His face said it all. Hate. Disgust. Jealousy. Even sprinkles of deep, dark evil. He would treat others with the utmost respect and sincerity. But I was treated like the lowest, dirtiest, slimiest form of scum.

Every day he would greet me with a look that could kill. His lifeless, hate-filled daily stare was at times chilling.

For eight months he openly spoke ill of me, spreading rumors all over the prison yard. Much effort was put forth to discredit my testimony. He even pulled me once into a small room and challenged me to a fight.

Although my hair is falling out and my gut doesn’t let...