Benjamin Case used to think “crime was more than a lifestyle. It was a belief system. I was gangster to the marrow” until the unconditional love of three women changed him to the core. 

I’ve been in prison for over 18 years and lived in every level 3 prison in South Carolina. Most of that time was spent in high alpha dorms. I’ve survived more than most people could ever imagine: knife fights where I was outnumbered and unarmed; stab wounds in my back and to the back of my head. I’ve always stood my ground every time someone tried to impose their will on me. I’ve run contraband rings and made money hand over fist behind these fences. When I came to prison, I left fear at the gate. Violence and power are languages I speak fluently.

I used to idolize gangsters. Movies like Belly, Goodfellas, and The Wolf of Wall Street were my holy texts. Men who lived fast, broke rules, and didn’t apologize were the men I wanted to emulate. That was the world I embraced, inside and out. Crime was more than a lifestyle. It was a belief system. I was gangster to the marrow. It made sense in a place where vulnerability means weakness, and weakness will get you killed. But over time, everything changed.

I no longer want to be part of the myth that glamorizes crime or idolizes destruction. I don’t want to see men outrunning bullets or building empires on blood. I want to see the father who never gave up on his kid, the woman who stayed, the love that healed a hardened man. That’s the story I want to tell. That’s the life I want to live.

Last night, I watched a romance film, Me Before You. The kind of movie I used to mock, never realizing it could reach inside me. Yet somewhere between the gentle humor and raw heartbreak, I found myself weeping silently, unexpectedly. It was as if something cracked open inside me that I hadn’t even known was closed. That wasn’t the first time I let myself feel something other than anger or hunger for respect. I realized I crave love in its most powerful forms.

Today, it’s not the gangsters that move me, it’s the stories of devotion. A father spending time with his daughter. A son rising to care for a fragile mother. A woman choosing a man that the world has written off, because she sees his good. These are the moments I crave, the truths I now dream about. The slow, quiet victories of love, loyalty, and sacrifice.

I used to believe love was weakness. But love kept showing up, quietly and faithfully, in the women and children who never gave up on me.

I remember one visit with my mother, one of many she made without fail during those early, chaotic years. I had gone off on a rant about the tattoos covering my back, each one representing a different god I believed was at war for my soul. She sat there and listened to all of it, calm and patient. And when I finished, she looked at me and said, “You better make sure the right one wins.” That’s love, the kind that doesn’t flinch even when you’re in the middle of the storm.

Another instance, after my daughter’s mother explained to her that I was locked up for some bad things (I don’t know how much detail she gave), my daughter looked at her and said, “I hope nobody expects me to hate my daddy.” Even now, after all my failures, she still loves me. That kind of love humbles me. It doesn’t ask for explanations, it just stays.

One day, when I was still new to all this, the CO shouted out during mail call, “Uncle Ben!” I stepped out of my room, confused, and looked around. I didn’t know who he meant, until I saw the letter. It was from my niece, who was barely 10 at the time. She didn’t write my real name on the envelope, just “Uncle Ben.” It cracked up everyone in the dorm, but to me, that innocent address, those two simple words, meant everything. It reminded me that to someone, I was still just family.

One of the most meaningful moments of my life was when I proposed to my fiancée. South Carolina doesn’t really make space for men like me to get married, but that didn’t stop us. I got down on one knee and gave her a ring I’d bought with money I earned honestly, by selling a house that had been in my family for years. That proposal was my way of saying, “I may be behind this fence, but I still choose love. I still choose a future.”

This is not softness. This is pure strength. I have spent years hardening myself against the world, but it is only now, in choosing tenderness, that I feel unbreakable. I still live in a place where violence simmers and trust is a gamble. But my heart beats differently now. I’m not just a survivor, I’m becoming a man worth surviving for.

People ask if prison changed me. The truth is, prison forced me to create the space to meet the man I might’ve always been, beneath the scars, beneath the armor. And now, I see clearly: The greatest revolution is learning how to love.

Benjamin Case #00305097

Tyger River CI

200 Prison Road

Enoree, SC 29335-9308

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