The New Yorker features a brief essay titled “My Prison Cell: the Refuge of a Recluse” by an imprisoned man who is personally also a recluse. He describes the paradox of imprisonment and reclusion in a poignantly direct manner.
I’m a recluse. By definition, that implies I don’t like being around people. But the oddity of this situation is that I don’t enjoy the feeling of being alone. It’s just that I feel as if I should be alone.