Long distance relationships are hard. Whether romantic or platonic, being hundreds of miles away from your best friend or significant other can be both stressful and heartbreaking. But when I hear couples complain that they can only FaceTime, call, text and Snapchat their other half; or I see a friend counting down the days until their companion next visits, I have to laugh, because I wish those were the biggest challenges I had to face with my best friend. Instead of Snapchats and FaceTime, we talk on the phone while a police officer listens in. Instead of long visits, our time together is short, monitored, and takes place in a medium to maximum security level prison. No, this isn’t an episode of Orange is the New Black or Beyond Scared Straight, this is my life, and my best friend is currently serving time behind bars.

Maintaining close contact with an incarcerated friend is not something I’m usually open about. However, I don’t go to great lengths to conceal our relationship, because being embarrassed to discuss their situation would imply that I am also ashamed to call them my friend and nothing is further from the truth. Many offer their sympathy when I tell them why I can’t reach my best friend as easily as I used to, but this is not a situation that requires pity. In fact, having a friend in prison has strengthened me mentally, redefined my definition of loyalty, and tested my ability to communicate. Our relationship has made me not only a better friend and communicator but a better person.

I didn’t wake up one morning and discover that my friend was in the custody of the Illinois Department of Corrections (IDOC). Criminal court cases take months to reach a verdict, and we both knew the fate that awaited my friend upon their sentencing. With nothing to do but dread the final decision that loomed before them, I did my best to assure my friend that I would stick by their side if they had to serve time. Even though I did everything I could to prepare myself for the challenging year and a half that awaited both of us, the reality of our situation cannot be fathomed by someone who hasn’t been in either of our positions.

During a good week, I might receive a phone call, or even better, a letter from my friend. However, these calls frequently have poor connection and are always monitored and recorded, which can make discussing the personal details of our lives uncomfortable. Even better than getting a short phone call is finding a letter in my mailbox. We don’t just write notes to each other, we write letters that are comparable in length to novels. Usually averaging about ten pages, I read their writing in their own voice. I hear the parts where they must have been laughing, and laugh myself when I catch their grammar and spelling errors. We give each other updates on our lives, reminisce about our past adventures, and offer advice when one of us is facing a challenge. While writing letters probably seems inconvenient during the age of texting, FaceTime, and Snapchat, I’ve actually learned much more about my friend than if we were able to reach each other through texting or social media like we used to.

The best case scenario only occurs every few months when I drive five hours south to visit. Our visits take place in a guarded room with very strict rules on where we can sit and how we can move and interact with each other. I have to be background checked, patted down and searched each time I enter and leave the visiting room (even for bathroom breaks!), and pass through three different sets of electronically locked sliding doors. Despite all these things, our visits are amazing, and as soon as one visit is over, I immediately begin planning the next one. We sit across from each other at a wide circular table and catch up for anywhere from five to seven hours. We pig out on the snacks the vending machine offers, play cards, compete in chess, or color pictures together like we’re little kids again. We laugh so hard that we both have to cover our faces, which earns us disapproving looks from the guards on duty. Our initial visits were a bit awkward at first, but after just a few minutes, we manage to slide seamlessly back into our old rhythm. At first, I believed that our connection may feel a bit uncomfortable once my friend returns home, but after spending six visits with them in the past nine months, it is clear to me that I have nothing to worry about. If our connection is better than it’s ever been, even with one of us in prison, then there is no doubt that things between us can only get better once they’re home.

For me, each week is defined by the days I receive letters, calls, or the days until our next visit. But during a bad week, I might not hear from them at all. Days of silence turn into weeks, and sometimes months. I begin to check the mail not once, but twice a day. I constantly confirm my phone is charged and on full volume in case I receive a call. I even call the prison and ask to speak to the inmates’ counselors to dig up any information they can give me on my friend’s health and current condition. This lack of communication may be due to a lockdown at the prison, inmate restrictions, or any other number of complications. I begin to second guess myself and wonder, Are they upset and just ignoring me? Did they even get my latest letter? Are they sick or hurt? Not knowing what’s happening is usually worse than what is actually impeding our communication.

The hardest part of this situation hasn’t been just missing the company of my best friend, but seeing the way they went from an individual with a name, with a family, with a significant other, and with friends to someone that is categorized only by a six-digit offender number. It’s knowing that what I can do to take care of them is extremely limited by the rules and regulations of the IDOC. Leaving my very best friend to the custody of the state is something that chokes me with fear. But through all of these difficulties, the worst part is realizing that all of the things I experience pale in comparison to what they have to face every day.

While our conditions are not ideal, our connection has only become stronger since my friend has been incarcerated. The level of trust and love we have for each other has only increased, since managing our relationship without those things would be nearly impossible. Although their sentence has partly been a blessing in disguise for quite a few reasons, it continues to be a burden and a curse on them, their family, and myself. At times, it feels like time stands still without them by my side, like I’ve gone years without their presence, even though in reality it has only been 254 days. For those past 254 days, it has felt as though I have been holding my breath, and for the next 170 days, I will be left with that sensation until my other half returns home safely.