Dear Liberty,

As I sit in this cold, gray cell, the weight of my past presses heavily on my chest, but I can feel the flicker of hope igniting within me. Today, I write to you not just as a concept, but as a long-lost friend who I have yearned for through the darkest nights of my life. After 24 years of confinement, I am finally stepping into the light, and I want to pour my heart out to you.

When I was just a boy of 15, I made choices that led me down a path of despair. I was lost, angry, and consumed by a world I didn’t understand. I thought I could find power in my actions, but all I found was a prison cell. For years, I felt like a ghost, haunting the halls of a place that stripped me of my identity, my dreams, and my very essence. I never knew what it was like to feel the warmth of family, to hear laughter echoing through the walls of a home, or to make decisions that shaped my destiny. I was a puppet, my strings pulled by the guards who dictated every moment of my life.

But then, something changed. I began to transform, to seek redemption in the only way I knew how. I poured my heart into books, art, and reflection. I learned about responsibility, compassion, and the beauty of life outside these walls. I found solace in the thought that one day, I might be given a second chance. I never imagined that chance would come from the governor of Oregon, who saw the man I had become rather than the boy who had faltered.

Now, as I prepare to step out into a world that feels both foreign and familiar, I am overwhelmed with emotion. The thought of walking out of these gates, of breathing in the fresh air, fills me with a mixture of excitement and fear. I know that with freedom comes responsibility—a weight I am ready to bear. No longer will I be told when to eat, when to sleep, or even when I can have toilet paper. The simple act of making choices will be mine again, and I am ready to embrace that power.

I will not walk out alone, I will have the family I longed for during my youth and years of confinement. A wife and children to embrace. I have missed out on so much—birthdays, holidays, and the everyday moments that weave the fabric of a life well-lived. Yet, as I look ahead, I see a glimmer of hope. I will be able to create the kind of home I never had, filled with love, laughter, and understanding. I want to be the father who teaches his kids about the world, who guides them through their struggles, and who shows them that life is a precious gift.

Freedom, you are not just a word; you are a promise of a new beginning. You are the laughter of children, the warmth of a partner’s embrace, and the joy of making decisions that shape my life. You are the ability to choose my path, to learn from my mistakes, and to rise above the shadows of my past. I am ready to embrace you with open arms, to cherish every moment, and to honor the life that has been given back to me.

As I take my first steps into this new world, I promise to carry the lessons I learned in prison with me. I will not take my freedom for granted. I will strive to be a better man, a better husband, and a better father. I will work hard to build a life filled with purpose and meaning, and I will never forget the journey that brought me here.

So, dear Freedom, thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for believing in my transformation. I am ready to embrace you, to cherish you, and to live a life that honors the gift of liberty. I will walk out of these gates with my head held high, ready to face the world, ready to love, and ready to be truly alive.

With all my heart,

Anthony Pickens