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.