Here it is, Year Four. Four years ago today, I got my long-awaited freedom.

According to the statistics, I’ve hit the sweet spot; the four-year mark is when my chances of recidivism drop to less than 20%. Yippee! (Insert sarcasm here) However, that fact does not make me more attractive to employers; it definitely doesn’t make me more accepted by the general public. Getting my freedom four years ago and staying free, which is a feat in itself, matters less to the majority of the general public than what happened 22 years ago.

A lot has been happening at the prison I was in. One, only ONE, of the rapists that work there, was charged with felony sexual misconduct. He has yet to be convicted, my guess is he’ll plead to a misdemeanor and walk with probation, which is tough to watch and only strengthens the resolve of the other predators and their accomplices, still employed by the Department of Corrections.

When I first got out, I spoke with an attorney about what I could do about the abuse I suffered in the prison. She told me, nothing. It’s my word against theirs and no one is going to believe an “ex-con.” Plus, if I name them publicly, I could be sued for slander. Rapists and abusers protected by my mistakes and the law, Lovely.

The Warden that is currently running the prison is the most abusive, manipulative and passive-aggressive warden I experienced. There were seven different wardens during my time and she is the absolute worst. She is protected by her union, and a general public that firmly believes those who are incarcerated no longer deserve human dignity. Silver lining (?), she is being moved to a men’s facility. Knowing the women I left behind will no longer be tortured by that heinous woman makes me happy, but remembering all the bullshit she pulled during her administration has been tough to process.

It’s hard to look back with my hands tied behind my back. I’m still on parole; I can’t say much, they still own me. That helpless feeling is frustrating and harder to swallow as time passes.