I've been in prison for 19 years. I'm coping with my depression, but I'm not sure if the other inmates are.

• I've been in and out of prison since I was 12 years old.
• I was going to propose to my girlfriend, but then COVID shut down visitations.

I've been in and out of incarceration facilities since I was 12 years old for crimes that range from dealing drugs and theft to the commission of a murder in the course of a robbery.

I don't know if I suffered from depression before being incarcerated — there wasn't talk of mental-health issues when I was growing up in the gang-infested neighborhood of Hilltop in Tacoma, Washington in the early 1990s — I was merely attempting to survive; there was no chance to thrive. But in the last three decades behind bars, I've certainly come to know depression well.

And since the pandemic started, I've seen overwhelming levels of depression in the prison where I live.

Everything in person stopped when the pandemic started

At the beginning of the pandemic, in-person visits and all "positive programming" — classes, groups, etc. — ceased. This was understandable at the time, as something had to be done to protect prisoners until there was more information on COVID-19. But with the continued limits on in-person visits, relationships between prisoners and their loved ones on the outside have become extremely strained and, in many cases, have fallen apart altogether.

While I was able to maintain my relationship with my partner, it wasn't without difficult moments and a lot of tears.

Additionally, I went 2-and-½ years without seeing my mother. Once the prison opened visits again — in a restricted way — we had scheduled several visits, but new outbreaks hitting the prison canceled each one. I was finally able to visit with her in July of 2022, and I am grateful we were able to pick up where we left off, but not everyone was able to maintain this kind of closeness with their outside community.

Maintaining a relationship while incarcerated isn't an easy task, and doing so in the thick of a multi-year pandemic has become even more difficult and, in many cases, impossible.

I was going to propose to my partner

When I was really struggling, I drew from the last moment I had with my partner, Chelsea. I remember the day vividly: Our last full-contact visit was in early March of 2020. It was a Monday. I was planning to propose to her at our next visit, which was just a couple of days away, but my nerves were shot. I had been saving for months to buy her a ring. I had no idea that the visit where I planned to slip that ring on her finger would never come, and that she would eventually place the ring on her finger herself.

Maintaining my own sanity and our relationship in a situation where logic doesn't exist has been a full-time job.

Once we think there might be some form of normalcy about to return, another variant strikes, guards introduce it to the incarcerated population, and we're right back on lockdown with all amenities stripped away.

When this happens, we have no idea when visits will return. It's a level of uncertainty that's unmatched by any I've ever experienced. We never know when we might be hauled off to solitary confinement — or "medical isolation"— because we've tested positive for a virus we didn't even know we had.

The thing about living in constant uncertainty is that it brings about extreme levels of anxiety. Individuals in these situations suffer from high levels of stress, agitation, and depression. Among the population I have lived with for the past several decades, it was uncommon to see people arguing in a heated manner over a card game or to hear an individual yelling on the phone during a call with a loved one. During the pandemic, these things became commonplace. Additionally, there is a fear that suicidal ideation and completions are up, though data to back up this fear is slow to come out or incomplete.

Many outside the prison walls might feel as if they have been forced to experience similar isolation during the pandemic — and some have — but most people don't live in settings that resemble overcrowded cells or solitary confinement. In society, for the most part, each individual has been doing their own risk assessment and making decisions about COVID-19 mitigation as they see fit.

In prison, we're subject to the decisions of people who don't have our best interest in mind.

I've found myself wondering what causes more damage: the possible harms and effects in contracting COVID-19, or the emotional and psychological damage prisoners are forced to take on through so-called "protective measures" that separate us from positive coping mechanisms like friends, loved ones, exercise, and classes.

It feels like pure punishment.