Why I write Part 2

From the moment I emailed my eldest daughter (about a month after being charged) and getting such a positive and supportive reply (something I never could have hoped for the way my mind was at the time), I poured everything out into subsequent emails to her. These emails weren’t just a few lines or a paragraph or two, but the equivalent of nine or ten pages of a book each time. Writing was the only thing stopping me thinking of where I was at the time (a very dark place), how my life was over (or so I genuinely believed) and the fact that I was almost certainly heading to prison (where I obviously did end up) and a future that would be even blacker than where I was at the time of writing. It was strange but writing about these things (along with protesting my innocence and giving every reason as to why it was so) stopped me actually thinking about them. Had I only sat there and focussed on them, I truly don’t know if I would be here now.

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