I’m locked in a prison of my own creation. Surrounded not by four bleak walls, etched with the memories of former inmates. But by six spacious rooms, scarred with quirky interior design and floating IKEA shelves.
I don’t rattle a tin cup against steel bars in protest. Rather, I drag a chic stoneware mug across an unprotected marble worktop – sloshing my caramel latte in defiance of a non-existent warden.
Trapped in an unforgiving cell of abundance, with limitless WiFi and a borrowed Netflix subscription, I scream in frustration. Releasing my vocal anguish into an abyss of natural daylight, optimal air-conditioning, and vanilla-scented candles.
Correctional facilities across the world could learn from my experience. Throw away your cuffs and keys. Abandon your fences and guards.
You can’t saw through fear with a nail file. You can’t tunnel from anxiety with a hammer.