying.” Sober. Clear. Present. I promised her I’d come home ready to enjoy the life we’re building — not haunted by the one I’m leaving behind. Addiction took enough from me. It took my peace. It took years I can’t get back. It took moments, trust, stability, and almost took the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m not letting it take my future. People who’ve never lived this don’t understand what addiction really is...

  (Picture taken from the internet) ~ by DeAnna When people hear that I married someone 23 years younger than me, they imagine a cute little May-December arrangement. Maybe even a rebellious phase of midlife. But nothing about my story is “cute.” Nothing about addiction is aesthetic. This picture right here? Needles, caps, scattered chaos. This is addiction. This is reality. And it still blows my own mind sometimes that this ended up being part of my life story… especially for someone like me. Because long before he became my husband, I was actually working inside the prison system. Yes— a former Correctional Officer . I met him behind bars, when I believed I understood the world he came from. I really did. I thought being around inmates every day, managing dorms, seeing drug busts and withdrawals from the “officer side” meant I understood addiction. But inside the walls is a very different universe than living it on the outside. It wasn’t until I loved him through detox...