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.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Preparing mentally for high school students
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.
In about a month, I will be facing high school students again to tell them about my tragic mistake.
It's always a sobering experience to relive the last days of my 20-year career with alcohol and drugs, culminating with the insertion of my keys into my ignition one more time for a ride down I-40 West that resulted in Eddy McCreery's death.
It sounds like it would be hard for me to do, but it's not.
I have told my story so many times in the last three years that it comes naturally.
The biggest thing it does is that it gets me out of myself.
I need that so desperately right now.
Perry Baggs III, the love of my life for 12 years, died two months ago.
It's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.
I know how the McCreerys must have felt when their loved one was ripped out of their lives in an instant since that's what happened to me.
...
Whenever I go on these speaking engagements, I share my experience, strength and hope.
My experience this year will be different since the one person who loved me as much as my children do is no longer alive.
Dealing with a sudden death of a loved one is hard, but losing a significant other is a whole other kind of melancholy.
It's unbearable. It's debilitating, and no one around me understands what I am going through.
What I hope to weave into my delivery to the teenagers this year is that I know what it must be like for the McCreerys.
They will never get to pick up the phone and call Eddy.
He can't go out to eat with them anymore.
There will be no Christmases or Father's Days with his daughter anymore.
Death separates us from our loved ones.
I separated Eddy's family from him by causing his death.
And now, I've been separated from Perry until God calls me home.
...
I hope my suffering will make my presentation more compelling.
God gave me this testimony for a reason.
I intend to use it to tell every teenager I can about what alcohol and drugs did to my life and to the lives of Eddy McCreery and his family members.
Some cheap Chardonnay and half of a one-milligram Xanax cost us all.
It's my fault.
At some point in nearly three years, I had to decide whether I was going to lay down and die over the guilt I feel over Eddy's death, or go on living somehow, someway.
I chose the latter.
...
Each day, I make myself get out of bed, even though I'd rather lay there under the covers, all snuggled up so that I can grieve and hurt over Perry.
There's something to be said about walking through the pain.
God has a way of helping those who choose to help themselves.
In turn, we pass it along by helping other people.
That's part of what keeps me sober, one day at a time.
I pray that the students I speak to this year won't have to go through what I have to develop this wisdom.
I hope they apply my story to their hearts and minds, and that they tell somebody they care about.
I pray this prayer in Jesus' name.
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.
In about a month, I will be facing high school students again to tell them about my tragic mistake.
It's always a sobering experience to relive the last days of my 20-year career with alcohol and drugs, culminating with the insertion of my keys into my ignition one more time for a ride down I-40 West that resulted in Eddy McCreery's death.
It sounds like it would be hard for me to do, but it's not.
I have told my story so many times in the last three years that it comes naturally.
The biggest thing it does is that it gets me out of myself.
I need that so desperately right now.
Perry Baggs III, the love of my life for 12 years, died two months ago.
It's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.
I know how the McCreerys must have felt when their loved one was ripped out of their lives in an instant since that's what happened to me.
...
Whenever I go on these speaking engagements, I share my experience, strength and hope.
My experience this year will be different since the one person who loved me as much as my children do is no longer alive.
Dealing with a sudden death of a loved one is hard, but losing a significant other is a whole other kind of melancholy.
It's unbearable. It's debilitating, and no one around me understands what I am going through.
What I hope to weave into my delivery to the teenagers this year is that I know what it must be like for the McCreerys.
They will never get to pick up the phone and call Eddy.
He can't go out to eat with them anymore.
There will be no Christmases or Father's Days with his daughter anymore.
Death separates us from our loved ones.
I separated Eddy's family from him by causing his death.
And now, I've been separated from Perry until God calls me home.
...
I hope my suffering will make my presentation more compelling.
God gave me this testimony for a reason.
I intend to use it to tell every teenager I can about what alcohol and drugs did to my life and to the lives of Eddy McCreery and his family members.
Some cheap Chardonnay and half of a one-milligram Xanax cost us all.
It's my fault.
At some point in nearly three years, I had to decide whether I was going to lay down and die over the guilt I feel over Eddy's death, or go on living somehow, someway.
I chose the latter.
...
Each day, I make myself get out of bed, even though I'd rather lay there under the covers, all snuggled up so that I can grieve and hurt over Perry.
There's something to be said about walking through the pain.
God has a way of helping those who choose to help themselves.
In turn, we pass it along by helping other people.
That's part of what keeps me sober, one day at a time.
I pray that the students I speak to this year won't have to go through what I have to develop this wisdom.
I hope they apply my story to their hearts and minds, and that they tell somebody they care about.
I pray this prayer in Jesus' name.
Amen.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
My 20-year high school reunion
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.
It's been nearly three years since I made a fatal mistake that took Eddy McCreery's life, and changed the lives of two families forever.
And tonight, I celebrated my 20-year high school reunion, clean and sober
It was empowering to be in a room with a fully stocked bar, seeing folks with various concoctions of all kinds in their hands, knowing that today I don't have to pick up a drink.
For me in my recovery today, there's nothing a drink or drug would make any better.
Not that there wasn't temptation.
I spotted a lonely bottle of Chambord - my favorite, expensive raspberry liqueur - on the bar surrounded by glasses of various shapes and sizes.
And I remembered what it was like to make my famous purple hooters. A couple I know was enjoying Blue Moons.
The last three years of my drinking career flashed before my eyes.
For most of my teens and early 20s, I was really shy. That is, unless I was under the influence of something.
Then, I could talk to you about anything under the sun: life, love, fears, hopes and dreams. And I did.
In my thirties, I was going out to bars and socializing, Then, I was driving home.
I thought about everything last night. I thought about how it was initially fun to drink and use marijuana.
I thought about the last three years of my active addiction, which were one big drunken haze and cloud of smoke.
Finally, my mind went there.
...
I saw myself walking down the street, jumping into my car and driving away. I remembered how I couldn't read the interstate signs, and how eventually I saw a sign that said "Nashville Airport," and I knew I was going the wrong way.I fell asleep at the wheel just for a second. Then, there was an impact.
I knew I had hit something, but when my car came to a rest on the side of the road, I didn't see anything and I drove away.
I ended up at Opry Mills Mall, where I passed out again at the wheel. I woke up to handcuffs being placed on my wrists.
Detained in a patrol car, I could see the officers shining lights on my car. I didn't know why they were doing that.
They had me do field-sobriety tasks, which they said I failed.
An officer asked me a bunch of questions.
And at some point, the police decided to transport me to Nashville General Hospital to get a blood-alcohol test to determine the level of my intoxication.
It was at that time that I asked the officer, "Am I being arrested for DUI?"
The officer said, "No, you're being arrested for vehicular homicide by intoxication and leaving the scene of a fatality."
I went into shock like a deer in the headlights.
As soon as I got to the police station, there was a television on, and it was playing a story all about me and my charges.
It was like my worst nightmare was being played out for all of Nashville to see.
...
I eventually made it home to my mom and dad's, and laid in a fetal position on the couch all day.
In the next two weeks, four news stories about me and my charges played on all the television news stations, before I made my initial court appearance.
I was having it rough.
Not only did a man die and his family's life was altered forever, my life and my family's lives were also forever changed.
I got suspended from work. My award-winning journalism career was gone overnight.
The kids had to go live with their dad since I no longer had any income to pay for the rent and gas to take them to school in White House.
My car was impounded, and three years later, it's still there.
I lost the home I had rented for 12 years because the money to pay rent was no longer available.
Everything I knew as my normal was gone overnight.
After two weeks of having to deal with the fallout of my actions and the fact that I had likely killed someone and didn't remember it, I just wanted to end my life, too.
I told my parents I wanted to slit my wrists.
They took me to Parthenon Pavilion. It saved my life.
There, I was diagnosed with a couple of mental illnesses, for which I receive treatment. And there I learned about the program of recovery for the first time.
...
A couple of people brought a recovery meeting to the hospital.
They shared their experience, strength and hope with me. They began to tell me things like, "Get a sponsor. Do 90 meetings in 90 days. Read the Big Book. Pray and meditate. Try to help out another alcoholic or addict."
I have done these things to the best of my ability for the last 34 months.
On my own, I went to rehab at Cumberland Heights. I went to inpatient and outpatient programs there.
I learned about the disease of alcoholism, how it's a disease of the mind and the body that primarily centers in the mind.
Oh, and there's a thing called the phenomenon of craving.
That's where you take a substance into your body. Then, your body just craves more and more of that substance before you put it into your body again.
You become like a hamster on the wheel, chasing your addiction around.
For me, ending a man's life landed me on Step 0.
That's "this s*** has to stop"
I liken it to being dunked head-first into a creek. You know how cold that is?
Well, that's what happened to me by having to get sober after causing someone's death.
...
A miracle happened this week that allowed me to be a part of the 20-year high school reunion at all.
You see, I am not supposed to be in any kind of a bar. I signed probation paperwork stating that I had to stay away from such establishments.
And I had my first meeting this week with a brand-new probation officer.
Last year, I was on Community Corrections, an intensive probation program. This month, I started state probation, which is a little less strict.
I had to buy my tickets in the time between completing one program and beginning another. I thought to myself, 'Should I go and hope I don't get caught?'
Ultimately, I did the right thing, and asked my probation officer for her permission. She, in turn, asked for Judge Mark Fishburn's consent.
He e-mailed my p.o. the same day, and let her know that I could go. He said, 'You can go. Just don't drink.'
"Hey. No problem," I thought.
Thinking about spending the next 10 years of my life in a cell is a big incentive to stay straight.
But today, I also want to be sober as well.
...
I thought about all of this during various points of the night.
I actually got to share my testimony with a select few people at the reunion, wherever it was appropriate.
Hopefully, I got some people to think.
Everybody thinks they're invincible when it comes to drinking and driving.
I always did.
"It won't happen to me," they say.
I'm here to tell you, "It can happen. It DID happen to me."
As looked around, I saw toasts being made.
There was the general merriment that goes along with an alcohol-fueled party of any sort.
Everybody just loves everybody.
And that's great.
I ain't hating on nobody.
If I hadn't had my accident, I would have been one of them. I guarantee you that.
I couldn't help but wonder how many people were actually riding in a cab after leaving the event.
That's the responsible thing to do, unless you have a sober ride.
When you drive impaired, you're taking your life and lives of everyone else on the road into your hands.
Trust me.
That's not the kind of responsibility you want to sign up for.
I found myself praying silently that everyone would make it home safely, without accidents or DUIs.
And I was proud to be a part of the group.
I was grateful that I didn't have to compromise my morals, my new way of life, to be a part of the crowd.
Today, my life is about being sober, one day at a time.
It's a wonderful life. It really is.
If you want sobriety, there are three things to remember:
Don't drink.
Reach up for God. Then, reach out for other people.
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.
It's been nearly three years since I made a fatal mistake that took Eddy McCreery's life, and changed the lives of two families forever.
And tonight, I celebrated my 20-year high school reunion, clean and sober
It was empowering to be in a room with a fully stocked bar, seeing folks with various concoctions of all kinds in their hands, knowing that today I don't have to pick up a drink.
For me in my recovery today, there's nothing a drink or drug would make any better.
Not that there wasn't temptation.
I spotted a lonely bottle of Chambord - my favorite, expensive raspberry liqueur - on the bar surrounded by glasses of various shapes and sizes.
And I remembered what it was like to make my famous purple hooters. A couple I know was enjoying Blue Moons.
The last three years of my drinking career flashed before my eyes.
For most of my teens and early 20s, I was really shy. That is, unless I was under the influence of something.
Then, I could talk to you about anything under the sun: life, love, fears, hopes and dreams. And I did.
In my thirties, I was going out to bars and socializing, Then, I was driving home.
I thought about everything last night. I thought about how it was initially fun to drink and use marijuana.
I thought about the last three years of my active addiction, which were one big drunken haze and cloud of smoke.
Finally, my mind went there.
...
I saw myself walking down the street, jumping into my car and driving away. I remembered how I couldn't read the interstate signs, and how eventually I saw a sign that said "Nashville Airport," and I knew I was going the wrong way.I fell asleep at the wheel just for a second. Then, there was an impact.
I knew I had hit something, but when my car came to a rest on the side of the road, I didn't see anything and I drove away.
I ended up at Opry Mills Mall, where I passed out again at the wheel. I woke up to handcuffs being placed on my wrists.
Detained in a patrol car, I could see the officers shining lights on my car. I didn't know why they were doing that.
They had me do field-sobriety tasks, which they said I failed.
An officer asked me a bunch of questions.
And at some point, the police decided to transport me to Nashville General Hospital to get a blood-alcohol test to determine the level of my intoxication.
It was at that time that I asked the officer, "Am I being arrested for DUI?"
The officer said, "No, you're being arrested for vehicular homicide by intoxication and leaving the scene of a fatality."
I went into shock like a deer in the headlights.
As soon as I got to the police station, there was a television on, and it was playing a story all about me and my charges.
It was like my worst nightmare was being played out for all of Nashville to see.
...
I eventually made it home to my mom and dad's, and laid in a fetal position on the couch all day.
In the next two weeks, four news stories about me and my charges played on all the television news stations, before I made my initial court appearance.
I was having it rough.
Not only did a man die and his family's life was altered forever, my life and my family's lives were also forever changed.
I got suspended from work. My award-winning journalism career was gone overnight.
The kids had to go live with their dad since I no longer had any income to pay for the rent and gas to take them to school in White House.
My car was impounded, and three years later, it's still there.
I lost the home I had rented for 12 years because the money to pay rent was no longer available.
Everything I knew as my normal was gone overnight.
After two weeks of having to deal with the fallout of my actions and the fact that I had likely killed someone and didn't remember it, I just wanted to end my life, too.
I told my parents I wanted to slit my wrists.
They took me to Parthenon Pavilion. It saved my life.
There, I was diagnosed with a couple of mental illnesses, for which I receive treatment. And there I learned about the program of recovery for the first time.
...
A couple of people brought a recovery meeting to the hospital.
They shared their experience, strength and hope with me. They began to tell me things like, "Get a sponsor. Do 90 meetings in 90 days. Read the Big Book. Pray and meditate. Try to help out another alcoholic or addict."
I have done these things to the best of my ability for the last 34 months.
On my own, I went to rehab at Cumberland Heights. I went to inpatient and outpatient programs there.
I learned about the disease of alcoholism, how it's a disease of the mind and the body that primarily centers in the mind.
Oh, and there's a thing called the phenomenon of craving.
That's where you take a substance into your body. Then, your body just craves more and more of that substance before you put it into your body again.
You become like a hamster on the wheel, chasing your addiction around.
For me, ending a man's life landed me on Step 0.
That's "this s*** has to stop"
I liken it to being dunked head-first into a creek. You know how cold that is?
Well, that's what happened to me by having to get sober after causing someone's death.
...
A miracle happened this week that allowed me to be a part of the 20-year high school reunion at all.
You see, I am not supposed to be in any kind of a bar. I signed probation paperwork stating that I had to stay away from such establishments.
And I had my first meeting this week with a brand-new probation officer.
Last year, I was on Community Corrections, an intensive probation program. This month, I started state probation, which is a little less strict.
I had to buy my tickets in the time between completing one program and beginning another. I thought to myself, 'Should I go and hope I don't get caught?'
Ultimately, I did the right thing, and asked my probation officer for her permission. She, in turn, asked for Judge Mark Fishburn's consent.
He e-mailed my p.o. the same day, and let her know that I could go. He said, 'You can go. Just don't drink.'
"Hey. No problem," I thought.
Thinking about spending the next 10 years of my life in a cell is a big incentive to stay straight.
But today, I also want to be sober as well.
...
I thought about all of this during various points of the night.
I actually got to share my testimony with a select few people at the reunion, wherever it was appropriate.
Hopefully, I got some people to think.
Everybody thinks they're invincible when it comes to drinking and driving.
I always did.
"It won't happen to me," they say.
I'm here to tell you, "It can happen. It DID happen to me."
As looked around, I saw toasts being made.
There was the general merriment that goes along with an alcohol-fueled party of any sort.
Everybody just loves everybody.
And that's great.
I ain't hating on nobody.
If I hadn't had my accident, I would have been one of them. I guarantee you that.
I couldn't help but wonder how many people were actually riding in a cab after leaving the event.
That's the responsible thing to do, unless you have a sober ride.
When you drive impaired, you're taking your life and lives of everyone else on the road into your hands.
Trust me.
That's not the kind of responsibility you want to sign up for.
I found myself praying silently that everyone would make it home safely, without accidents or DUIs.
And I was proud to be a part of the group.
I was grateful that I didn't have to compromise my morals, my new way of life, to be a part of the crowd.
Today, my life is about being sober, one day at a time.
It's a wonderful life. It really is.
If you want sobriety, there are three things to remember:
Don't drink.
Reach up for God. Then, reach out for other people.
Amen.
...
Monday, June 25, 2012
Second and THIRD incarceration
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.
Tonight, I was released after spending five days in jail. I initially reported for my incarceration on Friday, June 15, and was mistakenly released two days later. I asked the officer in the pod, "Am I being transferred to a different pod?" He said, "No, you're being released." I didn't ask ANY more questions. I just rolled with it. I went back to work the next day, and two days later, the Sheriff's Department showed up at work and basically said, "My bad. You have to come back and do your five days." That part went as well as it could have. I was at work, and my sister called. I answered the phone in the break room, and she said, "The Sheriff's Department is on their way up there." I said, "Are you serious?" My friend, Miss Ann, was there, and she was like an angel. I was basically in shock, and she helped me clock out, get my purse and lunch and go and wait for the Sheriff's Department to come to my work. I thought they were going to arrest me so I went to the foyer of the business and waited. The officer came in the foyer of the business in plain clothes. He didn't have his badge, handcuffs or his gun, and he just talked to me like a human being. That was God. He said I could work the rest of the day and to report to CDC by 6-6:30 p.m. that evening. So, I did as I was told.
I got there, and had to wait in the lobby for 3 1/2 hours before being taken to intake to get my uniform and laundry bag with toiletries. One good thing was that I got to go right back to the P pod, the same pod I was in before, and many of the women I met initially were still there. Like Catherine, who was initially the pod rep when I reported on Friday. I was on my period when I went in and was bleeding so badly that I bled through my pants. She asked the officer on duty to get me another pair. I appreciated that so much. Simple kindnesses like that were extended to me the entire time I was there by the women in the p pod, also known as the recovery or treatment pod. I made so many friends: Catherine, Terrie, Aleta, Tomika, Georgia, Rachel, Portia, Gayle, Robin, Paula, Pauline. I just know I am leaving somebody out. But know this: you all MEAN (present tense) something to me.
I could fill this space with complaints about the food, guards with a bad attitude, not getting my medication as planned for in advance between my probation officer and the medical staff at the jail, not getting to watch movies during the daytime, having to follow rules of a program that I was not a part of, etc. But I won't. I'd rather use this space to talk about the highlights of my stay this go-around.
Portia, thank you for making me laugh so loud when we were on lock-down. I'll always remember: "Rehab for WEEEED?! And talking about trifling, tragic-ass guards.
I'll always remember the night I got to give my testimony in the AA meeting, start to finish. I had chill bumps from head to toe as I shared how God saved me from 12-36 years in prison, how he uses me to talk to teenagers, people in treatment centers and in jails about my experience, and how he's restoring me one day at a time. As a result, five women asked me to be their sponsor. I consider that a blessing and a privilege.
I'll always remember being banned from the next AA meeting simply because I am a "weekender" and not in the program. As a result, I went to my cell and sang my lungs out. My roommate, Portia, told me women were breaking their necks to look around and try to figure out where that singing was coming from. We laughed so hard about that because there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. By the next night, I had the pod rep's permission to attend the meeting.
I'll always remember the church service Trevecca Community Church sponsored on Sunday night. Those that know me well know God gave me a talent to sing, and I sang from my heart that night. I knew all the words to "Jesus Take the Wheel," "Your Great Name" and "What Love Really Means." It was a release to be able to praise God with the talent he gave me.
I'll always remember those last few minutes, watching the clock, waiting for them to call my name. I was supposed to get out at 6:20 p.m. Fifteen minutes later, I was still in lockup. You always get nervous, and start to think, 'well, they're just going to keep me here.' It didn't happen. The guard called my name, and you never saw somebody sprint up the stairs so fast to get her stuff. I was already packed, and just had to grab my covers off the top bunk.
The walk down the hill toward intake was so glorious. You just know that freedom is on the other side. I hurriedly signed papers, threw my laundry into a bin and got my clothes back on. My mom, my nieces, Kasey, Aaliyah and Trista were waiting for me outside. Hugging my dad, and saying "I made it," is something I'll always remember.
Now, I look forward to the next chapter. I am going to lead five of the women I met through the 12 steps. One of them gets out on Saturday. I can't wait to sit down and talk with her on the other side. My program today is about reaching out for other people and reaching up for God. It's also about sharing my experience, strength and hope. Trying to bless someone else the way I have been blessed. I say, 'come on with me. Share this journey.'
I no longer wallow in the mire of misery I created for myself when I killed Eddy McCreery in a drunk-driving accident. I will always feel sad about that, but I can never change it. So, what I do now is try to make a living amends to him and to myself by living better, sober, one day at a time, and trying to help as many people through this experience as I can. Someone told me about six months ago that Eddy was in recovery. I don't know if that's true or not. I do know this. Together, we are saving hundreds of lives through this tragedy that binds us together. He did not die in vain. His death today stands for a message not to drink or take drugs and drive. And somehow I know that we're going to have the opportunity to talk about this in heaven. That makes me smile. Somehow, I know he's up there smiling, too. Thank you, God, 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.
Tonight, I was released after spending five days in jail. I initially reported for my incarceration on Friday, June 15, and was mistakenly released two days later. I asked the officer in the pod, "Am I being transferred to a different pod?" He said, "No, you're being released." I didn't ask ANY more questions. I just rolled with it. I went back to work the next day, and two days later, the Sheriff's Department showed up at work and basically said, "My bad. You have to come back and do your five days." That part went as well as it could have. I was at work, and my sister called. I answered the phone in the break room, and she said, "The Sheriff's Department is on their way up there." I said, "Are you serious?" My friend, Miss Ann, was there, and she was like an angel. I was basically in shock, and she helped me clock out, get my purse and lunch and go and wait for the Sheriff's Department to come to my work. I thought they were going to arrest me so I went to the foyer of the business and waited. The officer came in the foyer of the business in plain clothes. He didn't have his badge, handcuffs or his gun, and he just talked to me like a human being. That was God. He said I could work the rest of the day and to report to CDC by 6-6:30 p.m. that evening. So, I did as I was told.
I got there, and had to wait in the lobby for 3 1/2 hours before being taken to intake to get my uniform and laundry bag with toiletries. One good thing was that I got to go right back to the P pod, the same pod I was in before, and many of the women I met initially were still there. Like Catherine, who was initially the pod rep when I reported on Friday. I was on my period when I went in and was bleeding so badly that I bled through my pants. She asked the officer on duty to get me another pair. I appreciated that so much. Simple kindnesses like that were extended to me the entire time I was there by the women in the p pod, also known as the recovery or treatment pod. I made so many friends: Catherine, Terrie, Aleta, Tomika, Georgia, Rachel, Portia, Gayle, Robin, Paula, Pauline. I just know I am leaving somebody out. But know this: you all MEAN (present tense) something to me.
I could fill this space with complaints about the food, guards with a bad attitude, not getting my medication as planned for in advance between my probation officer and the medical staff at the jail, not getting to watch movies during the daytime, having to follow rules of a program that I was not a part of, etc. But I won't. I'd rather use this space to talk about the highlights of my stay this go-around.
Portia, thank you for making me laugh so loud when we were on lock-down. I'll always remember: "Rehab for WEEEED?! And talking about trifling, tragic-ass guards.
I'll always remember the night I got to give my testimony in the AA meeting, start to finish. I had chill bumps from head to toe as I shared how God saved me from 12-36 years in prison, how he uses me to talk to teenagers, people in treatment centers and in jails about my experience, and how he's restoring me one day at a time. As a result, five women asked me to be their sponsor. I consider that a blessing and a privilege.
I'll always remember being banned from the next AA meeting simply because I am a "weekender" and not in the program. As a result, I went to my cell and sang my lungs out. My roommate, Portia, told me women were breaking their necks to look around and try to figure out where that singing was coming from. We laughed so hard about that because there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. By the next night, I had the pod rep's permission to attend the meeting.
I'll always remember the church service Trevecca Community Church sponsored on Sunday night. Those that know me well know God gave me a talent to sing, and I sang from my heart that night. I knew all the words to "Jesus Take the Wheel," "Your Great Name" and "What Love Really Means." It was a release to be able to praise God with the talent he gave me.
I'll always remember those last few minutes, watching the clock, waiting for them to call my name. I was supposed to get out at 6:20 p.m. Fifteen minutes later, I was still in lockup. You always get nervous, and start to think, 'well, they're just going to keep me here.' It didn't happen. The guard called my name, and you never saw somebody sprint up the stairs so fast to get her stuff. I was already packed, and just had to grab my covers off the top bunk.
The walk down the hill toward intake was so glorious. You just know that freedom is on the other side. I hurriedly signed papers, threw my laundry into a bin and got my clothes back on. My mom, my nieces, Kasey, Aaliyah and Trista were waiting for me outside. Hugging my dad, and saying "I made it," is something I'll always remember.
Now, I look forward to the next chapter. I am going to lead five of the women I met through the 12 steps. One of them gets out on Saturday. I can't wait to sit down and talk with her on the other side. My program today is about reaching out for other people and reaching up for God. It's also about sharing my experience, strength and hope. Trying to bless someone else the way I have been blessed. I say, 'come on with me. Share this journey.'
I no longer wallow in the mire of misery I created for myself when I killed Eddy McCreery in a drunk-driving accident. I will always feel sad about that, but I can never change it. So, what I do now is try to make a living amends to him and to myself by living better, sober, one day at a time, and trying to help as many people through this experience as I can. Someone told me about six months ago that Eddy was in recovery. I don't know if that's true or not. I do know this. Together, we are saving hundreds of lives through this tragedy that binds us together. He did not die in vain. His death today stands for a message not to drink or take drugs and drive. And somehow I know that we're going to have the opportunity to talk about this in heaven. That makes me smile. Somehow, I know he's up there smiling, too. Thank you, God, for the opportunities. Amen.
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