They said I needed help and that others needed protection from me, so they locked me away for a decade behind clean white walls and locked doors that never truly opened.
During those years, I learned to control my breathing and trained my body every day so that my anger turned into discipline instead of destruction.
I exercised constantly because it was the only thing I could control, and over time my body became stronger while my mind became sharper and more focused.
Strangely, I was not miserable there because the place was quiet and predictable, and no one pretended to care about me only to hurt me later.
Everything changed the morning Jenna came to visit me, because I sensed something was wrong before I even saw her face.
The air felt heavy and still, and when she walked into the room, she looked thinner and smaller, like she was carrying something invisible that weighed her down.
She wore a long sleeve blouse despite the heat, and her makeup barely covered the bruise on her cheek that told a story she was not ready to speak out loud.
She sat across from me holding a basket of fruit, and even the oranges looked damaged and bruised, just like her.