Really reality or just a jaded insight?

Another night at this depressing piece of reality. At one point or another in time, during this shift, we will make our delivery of the down trodden here. Every night is different. Every night, I fight off the reachings of each individual with their own set of sad, sick stories. Truths or made up protections of their own personal versions of "what in fact" brought them here. They try to reach out to me in their own way. Be it body language, verbally, with their eyes or flat out begging. They try and plug into my central bank of humanity. They pray they can break through the barrier I so desperately work to sustain, every single day. Just so that I can survive their attacks. Protect my own sanity. Preserve my own being. Myself. MY way of life as only I know it. If they get a glimpse of my internal workings, they will no doubt see a safe haven for themselves. A place of shelter if only for a little while. While in my custody. They will work to have my armor lifted so they may feel comapassion if for only a fleeting moment in a look, a word or the thoughts they see behind my eyes. or a kind word before they are taken to face their newest horror. The unknown. The uncaring. The structured, sanitized, protected and depraved world of a first timer brought to the female correctional facility.