Thursday, January 1, 2015
It's a beautiful day
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Five years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
Today begins a new year, new chapter in this journey I call life in recovery.
I had a wonderful New Year's holiday, spent low-key at home with the love of my life, the person who knows me inside and out and loves me unconditionally.
I didn't have any negative thoughts today, and for me that's growth. That's progress.
Recovery makes me want to be a better person, closer to God and better able to help my fellow man.
To me, that's a beautiful thing.
...
I lay here tonight , and I'm wondering about Trisha, a woman I've done time with three Christmases in a row.
I hope she's OK. I hope she hasn't lost faith. I hope she got into the treatment pod.
...
Jail is a miserable place to be.
I hate it there.
I don't get my medications correctly. I'm ill most of the time I'm there and starving to death.
I was so sick the first day I couldn't get out of bed.
I kept holding my hand on the cold concrete-block wall, and placing it on my forehead for relief.
It took four days to get the first dose of my medication, and I didn't receive my other one until halfway through day five of seven.
...
I was so relieved to be released the day after Christmas.
I went home to my boyfriend and my family.
I left Trisha behind in that depressing place, promising to write.
As I struggled to reintegrate into society, I suffered too, thinking about my victim's family and what they must go through every Christmas.
I hate it that they demonized me so much, as well, because I've done everything I can to atone for my tragic choices.
...
I've spoken to thousand of people, mostly teenagers, about what it's like to kill someone in a blackout and live to tell the tale sober.
It takes humility, a lot of honesty and some really thick skin to admit that a man died because of my alcoholism and drug addiction.
I do it because I'm trying to help.
I don't want anyone else to suffer the way I did because of my actions; the way my parents did having to watch their daughter literally go to hell and back; the way my kids still do without a mom in their daily lives.
I do it because it's the only thing I can do to try to right the terrible wrongs I've done to everyone involved.
And, I do it to show people God still loves me, and as long as you're above ground, there's hope for a brighter tomorrow.
...
I hope someday my victim's family can see the good that has come out of this tragedy.
I hope they will be proud of the message, even if they never forgive me.
I pray that if any of them ever find themselves fighting the demons I fought, that they'll seek help.
My heart goes out to them, and to all the families who suffer because of this disease.
God bless you.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Thanksgiving blessings
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Five years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying
to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year
for the next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together
in between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
...
Some five years after the accident, blessings surround me.
I am so grateful for my life, in recovery, for the love I am consistently shown, for
becoming a person who can hold her head high and who can be proud again.
I have worked so hard to right the wrongs, to forgive myself, to educate others.
...
A court hearing this summer nearly broke my spirit. I had asked to have
my jail time suspended, for unsupervised probation and to get my license
reinstated. The judge granted the latter; and it was clear to me that in some
people's eyes I would always be a drunk in a blackout, who ran a man down
and kept going.
The truth is that I did that terrible thing, but I haven't been that woman in a long,
long time. I have stood before countless groups of high schoolers, would-be
alcohol and drug counselors and even mothers who lost their children because
of drugs and alcohol.
I have owned this tragedy from the get-go and consistently for years. Although
some may never forgive me, I will not let that break me. I will not stop trying to
be a better person, and in so doing, become better able to help another alcoholic
and my fellow man.
...
Today, I sponsor women, to teach them how the steps and more importantly
having a relationship with a higher power can help you stay sober, one day at
a time.
On the anniversary of the accident this year, I shared my story with incarcerated
women in Sumner County. Many identified. Some came up and thanked me for
inspiring them to start over, to learn from their mistakes and not to let their pasts
define them.
I nearly always share in meetings, to encourage people in recovery, to provide
support and hope. I have a sponsor, and I stay in touch. I feel grateful to be
someone who is considered one of the people who walk the walk in recovery.
...
I have always felt love and acceptance in recovery. No one made me feel
like I was different, or that I was beyond help because I had a drunk driving
accident that killed someone.
My sponsor, sponsees, role models in recovery and friends have helped me
and loved me just like a family would.
In fact, it was in a meeting where I found the love of my life.
...
I met him one evening at a clubhouse. He listened as I shared. I paid attention
when he shared too; and was instantly attracted to everything about him.
We kept seeing each other at the same meetings.
At one in particular, we sat directly across from one another, for weeks and then
months.
Under a flickering, fluorescent light, I fell in love with the beautiful boy across
the table.
...
It took a few months for us to get together .
First, it was because he was dating other people. And then one day, he was gone.
I tried to move on, to get over the connection and attraction. Nearly three months
passed, before I began dating someone else briefly.
...
When he came back into my life, it was so clear to me it, whatever
it was, was still there.
When he made amends, my heart opened back up to him. Within days,
we were together for real and in love.
More than seven months have passed, and we're still together. I've
never been happier, more in love and at peace.
...
In 2012, I broke up with my boyfriend of 12 years. Two months later,
he died. I thought I'd never be happy again.
Still, I trudged on, and stayed sober.
Nearly two years later, my angel kissed me for the first time. He is
an amazing, role model in recovery and the best man I've ever been
privileged enough to love.
...
It's a good life. I can sleep tonight knowing I do my best; I am sober;
and my Mike loves me.
And for that, I am truly thankful.
...
katrina at 8:08 PM
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katrina
I am an award-winning writer with a new mission: to educate people about the consequences of drinking an driving.
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That's exactly what happened to me.
Five years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying
to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year
for the next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together
in between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
...
Some five years after the accident, blessings surround me.
I am so grateful for my life, in recovery, for the love I am consistently shown, for
becoming a person who can hold her head high and who can be proud again.
I have worked so hard to right the wrongs, to forgive myself, to educate others.
...
A court hearing this summer nearly broke my spirit. I had asked to have
my jail time suspended, for unsupervised probation and to get my license
reinstated. The judge granted the latter; and it was clear to me that in some
people's eyes I would always be a drunk in a blackout, who ran a man down
and kept going.
The truth is that I did that terrible thing, but I haven't been that woman in a long,
long time. I have stood before countless groups of high schoolers, would-be
alcohol and drug counselors and even mothers who lost their children because
of drugs and alcohol.
I have owned this tragedy from the get-go and consistently for years. Although
some may never forgive me, I will not let that break me. I will not stop trying to
be a better person, and in so doing, become better able to help another alcoholic
and my fellow man.
...
Today, I sponsor women, to teach them how the steps and more importantly
having a relationship with a higher power can help you stay sober, one day at
a time.
On the anniversary of the accident this year, I shared my story with incarcerated
women in Sumner County. Many identified. Some came up and thanked me for
inspiring them to start over, to learn from their mistakes and not to let their pasts
define them.
I nearly always share in meetings, to encourage people in recovery, to provide
support and hope. I have a sponsor, and I stay in touch. I feel grateful to be
someone who is considered one of the people who walk the walk in recovery.
...
I have always felt love and acceptance in recovery. No one made me feel
like I was different, or that I was beyond help because I had a drunk driving
accident that killed someone.
My sponsor, sponsees, role models in recovery and friends have helped me
and loved me just like a family would.
In fact, it was in a meeting where I found the love of my life.
...
I met him one evening at a clubhouse. He listened as I shared. I paid attention
when he shared too; and was instantly attracted to everything about him.
We kept seeing each other at the same meetings.
At one in particular, we sat directly across from one another, for weeks and then
months.
Under a flickering, fluorescent light, I fell in love with the beautiful boy across
the table.
...
It took a few months for us to get together .
First, it was because he was dating other people. And then one day, he was gone.
I tried to move on, to get over the connection and attraction. Nearly three months
passed, before I began dating someone else briefly.
...
When he came back into my life, it was so clear to me it, whatever
it was, was still there.
When he made amends, my heart opened back up to him. Within days,
we were together for real and in love.
More than seven months have passed, and we're still together. I've
never been happier, more in love and at peace.
...
In 2012, I broke up with my boyfriend of 12 years. Two months later,
he died. I thought I'd never be happy again.
Still, I trudged on, and stayed sober.
Nearly two years later, my angel kissed me for the first time. He is
an amazing, role model in recovery and the best man I've ever been
privileged enough to love.
...
It's a good life. I can sleep tonight knowing I do my best; I am sober;
and my Mike loves me.
And for that, I am truly thankful.
...
katrina at 8:08 PM
Share
No comments:
Post a Comment
›
Home
View web version
About Me
katrina
I am an award-winning writer with a new mission: to educate people about the consequences of drinking an driving.
View my complete profile
Powered by Blogger
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Grief and emotions in recovery
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Three years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
My grandmother, Clara Marie Cornwell, died early yesterday.
She was the graceful, soft-spoken matriarch of the family, the glue that held us all together, anything you could ever ask for in a grandparent.
I am reeling from this devastating loss.
Through the hills and valleys of grief, I walk sober through the pain.
I want it to end. I don't want to feel. I never wanted this day to come; it's like someone reached inside me and ripped out my inner child to leave a wandering, bleeding mess of an adult who doesn't know how to live in a world without the one person who always, always loved her unconditionally.
And on top of that someone else stood over my wounds today with a can of Morton's salt, seasoning my misery.
...
I had to set a boundary today with someone I love, someone who wanted it done her way, someone who added insult to injury, someone who hurt me in a time of grief and pain.
It was not easy. It was not fun.
Somehow I know things between us are never going to be the same. That hurts too.
As I ponder the day's events, I know I can still rest knowing I did nothing to stomp on anyone's feelings today.
I didn't lash out in my grief or retaliate when verbally accosted.
Today, I know resentments can kill me. They can make me drink or take drugs, and nothing in this world is worth a drink or a drug.
...
My heart is still breaking over grandma's death. She is dead; and I haven't even buried her yet.
Somehow, I got tangled up in something far less important today.
So, from here on out, I've decided that nothing negative, no person, place or thing is going to rob me of my proper time to grieve.
...
My grandma was a saint.
She helped me emotionally, giving me refuge as a child who was verbally abused.
She built my self esteem and showed me what it was to love someone without bounds.
She was always there on my birthday.
She put my daughter through preschool.
She helped me countless times financially.
She was a constant source of light and hope in my life and always told me how proud she was of me.
And for these next days, until she's laid to rest, she will have my undivided attention.
She will always have my love.
...
Sunday, March 3, 2013
If you hang around the barbershop...
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Three years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
I have this inner dialog debate going on lately concerning whether or not it is safe for me some three years after I got sober to dip my toes into the waters of temptation involving alcohol and drugs.
Let me first say that I am strong in my sobriety. I do not miss drinking, and ninety-nine percent of the time, I don't even think about smoking weed.
It's that one percent that has me guarded and shut-in from the evils of the world most of the time.
Since the accident, I have purposely avoided situations where I might be tempted to drink or use.
That has kind of limited my options insofar as going out is concerned, at least that's how I see it.
I used to enjoy the nightlife, but there are things about it that scare me now.
I can't control what other people do. I can't control whether someone in a concert venue lights up a joint, triggering my addiction. I can't make someone who is not in recovery understand that if we go out and you are my ride, you cannot drink. You have to have a designated driver or a cab because that's just how I roll.
...
This inner conflict began when I thought about some of the recovery tools I have learned and how some of them don't seem to coincide.
Those of us who are trying to get clean and sober and stay that way are told early on that we have to change our playmates and playgrounds.
I have also heard old-timers sometimes say, "If you hang around the barbershop long enough, you're going to get a haircut."
Both of those statements would seem to suggest it's not OK to go to hang around people who drink or use drugs, and if you do so often enough, you're going to relapse.
Here's where it gets confusing.
The literature in my recovery program, written in the 1930s, also says you can go anywhere and do anything you want after you get sober - even places where liquor is served - as long as you stay in fit spiritual condition.
So, I find myself trying to figure out which recovery credo I should follow.
It seem there is no clear-cut answer.
...
Judge Mark Fishburn took care of a part of the problem when he banned me from going to bars as a part of the plea deal I took in June 2011.
However, I am finding there are lots of other gray areas that aren't covered by the court order, so I occasionally find myself having to make a decision.
For instance, I am allowed to go to restaurants where alcohol is served.
And of course, there are sometimes gatherings at homes and private venues with family members or friends who are not in recovery. I can't tell these well-meaning folks not to have a drink or puff away on their drug of choice.
My program suggests I should talk to my sponsor whenever I have any question or issue.
There are also questions I can ask myself about the purpose of the event I am considering attending.
-- Am I strong enough spiritually speaking?
-- Is the temptation worth the risk?
-- Is there a justifiable reason for my attendance?
-- Or am I simply romanticizing a lifestyle I once lived?
...
There was a situation last fall in which my 20-year, high-school reunion was being held in a bar on Second Avenue in Nashville.
Just my luck, right?
Not wanting to take the chance of violating my probation, I took the high road and spoke with my probation officer, who communicated with the judge and let me know that he gave me permission to attend.
He told the probation officer to tell me, "Just don't drink."
I said, "OK."
I didn't drink that night, but it was a bit weird to say the least to see my former classmates boozing it up just like I used to do in my favorite East Nashville haunts.
After a couple hours of walking around seeing them clinking glasses, asking for refills and then spotting a lonely bottle of Chambord on the bar - my favorite liqueur - I slipped off to the bathroom to call a cab.
I had to get out of there. I found myself just not being able to relate to it anymore.
...
My life is so different now. I'm just in a different place.
It's not as if I am looking down at so-called normal drinkers or folks that just haven't admitted a drinking or using problem yet from some sort of high moral pedestal.
I remember well the days when I joined in the camaraderie of the bar scene, raising a glass to toast the latest gathering of the same eight to 10 people week after week, month after month, year after year.
I thought these nights of liquor-filled fun were more about friendship than a buzz.
That's how it started anyway. It seemed like innocent fun.
Gradually, things began to get wilder and wilder with sex, drugs and rock-n-roll front and center, not only in my life, but in the lives of pretty much everyone around me.
I had briefly broken up with my longtime boyfriend, and that's when things started to spin a little out of control.
Three months passed, and I ran into him at a local business. Soon afterward, I contacted him and we had dinner, but things were complicated.
Let's just say he had moved on, too.
Somehow, we found our way back to each other, and I spent the next six months trying to mend fences.
I stayed away from the bars. I stayed away from my "friends."
...
One fateful night after six months of abstinence from alcohol, I decided I wanted to go out for "one more night" with them.
One more night cost me everything, and cost a man his life.
That's why I can't be nonchalant about where I go and what I do.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that those "friends" I went out to meet that night after a six-month, dry-drunk scattered like an atomic bomb fell into my lap when I was charged.
Only one stayed in contact, albeit infrequently. We have recently reconnected.
I don't harbor ill will toward anyone. It is what it is. They moved on, and so did I, along a different road.
I'm hoping they will look at my life as somewhat of an example, whether they continue to drink the way we used to, whether they think they have a problem at all.
Maybe one day, one or more of them will ask me about sobriety, will want it for themselves.
When and if they do, I am ready, willing and able to help.
I am willing to take them to a meeting or to church, to introduce them to my way of life, to remind them how good life can be without all that poison clouding a beautiful mind and a soul God created uniquely.
...
My sobriety and my relationship with Jesus Christ are the most important things in my life today.
So, I have to be thoughtful as I consider opportunities to venture out into the world again.
I cannot afford to mess up now.
It has taken me more than three years to have some semblance of normalcy in my life.
I have a job. I get to see my children, and I have quality of life. I am on a waiting list for an apartment, the first situation in which I will be independent again.
I no longer need a drug-induced haze to enjoy a beautiful day, to face seemingly insurmountable obstacles or to escape emotional pain.
For that, I am grateful.
...
I wish I knew how to resolve my dilemma.
It's tough wanting to be a part of the world around you, but not trusting people and situations enough to really venture out beyond four familiar walls.
Sure, I've gone to functions at recovery clubhouses, most recently a karaoke event that I shut down with some of my friends in the wee hours of the morning.
I sang at least a dozen songs including those from artists including Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood, En Vogue and Heart.
Those events don't happen often enough. I want more out of life.
I find myself going to work, going to meetings, going to church and going to sleep. The next day I wake up and do it all over again.
Yes, I'm staying sober, and that's the most important thing.
But I know I can do this better, meaning I know I can have a better quality life and not have to worry about being tempted to take a drink or light up a joint.
But how? That's the question.
I 'won't stop 'til I get enough.'
Stay tuned.
...
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
A living amends
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Three years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
Eddy McCreery is on my mind everyday.
I think about him as I go about my daily life, working, going to recovery meetings, in my interactions with family and friends, and especially when I speak to groups about the accident.
I have been doing that a lot lately. I guess that's what I felt compelled to write again.
Today, I spoke to a support group for women whose children were taken by the Department of Children's Services because of mother's drug use.
On Feb. 10, I was at a local church speaking to about 50 youth and six adult workers.
The audience changes, but the message is always the same: this is what can happen to you if you drink and drive.
I tell them how I had everything in the world going for me.
I was married while I was going to college, and then divorced and became a single mother, who was holding down a job as a reporter first in Dickson and then in Gallatin.
My second year out of the gate as a professional journalist, I won second place in the Tennessee Press Association Contest for best news reporting for a series of stories I wrote about groundwater contamination, stemming from the illegal dumping of toxic chemicals in the Dickson County Landfill.
In Gallatin, I won two first-place awards at the TPA contest, one in 2007 for best news reporting, and one in 2009 for best single feature.
I had three wonderful children, a daughter and two sons, who lived with me two weeks out of every month and with their dad the same amount of time in a joint-custody arrangement.
Perry Baggs, my longtime boyfriend who died in July, was an accomplished musician, a founding member of Jason and The Scorchers, the pioneers of alternative country music, and more specifically, a music genre some call country punk or cowpunk.
The Americana Music Association awarded JATS a lifetime achievement award in best performance in 2008, the band has a display at the Country Music Hall of Fame, and more than three decades of critical acclaim from around the world.
I was living a dream life.
...
But somewhere down deep, I was unhappy and it manifested in self-destructive ways.
I smoked marijuana daily for 18 years. I had started drinking at the age of 15, and although alcohol wasn't my drug of choice, it was the one that ultimately took all my choices away.
I was on prescription Xanax, and I only abused it one time, the night I had the accident which ended Eddy McCreery's life.
My decision to mix Xanax and alcohol cost a man his life, and a family a husband, father, brother and uncle.
That's something I can never truly make right, but I am trying, in my own way, to do what I can to make what my program of recovery refers to as a living amends to the McCreery family.
This entails living a sober life, a life that is accountable to a sponsor and to others in recovery and ultimately to my higher power, who I call God.
It involves humbling myself every time I tell my story to a different group, every time I play the WSMV footage of my arrest and three subsequent stories and the audio of the 911 call that came in shortly after the accident occurred.
I have seen and heard those recordings countless times now, but it still feels like someone is stabbing me in the heart every time I realize the pain I caused the McCreery family and my own family, a wound that will never truly heal.
...
I liken what I did to a tornado that tore two families apart. The McCreerys lost someone they loved forever, or until they meet him in heaven, if you believe as I do.
Mine suffered as three families were forced to live under one roof, and shove two extra households of furniture in two barn buildings, an attic and a basement.
My children had to move to White House and be separated from their mother for the majority of the last three years. I have only been able to see them every other weekend during that time. I have very few pictures. I can't be in their lives daily to be a parent. It's impossible to be a momma over the phone, but I do my best.
I try to cherish the time I do have with them and not dwell on their absence, but on some nights the separation anxiety I feel, coupled with the sometimes debilitating grief I experience over Perry's death, makes it nearly impossible to be positive.
Then, there's the jail time.
I know many will say 'it could be a lot worse.'
Yes. I know that.
But it doesn't make the time I spend there any easier, or make it go by any faster.
Every day you spend in lockup feels like a week. Weeks feel like months, and months feel like years.
The state also revoked my driver's license, and I although I have a job, I am extremely underemployed.
I am not trying to elicit sympathy. I simply want the reader to know my consequences extend way beyond 10 years of probation and two weeks of incarceration a year.
The time I have lost with my children alone is severe punishment for my crimes. It's not their fault, but they are suffering because of my actions.
These consequences will not end today or tomorrow. Some will last 8 more years. Some will last a lifetime.
...
Although, I can easily get down thinking about the ramifications of my actions, I can just as easily feel inspired about the work I am doing to spread the message in and around the Nashville area.
That's what gets me through the hard times.
I am court-ordered to speak twice a year, on Mr. McCreery's birthday, Feb. 10, and on the anniversary of the accident, Oct. 22, but I do it as often as possible.
I believe that God can work through me to make a difference.
So, when I think about the mission, if you will, nothing else matters.
I am inspired when I hear mothers come to me and tell me how their teenage sons kicked a drug habit after hearing my speech.
I know I must be doing something right.
God is working through me to make all of this possible.
Without his blessing, without the Holy Spirit leading, guiding and directing my words and my path, there can be no stories like that one to be told.
...
I recently read the book of Jonah in the Bible.
He was the one who ran from the Lord, and ended up being thrown into the sea and swallowed into the belly of a big fish for his disobedience.
I could relate to the rebellion, and the ultimate humility that took place in that man of God's heart.
For it is only through our humility and our willingness to turn our will and lives over to a higher power that we will be happy, joyous and free. Self sacrifice and service to others also play a vital role in that transformation.
I don't make this stuff up. I have lived it.
You would be amazed at the good things that will happen if you are willing to let the God of your understanding take the wheel.
So, I guess what I am trying to say here is that I have realized I am not in charge of my own destiny.
God is.
And he can be in charge of yours, too, if you let him.
...
If you take nothing else away from this blog, please remember what happened to Eddie McCreery, what happened to me, what happened to my children, Kristen, Ian and Kavanaugh, and think about your loved ones.
Are you willing to lay your addictions, your habits and hangups down, and seek God's help?
All it takes is this simple prayer: "God help me."
Then, take action.
Go to inpatient or outpatient rehab, if you can. Find recovery at a local NA or AA clubhouse.
Get a sponsor. Work a program, and be accountable for your actions.
Ask for God to lead, guide and direct your paths.
He will never leave you or forsake you.
Amen.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Three years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
Eddy McCreery is on my mind everyday.
I think about him as I go about my daily life, working, going to recovery meetings, in my interactions with family and friends, and especially when I speak to groups about the accident.
I have been doing that a lot lately. I guess that's what I felt compelled to write again.
Today, I spoke to a support group for women whose children were taken by the Department of Children's Services because of mother's drug use.
On Feb. 10, I was at a local church speaking to about 50 youth and six adult workers.
The audience changes, but the message is always the same: this is what can happen to you if you drink and drive.
I tell them how I had everything in the world going for me.
I was married while I was going to college, and then divorced and became a single mother, who was holding down a job as a reporter first in Dickson and then in Gallatin.
My second year out of the gate as a professional journalist, I won second place in the Tennessee Press Association Contest for best news reporting for a series of stories I wrote about groundwater contamination, stemming from the illegal dumping of toxic chemicals in the Dickson County Landfill.
In Gallatin, I won two first-place awards at the TPA contest, one in 2007 for best news reporting, and one in 2009 for best single feature.
I had three wonderful children, a daughter and two sons, who lived with me two weeks out of every month and with their dad the same amount of time in a joint-custody arrangement.
Perry Baggs, my longtime boyfriend who died in July, was an accomplished musician, a founding member of Jason and The Scorchers, the pioneers of alternative country music, and more specifically, a music genre some call country punk or cowpunk.
The Americana Music Association awarded JATS a lifetime achievement award in best performance in 2008, the band has a display at the Country Music Hall of Fame, and more than three decades of critical acclaim from around the world.
I was living a dream life.
...
But somewhere down deep, I was unhappy and it manifested in self-destructive ways.
I smoked marijuana daily for 18 years. I had started drinking at the age of 15, and although alcohol wasn't my drug of choice, it was the one that ultimately took all my choices away.
I was on prescription Xanax, and I only abused it one time, the night I had the accident which ended Eddy McCreery's life.
My decision to mix Xanax and alcohol cost a man his life, and a family a husband, father, brother and uncle.
That's something I can never truly make right, but I am trying, in my own way, to do what I can to make what my program of recovery refers to as a living amends to the McCreery family.
This entails living a sober life, a life that is accountable to a sponsor and to others in recovery and ultimately to my higher power, who I call God.
It involves humbling myself every time I tell my story to a different group, every time I play the WSMV footage of my arrest and three subsequent stories and the audio of the 911 call that came in shortly after the accident occurred.
I have seen and heard those recordings countless times now, but it still feels like someone is stabbing me in the heart every time I realize the pain I caused the McCreery family and my own family, a wound that will never truly heal.
...
I liken what I did to a tornado that tore two families apart. The McCreerys lost someone they loved forever, or until they meet him in heaven, if you believe as I do.
Mine suffered as three families were forced to live under one roof, and shove two extra households of furniture in two barn buildings, an attic and a basement.
My children had to move to White House and be separated from their mother for the majority of the last three years. I have only been able to see them every other weekend during that time. I have very few pictures. I can't be in their lives daily to be a parent. It's impossible to be a momma over the phone, but I do my best.
I try to cherish the time I do have with them and not dwell on their absence, but on some nights the separation anxiety I feel, coupled with the sometimes debilitating grief I experience over Perry's death, makes it nearly impossible to be positive.
Then, there's the jail time.
I know many will say 'it could be a lot worse.'
Yes. I know that.
But it doesn't make the time I spend there any easier, or make it go by any faster.
Every day you spend in lockup feels like a week. Weeks feel like months, and months feel like years.
The state also revoked my driver's license, and I although I have a job, I am extremely underemployed.
I am not trying to elicit sympathy. I simply want the reader to know my consequences extend way beyond 10 years of probation and two weeks of incarceration a year.
The time I have lost with my children alone is severe punishment for my crimes. It's not their fault, but they are suffering because of my actions.
These consequences will not end today or tomorrow. Some will last 8 more years. Some will last a lifetime.
...
Although, I can easily get down thinking about the ramifications of my actions, I can just as easily feel inspired about the work I am doing to spread the message in and around the Nashville area.
That's what gets me through the hard times.
I am court-ordered to speak twice a year, on Mr. McCreery's birthday, Feb. 10, and on the anniversary of the accident, Oct. 22, but I do it as often as possible.
I believe that God can work through me to make a difference.
So, when I think about the mission, if you will, nothing else matters.
I am inspired when I hear mothers come to me and tell me how their teenage sons kicked a drug habit after hearing my speech.
I know I must be doing something right.
God is working through me to make all of this possible.
Without his blessing, without the Holy Spirit leading, guiding and directing my words and my path, there can be no stories like that one to be told.
...
I recently read the book of Jonah in the Bible.
He was the one who ran from the Lord, and ended up being thrown into the sea and swallowed into the belly of a big fish for his disobedience.
I could relate to the rebellion, and the ultimate humility that took place in that man of God's heart.
For it is only through our humility and our willingness to turn our will and lives over to a higher power that we will be happy, joyous and free. Self sacrifice and service to others also play a vital role in that transformation.
I don't make this stuff up. I have lived it.
You would be amazed at the good things that will happen if you are willing to let the God of your understanding take the wheel.
So, I guess what I am trying to say here is that I have realized I am not in charge of my own destiny.
God is.
And he can be in charge of yours, too, if you let him.
...
If you take nothing else away from this blog, please remember what happened to Eddie McCreery, what happened to me, what happened to my children, Kristen, Ian and Kavanaugh, and think about your loved ones.
Are you willing to lay your addictions, your habits and hangups down, and seek God's help?
All it takes is this simple prayer: "God help me."
Then, take action.
Go to inpatient or outpatient rehab, if you can. Find recovery at a local NA or AA clubhouse.
Get a sponsor. Work a program, and be accountable for your actions.
Ask for God to lead, guide and direct your paths.
He will never leave you or forsake you.
Amen.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
My second Christmas in jail
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Three years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
A slow cold drizzle was falling outside the Davidson County Jail for women when I was released a little more than 24 hours ago.
I borrowed one of the facility's coats to keep from getting soaking wet as I exited one building in the complex and entered another to hand over my laundry and receive my clothing and property, upon release.
A female deputy escorted me to the jail's facade, where my mom and two nieces were waiting just inside the door. Across the parking lot, my kids were waiting inside my parent's van.
My mom, Kathy, lit up when she saw me. She was all fixed up with her traditional blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick. I said, "Mom." She said, "Hi." Then, she embraced me and said, "I love you."
I said, "I love you, too."
...
Leaving is always the best part. I won't lie.
It's not a place anyone wants to be.
The food is bad. The sleep is horrible, and the deputies are in perpetually bad moods.
If that ain't enough to drive you crazy, then being deprived of mental health medications you need to survive, loneliness or isolation will get you.
And that's what happened to me for most of the week I spent during my second Christmas behind bars.
I retreated from everyone around me for 75 percent of the time I was there.
Without my medication for post-traumatic stress disorder, something I was diagnosed with after the wreck; my non-narcotic anxiety medication; and the medicine I was prescribed by a psychiatrist in August because I couldn't sleep after Perry died; I was absolutely miserable, most of the time.
...
I've heard the comment made, "Well, jail isn't supposed to be the Holiday Inn."
Well, no, it's not. I wholeheartedly agree. I'm there to serve my time.
But you see, there's a little thing called the Mental Health Act in the U.S., which requires jails to administer mental health medications to inmates while they are incarcerated.
The Davidson County Jail's psychiatrist took one look at a written note from my psychiatrist stating that 'if I did not stay on this list of medications continuously, I could decompensate and require emergency care' and simply ignored it.
That doctor only approved two of my prescribed medications, without knowing the first thing about my mental history, how long I had been taking the medicine that was being denied or any other information that would help him or her make that decision.
I met with the mental health department official at the jail who explained to me that the facility doesn't treat any inmate for sleep or anxiety, only for illnesses the facility's psychiatrist determines to be organic, with no possibility of change.
Also, in most every case, inmates who serve short periods of time, or "weekenders," do not get any mental health medications, whether they serve two or 45 days, according to the mental health official at the jail.
An inmate is an inmate, regardless of the length of the time they get to serve for their crime.
I believe the jail is following its own interpretation of the federal law. The policy does not seem fair to me, or that it would meet the spirit of the act.
Is the treatment being performed adequate according to federal statute?
That's the looming question.
And I intend to find out the answer.
...
In my case, I am a weekender, who is in jail a week every six months. You might say to yourself, "you can go a week without your medications. It won't kill you."
Maybe. Maybe not.
One of those medications is a blood pressure pill, but it is used for PTSD.
Can you imagine not giving a blood pressure pill to a heart patient for a week?
Forget about me for a minute.
There are women in that jail who are suffering everyday because some jackass can't pick up a pen and put his or her name on a piece of paper and prescribe what she needs to survive.
And since I am dually-diagnosed with mental health issues and addiction, I know that the majority of the women who are incarcerated for alcohol or drugs also take mental health meds.
I witnessed the number of women who were present at med-pass, when medications are disbursed at the jail.
If I didn't get my nighttime medications, I can't even imagine how many of the 900-some-odd women have to suffer at some level because a psychiatrist at the jail thought, 'Oh. She'll be alright without that one.'
Needless to say, I'm pissed that this is happening, not only to me but to a lot of women who are incarcerated.
You see, they are not bad people. They just made mistakes.
Addiction is a bitch. I knew her well.
It's just that I have a life plan now that helps me put the plug in the jug, drop to my knees on the floor and focus my eyes and heart on God.
...
And I have to say that even in that cold, concrete-walled up institution, I found God.
He was waiting to help me; all I had to do was ask.
Every night, when I would toss and turn for hours and cry about Perry, I would cry out to the Lord to help me get through it.
And every morning, I'd wake up and find that I got some sleep, although it wasn't as much as I was accustomed to getting.
I found God every day during our recovery meetings, where the women would sometimes pour out their hearts, saying they didn't know how to stay sober. Others would vow to stay away from old playmates and playgrounds.
Listening to them all, I lifted them up in prayer. Pragmatically, I knew they wouldn't all make it, but I still hoped.
...
And then the night before I left, I attended a church meeting that held me together until it was time to go home.
Raising my hands up, I surrendered to the Lord's will and praised his name.
I read the Word of God.
Finding myself enjoying it, I forgot where I was and just focused on the light of the world.
Something happened to me that night.
In my bunk later, I prayed God would make me a vessel for his will.
I prayed that He would let me know when to speak out and when to be humble.
In treatment three years ago, we played a card game with angel cards and my angel said I was a light worker, someone who helps other people through their work.
As a former journalist, that made sense to me.
So, today I am just waiting for my next assignment.
And I look forward to letting my light shine.
Amen.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Three years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
A slow cold drizzle was falling outside the Davidson County Jail for women when I was released a little more than 24 hours ago.
I borrowed one of the facility's coats to keep from getting soaking wet as I exited one building in the complex and entered another to hand over my laundry and receive my clothing and property, upon release.
A female deputy escorted me to the jail's facade, where my mom and two nieces were waiting just inside the door. Across the parking lot, my kids were waiting inside my parent's van.
My mom, Kathy, lit up when she saw me. She was all fixed up with her traditional blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick. I said, "Mom." She said, "Hi." Then, she embraced me and said, "I love you."
I said, "I love you, too."
...
Leaving is always the best part. I won't lie.
It's not a place anyone wants to be.
The food is bad. The sleep is horrible, and the deputies are in perpetually bad moods.
If that ain't enough to drive you crazy, then being deprived of mental health medications you need to survive, loneliness or isolation will get you.
And that's what happened to me for most of the week I spent during my second Christmas behind bars.
I retreated from everyone around me for 75 percent of the time I was there.
Without my medication for post-traumatic stress disorder, something I was diagnosed with after the wreck; my non-narcotic anxiety medication; and the medicine I was prescribed by a psychiatrist in August because I couldn't sleep after Perry died; I was absolutely miserable, most of the time.
...
I've heard the comment made, "Well, jail isn't supposed to be the Holiday Inn."
Well, no, it's not. I wholeheartedly agree. I'm there to serve my time.
But you see, there's a little thing called the Mental Health Act in the U.S., which requires jails to administer mental health medications to inmates while they are incarcerated.
The Davidson County Jail's psychiatrist took one look at a written note from my psychiatrist stating that 'if I did not stay on this list of medications continuously, I could decompensate and require emergency care' and simply ignored it.
That doctor only approved two of my prescribed medications, without knowing the first thing about my mental history, how long I had been taking the medicine that was being denied or any other information that would help him or her make that decision.
I met with the mental health department official at the jail who explained to me that the facility doesn't treat any inmate for sleep or anxiety, only for illnesses the facility's psychiatrist determines to be organic, with no possibility of change.
Also, in most every case, inmates who serve short periods of time, or "weekenders," do not get any mental health medications, whether they serve two or 45 days, according to the mental health official at the jail.
An inmate is an inmate, regardless of the length of the time they get to serve for their crime.
I believe the jail is following its own interpretation of the federal law. The policy does not seem fair to me, or that it would meet the spirit of the act.
Is the treatment being performed adequate according to federal statute?
That's the looming question.
And I intend to find out the answer.
...
In my case, I am a weekender, who is in jail a week every six months. You might say to yourself, "you can go a week without your medications. It won't kill you."
Maybe. Maybe not.
One of those medications is a blood pressure pill, but it is used for PTSD.
Can you imagine not giving a blood pressure pill to a heart patient for a week?
Forget about me for a minute.
There are women in that jail who are suffering everyday because some jackass can't pick up a pen and put his or her name on a piece of paper and prescribe what she needs to survive.
And since I am dually-diagnosed with mental health issues and addiction, I know that the majority of the women who are incarcerated for alcohol or drugs also take mental health meds.
I witnessed the number of women who were present at med-pass, when medications are disbursed at the jail.
If I didn't get my nighttime medications, I can't even imagine how many of the 900-some-odd women have to suffer at some level because a psychiatrist at the jail thought, 'Oh. She'll be alright without that one.'
Needless to say, I'm pissed that this is happening, not only to me but to a lot of women who are incarcerated.
You see, they are not bad people. They just made mistakes.
Addiction is a bitch. I knew her well.
It's just that I have a life plan now that helps me put the plug in the jug, drop to my knees on the floor and focus my eyes and heart on God.
...
And I have to say that even in that cold, concrete-walled up institution, I found God.
He was waiting to help me; all I had to do was ask.
Every night, when I would toss and turn for hours and cry about Perry, I would cry out to the Lord to help me get through it.
And every morning, I'd wake up and find that I got some sleep, although it wasn't as much as I was accustomed to getting.
I found God every day during our recovery meetings, where the women would sometimes pour out their hearts, saying they didn't know how to stay sober. Others would vow to stay away from old playmates and playgrounds.
Listening to them all, I lifted them up in prayer. Pragmatically, I knew they wouldn't all make it, but I still hoped.
...
And then the night before I left, I attended a church meeting that held me together until it was time to go home.
Raising my hands up, I surrendered to the Lord's will and praised his name.
I read the Word of God.
Finding myself enjoying it, I forgot where I was and just focused on the light of the world.
Something happened to me that night.
In my bunk later, I prayed God would make me a vessel for his will.
I prayed that He would let me know when to speak out and when to be humble.
In treatment three years ago, we played a card game with angel cards and my angel said I was a light worker, someone who helps other people through their work.
As a former journalist, that made sense to me.
So, today I am just waiting for my next assignment.
And I look forward to letting my light shine.
Amen.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
It's almost time for jail again
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Two years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
A week from Friday I'll be turning myself in again for a week stint in the Davidson County jail.
That's a consequence of my actions. I drove drunk, hit and killed Eddy McCreery and left the scene without even knowing what I had done.
That was a little more than three years ago. I haven't had a drop to drink or any drugs since.
With only a few days left, this is about the time where I start wishing the hours and the days would be longer, longer so that the inevitable - my incarceration - wouldn't happen again.
Back in the recesses of my mind, I know this isn't feasible and I can't fool myself for long.
But for today, I'm free and that's a blessing.
...
I got a new probation officer recently, and she told me there is a woman on her caseload who committed vehicular homicide. She's in jail. She was driving the wrong way on I-24 and caused someone's death.
She got a 10-year sentence, the same as mine, but she has to serve two years of it day for day.
I am so grateful not to be locked up for that length of time. I'm grateful to Mr. McCreery's family, who
must have agreed with the district attorney to offer me my sentence.
I have some special conditions. I go to jail every six months for a week, at Christmas and at Father's Day. I am required to speak on my victim's birthday and the anniversary of the accident. I have to attend recovery
meetings every week. I had 240 hours of community service, which I have completed.
...
The speaking engagements have really been a healing experience for me.
Although I am required to speak twice a year, I do it as often as possible. I had about 14 dates last year.
These talks help me because I walk around with the knowledge everyday that I unwittingly, drunkenly, ran over and killed a husband and a father, a brother and an uncle.
That's hard to live with.
For the first two years, I couldn't get out of bed and face myself in the mirror let alone my family members and friends.
But for an hour each time I speak I get to let you in. I get to reveal the path of destruction I blazed through two families.
I get to pour out my heart and soul to a captive audience about what addiction looks like, who it hurts,
the lasting ramifications of my poor choices on the innocent sons and daughters, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters.
Sound like it would be gut-wrenching to relive it again and again?
Guess what? It's just the opposite.
It's the best thing I have ever done for myself. By focusing less and less on myself and more and more on the message of what can happen if you drink and drive, I am becoming whole again.
...
My mission today is not to recruit people for the recovery program in which I participate.
It's not to teach you how to get sober.
I'm not really interested in divulging the particulars of how I achieved three years of continuous sobriety.
What I am focused on today is sharing my experience, strength and hope.
In gritty detail, I will show you what self-sabotage looks like and how one moment in time derailed the life of someone who was living the dream with a great job, three wonderful kids and what one popular women's magazine calls "epic love."
What you do with that is your business.
I will always hope that you commit my story to your hearts and minds, and make good choices that will lead you down the right roads to prosperity, love and peace.
I'll be in a location near you sharing my story. Next month, I was invited to speak at three different locations.
I am donating my time for the cause.
Spread the word, and help me reduce drunk-driving fatalities.
Thank you Lord for the opportunities. Amen.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Two years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
A week from Friday I'll be turning myself in again for a week stint in the Davidson County jail.
That's a consequence of my actions. I drove drunk, hit and killed Eddy McCreery and left the scene without even knowing what I had done.
That was a little more than three years ago. I haven't had a drop to drink or any drugs since.
With only a few days left, this is about the time where I start wishing the hours and the days would be longer, longer so that the inevitable - my incarceration - wouldn't happen again.
Back in the recesses of my mind, I know this isn't feasible and I can't fool myself for long.
But for today, I'm free and that's a blessing.
...
I got a new probation officer recently, and she told me there is a woman on her caseload who committed vehicular homicide. She's in jail. She was driving the wrong way on I-24 and caused someone's death.
She got a 10-year sentence, the same as mine, but she has to serve two years of it day for day.
I am so grateful not to be locked up for that length of time. I'm grateful to Mr. McCreery's family, who
must have agreed with the district attorney to offer me my sentence.
I have some special conditions. I go to jail every six months for a week, at Christmas and at Father's Day. I am required to speak on my victim's birthday and the anniversary of the accident. I have to attend recovery
meetings every week. I had 240 hours of community service, which I have completed.
...
The speaking engagements have really been a healing experience for me.
Although I am required to speak twice a year, I do it as often as possible. I had about 14 dates last year.
These talks help me because I walk around with the knowledge everyday that I unwittingly, drunkenly, ran over and killed a husband and a father, a brother and an uncle.
That's hard to live with.
For the first two years, I couldn't get out of bed and face myself in the mirror let alone my family members and friends.
But for an hour each time I speak I get to let you in. I get to reveal the path of destruction I blazed through two families.
I get to pour out my heart and soul to a captive audience about what addiction looks like, who it hurts,
the lasting ramifications of my poor choices on the innocent sons and daughters, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters.
Sound like it would be gut-wrenching to relive it again and again?
Guess what? It's just the opposite.
It's the best thing I have ever done for myself. By focusing less and less on myself and more and more on the message of what can happen if you drink and drive, I am becoming whole again.
...
My mission today is not to recruit people for the recovery program in which I participate.
It's not to teach you how to get sober.
I'm not really interested in divulging the particulars of how I achieved three years of continuous sobriety.
What I am focused on today is sharing my experience, strength and hope.
In gritty detail, I will show you what self-sabotage looks like and how one moment in time derailed the life of someone who was living the dream with a great job, three wonderful kids and what one popular women's magazine calls "epic love."
What you do with that is your business.
I will always hope that you commit my story to your hearts and minds, and make good choices that will lead you down the right roads to prosperity, love and peace.
I'll be in a location near you sharing my story. Next month, I was invited to speak at three different locations.
I am donating my time for the cause.
Spread the word, and help me reduce drunk-driving fatalities.
Thank you Lord for the opportunities. Amen.
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