Today I’ve decided to move forward with my life without someone I love. The truth is, it wasn’t much of a decision at all. She stopped responding to my calls and doesn’t reply to my mail.

I don’t like what’s happened with our relationship. I don’t blame her, though. At least I try not to. What I’ve noticed over my six-year stay here is that most of the time, whatever your social situation was before you entered the criminal punishment system, it won’t remain. Too often it contracts. It gets smaller. The people who may have been the closest to you start to fade.

If I put myself into their shoes, I can understand how that happens. Whatever your relationship looked like with them before, it’s no longer the same. Maybe the thing you guys bonded around was mountain biking, camping, photography, or going to the movies. Or maybe you were that person’s support — the one they called when the world came crashing down. All gone.

They can no longer call on you. In most cases they can’t count on you. They have to wait until you reach out, and even that has limits. Three hundred minutes a month. Five hundred if you’re one of the fortunate prisoners.

I have over 20 people on my phone list. Three children. Forget about my three sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins, friends, and significant others. If I only spent my 300 minutes a month — 10 minutes a day — speaking with my kids, it would be a 10-minute call every third day each. Hardly enough to keep strong ties.

So the relationship that your friends signed up for is effectively dead, and the relationship your loved ones once had for you is no longer the same. Once this reality sets in for them, they often withdraw. As with my current situation.

She’s gone. I have to accept it and keep moving forward. Keep preparing for a successful re-entry. Maybe then we can start anew.