"Guilty As Charged" Part III

Guilty As Charged Part III

February 19th, 2017

The Georgia Department Of Driver’s Services wasn’t very busy that Friday morning. I was in and out in about 15 minutes with a new paper copy of my State I.D. After the arrest for the second DUI, the officer had taken the hard copy of my license in accordance with the Georgia Administrative License Suspension Program. Of anyone, I was familiar with that program. I had initiated the same process at least a hundred times prior as a Trooper. I left the DDS facility, had lunch with my ex wife and pointed that white in color Dodge Ram Pickup northbound on I-75 towards London Kentucky. It was Friday, August 30^th. 2013. Although I didn’t mean to, I left exactly 9 years to do the day that I moved to Georgia from Kentucky. I was headed to Kentucky for the weekend. The plan was to return Sunday Afternoon.

I felt I needed the 3 days to hit the reset button. To clear my mind. To get away from the pointing fingers, the media, the pressure, the guilt, the shame, the truth. I didn’t see it this way at the time but I was running. Running away from the mess I had created. The chaos my drinking had brought. The Alcoholic decision making that was terrorizing those closest to me. Just a few days prior I had wound up at the State Patrol Post, drunk, and gotten on the radio in my old patrol car and gone 10-7 on the radio. I can only imagine the panic of my old radio operator’s as they picked up the phone to start making phone calls to make sure I hadn’t shot myself. Thankfully I had people that cared enough about me to get me home and make sure I was safe. The train was continuing to derail and I wasn’t slowing down power.

When I left town, I knew I was going to Kentucky to get away. I knew I was going home to escape. I knew I was going home to drink. The bottle was old faithful. It was all I had left to numb the pain of reality. But I was still in control. I was going to be okay. Just let me have this weekend and I’ll tackle life on Monday.

It was labor day weekend. I had plenty of time in that 400 mile journey north to think. I remember some strange things about that trip up. I remember listening to a lot of country. George Strait, Garth Brooks. I remember finally getting the CD Player in that truck to work right! I’d owned that pickup a year or more and finally figured it out. I spoke to a couple of people about ideas for the future for work. I was trying to put on a good show to make people think I was trying to make better choices. I knew when I got to London, I would have to explain to my grandparents that I wasn’t with the State anymore. How was I supposed to do that? They had made the trip down to Forsyth over 4 years prior for my Trooper School Graduation. Papaw was the first passenger in my patrol car when I left Trooper School. I still remember that ride. I never wanted to do anything but make them proud. I had shattered that. I didn’t know what I was going to say when I got there, but I rode on.

“I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here it's like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me.”

“The House That Built Me”-Miranda Lambert

That evening, I pulled up at the house I grew up in about 6:30. I stepped in and hugged them both tighter than I probably had in a long time. They really didn’t know why, but I did. After we spoke for a little while, I drove down to Corbin. Corbin had just gone “wet” concerning Alcohol sales. I bought an 18 pack of beer and drove back to my Grandparents. As far as I know, Alcohol never entered that house on a regular basis. That night, I sat in the basement and I drank and drank a lot. I went as far into that place where I didn’t have to feel the depression, anger, self loathing and fear as I did when I was “sober”. But, as usual in the cycle of insanity, drinking like that did nothing but intensify the emotions I just listed.

When I awoke the next morning, my head was pounding for the obvious reasons. I got up, stirred around and got my things together. The evening before, as normal, my Mamaw washed my clothes for me. This is just something she did on a regular basis when I came home to visit. When I got up to get ready to head over to Elizabethtown to see Momma for the night, I discovered Mamaw had washed my wallet. The “ironic” thing was that it was my State Patrol Wallet. The same one that housed my Badge, State ID, etc. The Same one that my former Corporal had removed those items from after the Patrol Car Crash. When I examined the wallet, everything seemed to be intact except for 2 distinct items. The wash had erased the State Seal off the front of the wallet AND my brand new Georgia I.D. had been disintegrated. I noted the occurrence and assumed I would run back by DDS when I got back into town.

I left London Saturday afternoon to head over to Etown. A few miles north of London, I got a text from my former Sergeant who was just checking on me. I don’t remember it word for word, but I do remember her foretelling the future. She said “if you don’t tackle your demons, you’re not going to make it. Just don’t drink”. I couldn’t think about not drinking. Besides, drinking wasn’t the problem. I just needed to control it better. Famous last words.

I was headed over to E-town to see my Mom for the night. My plan was to stay Saturday night in Etown and headed back home the next day. Mom had been her apartment for about 6 months. Momma had a story of her own. 30 + years in addiction. Sober for 2 or so. The only reason we had anyone here in Etown was because she came to a treatment facility here in 2011. She finished the qualifications to complete that program in early 2013 and got her own apartment. Momma’s demons were primarily not related to Alcohol and I knew she had been drinking some since she left. I headed up I-75 out of London through Lexington and across the Bluegrass Parkway. I never dreamed it would be the last time I would cross that parkway on my own for a long time.

I arrived in E-town Saturday Afternoon. After a few minutes catching up with Mom, telling her about the last couple of weeks and how life was falling apart. It wasn’t long before, you guessed it, it was time to go buy some Alcohol. We got back to the Apartment and cracked open the first one. The evening went fairly well. Pretty calm and uneventful. I took a call from my ex wife, lied to her about not drinking and told her I would be home the next day.

That night, I went to bed about 11:00. Last thing I wanted to try to drive home feeling hung over, although I knew it wouldn’t be the first time I would’ve done that. That night unfolded rapidly. I wound up waking back up to my then step sister at the house after Mom called her in panic. The reason isn’t important now, but I was invited to her place for a party she was having. I made the choice to go. That night, I ended up at a house in the country, in a county I wasn’t familiar with, with people I didn’t know. Well, for this active Alcoholic, it was the perfect setup. To say I drunk that night is understatement. I got hammered. Plastered. Jacked-up. However you wanna word it. I didn’t drive out there. I didn’t drive back. About 4:00 that next morning she brought me back to Mom’s.

I don’t remember much about what happened next. I don’t remember leaving my Mom’s. I don’t remember riding though E-town. I don’t remember getting on I-65. I vaguely remember missing the ramp for the Bluegrass Parkway. The next thing I remember is coming to about 2 miles south of E-town while traveling in the left lane on I-65. As I “snapped” back into consciousness, I left the roadway, traveled across the left shoulder and into the median of I-65. I have told many people when I’ve shared my testimony that I have no doubt that THIS is where God said, “It’s my turn” and took control. My truck vaulted into the median, struck the median hard enough that I remember the impact, spun counter clockwise and came to an uncontrolled rest facing back north towards Elizabethtown. There was an initial pause when the truck came to rest. I didn’t even know if I should or could move. No one stopped. Maybe no one saw me spin out? I recall trying to hit the gas and just hearing the engine rev loudly. I was stuck. I considered my options, but inside my walls were crumbling. I was finished. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t keep fighting the same fight. It was almost like raising the symbolic white flag. I’ve had several people ask me why I didn’t just step out and start walking. I had 2 pending DUI’s. Why in the world would I call 911 on my self? Well, the Trooper in me didn’t want to start walking. It would’ve been leaving the scene of an accident. So, I stepped out, took a look at my truck which was OBVIOUSLY stuck. The mental image of the headlight hanging from the headlight housing still sticks in my mind today. Reluctantly I picked up my phone and called 911. Dispatch answered. I gave them my name and my where I was. The County Operator transferred me to the Kentucky State Police in E-town. The operator advised me he had a Trooper in the area and that he would be to me in a few minutes. I hung up the phone and waited. I knew what was about to happen. I was going to jail, again, for dui, for the third time in three weeks.

A few minutes later, I saw the blue lights of that patrol car activate and come to a stop above me on the Northbound side. The Trooper stepped out of his patrol car, peered over the guard rail and said “Looks like your gonna need a wrecker!”. I just said, “yes sir”. He stepped over the guard rail and headed me way. “Here we go”  I thought. Sure enough he got within a couple feet of me and in that cool September morning, he detected what any reasonably trained Trooper would. “How much you had to drink man!?” he quipped. I just looked down in silence. I gave him no problem. Actually, I do remember not moving at all in between the time that he pulled up and when the silver bracelets went on. He asked me to submit to field sobriety. I refused. I recall thinking “what’s the point?’. He pulled out his PBT from the patrol. I said “Sir, I’m not being disrespectful but I’m not going to do that either.”. I could tell I had irritated him with my refusal.

I was handcuffed and placed in the back of the patrol car. The KSP. I had grown up admiring these guys. I never thought in my worst nightmare that I would ever end up being arrested period, let alone by a Kentucky Trooper. As I sat in the back of that patrol car, I remember thinking how similar the process was. He advised his dispatch he had one in custody. He called a tow truck and inventoried the vehicle. As we waited, he found my ALS paperwork in the vehicle. He put two and two together that this wasn’t my first rodeo. I told him this was number 3 and that I had been a Trooper until 2 weeks prior. He showed kindness in some of the words he spoke but he did his job. I absolutely hated the fact I existed at that moment. God could’ve called me up right there and I would’ve been okay with that. The tow truck arrived and we went en route to the Hardin County Jail. Turns out the jail was about 3 minutes away. When the Trooper keyed up on the radio, I noticed his Badge Number was 321. It was one digit off from mine. I asked him how long he had on and he said 7 years. Same as I had.

We got to jail and I went through the intox process. He walked me to the Intoxilyzer 5000. It was the same breath testing machine I was certified on. We stood there as it timed out. I refused the state test too. He even tried to warn me that it was going to be worse if I refused. I thought he was just telling me that to get me to submit to the test. I didn’t realize what Kentucky law was. I signed the Kentucky Implied Consent refusal notice and we walked into booking. When I sat down on the bench, the emotion finally broke me. I fell apart. Tears fell down from my eyes. The reality of what was happening was sinking in. I had done it again. This time at home. I didn’t know anyone there. How did I know they wouldn’t just throw me under the jail? No one was gonna come get me. Who would now? Why did I do this now? Why did I keep drinking? Why couldn’t I stop? I just wanted to die. Why did I keep making my life worse. “This nightmare can’t be real.”

It was then that I met Corporal Damon Lasley. Cpl. Lasley was the supervisor on duty that morning in booking. Cpl. Lasley walked up to me, advised me of what my charges were and that a bond had not been set yet but I could make a call. The only person I knew to call was Momma. I dialed her number and waited. When she answered, I just remember breaking down. She tried to calm me the best she could but I could tell she didn’t know what to do. She did tell me she loved me. When I hung up the phone, I didn’t know where I was going, if I was going to get to go home or what was going to happen to me.

I was processed, booked and placed into the “drunk tank” in booking. During processing, Cpl. Lasley examined my property that was placed into a basket to be inventoried. I’ll never forget him picking up my Trooper School ring that I had on at the time of my arrest. “Dude” “What’s going on with you man?” he asked. A few minutes later, as I was changed into that orange jumpsuit, I told him what the last few weeks had been like. He was kind to me. He treated me like a person and not an inmate in that moment. That one interaction in that moment was probably enough to keep me from making a really stupid decision a little later. I do remember laying down on that bunk in booking and closing my eyes. It was going to take hours for me to sober up.

A couple hours later, the jail staff notifed me that I did indeed had been granted a bond. $1000.00 Cash Bond Secured. Unlike Georgia, Kentucky doesn’t utilized bondsman. A bond is either secured, partially secured or unsecured, basically O/R with a contingency. Pre-Trial saw the risk. When I heard the number, I knew no one was coming. I didn’t have it. Momma didn’t have it. I hadn’t talked to my ex wife, but I knew we didn’t have it and I knew they weren’t going to tell my grandparents what was going on. Much of that first day is a blur. Sometimes I wonder if my mind suppressed some of the memory because of the pain, the emotion and the deep remorse.

I was allowed a “through the glass” visit with Momma that afternoon. I can’t tell you the shame and heartbreak and uselessness I felt as I approached the visitation room. No Mother should ever have to see her son in an orange jail uniform. Not me. This can’t be happening. Tears filled my eyes and my voice shook as I picked up the phone from the other side of the glass. “don’t cry” she said. “I love you”. All I could do for 10 millionth time in 2 weeks was say “I’m sorry.” I knew I was but I couldn’t explain exactly how I was sorry. Momma explained to me that she didn’t have the money to get me out and that she had spoken with my ex wife. I remember saying “you’ve got to go treatment when you get out.” For the first time, I said yes. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I needed help. “it shouldn’t have taken this. It shouldn’t have taken me “losing” everything to know I needed help.” The visit lasted a few minutes and it was time to go. As I hung up the phone, I remember not knowing when I see Momma again, my family again or get to go home anytime soon.

They placed me back in the drunk tank. I stayed there almost 2 days. It took a couple months after I left the jail to realize why I had been placed there. It shouldn’t have. They were worried about me taking my own life. And they should’ve been. As I sat there, sobering up, beginning to think about the facts, my heart raced, my mind raced, my spirit begged for forgiveness. I can vividly remember sitting in the corner of that cell, banging my head on the wall, crying out to God that I just wanted to go home.

By the time the the evening of the second day rolled around, I hadn’t heard from any family. I was surprised when one of the detention officers opened my cell with a stack of towels, sheets and hygiene items. “Come on man, we gotta move ya.” “Oh God, they’re putting me in General Population!” I thought. Nope, that want the case. We walked down a hallway to pod that housed about 6 Solitary cells. It was protective custody but not only PC. It was also the same solitary that was know as “the hole”. Those that are disciplined for fighting within the jail or are violent offenders. No windows, no TV, no human contact. The Officer radioed for the control room to open the cell and I heard the buzz of the controlled lock release. He handed me my items and advised me that it would be place until further notice. At that point, all I knew was I had a bond, but no one was coming. What happened next? Did I have a court date? How long was I going to be locked away? The door slammed and I was locked inside Cell 357.

The cell was maybe 8x10 feet. Just big enough for a small metal 1 seat table, a cot and toilet/sink. That jail smell was unmistakable. As a Trooper, I’d smelled it for too long. The luxury I had there was getting to drop off an arrestee and leave. Not this time. How, in 2 weeks had I gone from holding a Badge Number of 361 to holding an inmate number of 26200?? It was stamped on the white bracelet on my wrist. I sat in that cell and prayed. A lot. I was in a bind, so naturally God was going to hear from me. It was notorious for not communicating with him unless I needed something. I wondered about those I was I hurting. I prayed my ex wife wouldn’t leave me. I hadn’t spoken to her and so far, she hadn’t picked up the phone when I tried to call. I prayed I hadn’t pushed away those I did love.

Since labor day was Monday, I didn’t go to First Appearance until Tuesday. It was via video from the jail. They called the few of us up from the weekend. When they called my name, I stepped in front of the video. To my surprise, the Judge already knew about me and my history. He read my charges. DUI, Failure to maintain lane and open container. “Open Container? I don’t remember having a drink in the truck.” Shouldn’t have surprised me.  I didn’t recall leaving Mom’s. Then, the Judge raised my bond to $2000.00 cash. Doubled it. I remember Judge Simcoe telling me that he knew I was a danger to myself and others. He also noted that it was my third charge in 2 weeks. I was bewildered, lost and shocked as I walked back to my cell. “I’m never leaving” I thought. I broke down in tears again after the first appearance.

Momma came and visited again Tuesday. One of the Detention Officers came and let me out for an hour out of the cell. (Hygeine, phone, etc.). He advised me I had a visitor and that it would be over the video phone. I was notified when it was time to pick up and when I did, I saw Momma’s face on the other end. She tried to comfort me. She also told me I had a court date that coming Friday. I immediately assumed they were going to offer me a plea bargain. She also said she hadn’t heard anymore from my ex-wife. I was drowning and my Alcoholism was trying to take down others with me.

Wednesday morning, the Officer came to offer me my hour out early. It was about 0730. I stepped over to the phone and dialed my ex wife’s number. To my surprise, she answered. All I can about this phone call, is that she made it clear she was basically finished. In the few days since I was arrested, my lies had begun to be uncovered and the truth that I refused to admit was revealed across more than one situation. I remember begging her not to give up on me. “I can change. I can do better”. I pleaded. Like words etched into stone, the reply was grim but honest. “I don’t think you can.”. The one person who had stood by me for nine years. Through all my selfish, self centered behavior. Through my hopes, my dreams, my priorities. The one person I was supposed to protect, love, honor and stay committed to had finally given up on me because I had driven her away. My drinking had done enough damage to destroy the one person I never wanted to hurt. I felt useless, cold, undeserving of life, guilty, toxic (which I was), and alone.

I remember the following events crystal clear. I stepped back into my cell, shut my own iron door and turned around. I reached the point where I knew it was time to check out. It was time to do what everyone wished I would do anyway. I looked at the white sheet on my bunk, looked around and began to look to see how inmates killed themselves in those settings. Then I began to cry.

Right then, right there, is where God started talking. At least that’s when I heard him. He had been talking the whole time. As I sat on my bunk crying, I looked up at the brick wall in front of me. Etched in the brick wall was ink. My eyes followed the blue ink across the borders of the white painted cement blocks. Etched in the wall in front of me, was a cross. Presumably, an inmate had drawn it in the brick. It extended from the ceiling all the way to the floor. As soon as I saw it, I fell to my knees. I do remember hearing God tell me that my story didn’t end there. I felt him tell me I needed to trust him. Suddenly, In my mind I began to hear the words to hymns I sang in church as a child. My mind found the words to worship songs that spoke to me heart. I began to think of versus by memory that God seemed to be pointed out to me. Philippians 4:7 echoed in my mind “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” I didn’t know what was going to happen but I knew at that moment God was telling me to hold on and that he was still in charge.

That’s the closest I’ve ever been to suicide.  I thank God for that moment. I know now where people make it to that don’t know the Lord or don’t trust him.

For two days, I prayed. I sang I my cell, I processed my life.  I processed every person, place, thing or event that to the best of my ability. That Friday morning, I was handcuffed, shackled and transported to the Justice Center for court. It was September 6^th, 2013. I can’t describe the feeling of shuffling into a courtroom in an Orange Jumpsuit in that fashion. Especially as a former law enforcement officer. When I entered the courtroom, I saw my Momma sitting there. I mouthed to her “I’m ok and I love you”. I was offered a deal. They dropped the Failure to maintain lane and the open container. I plead guilty to the DUI. They dropped the aggravated portion. I was sentenced to 10 days to serve with credit for 5 days. Finally, I was given a release date! September 11^th, 2013. That following Tuesday I was out.

I spent the next few days preparing for my release. I prayed, mediated. I’ve often told people that the 10 day period in jail was the best thing for me. Again, if I hadn’t been put in “time out” I know I wouldn’t be here today.

One of the the most powerful moments for me came when the book cart came around the Sunday night before my release. I was allowed to grab a book from the cart. I quickly located a bible from the cart and signed it out. Before I opened it up, I prayed that if God had anything to show me, that I’d be receptive and see it. When I opened that old worn, torn bible, God delivered. I opened it up to Psalm 142. It was David’s cy out to God in Peril from a cave:

¹ I cry aloud to the Lord;
    I lift up my voice to the Lord for mercy. ² I pour out before him my complaint;
    before him I tell my trouble.

³ When my spirit grows faint within me,
    it is you who watch over my way.
In the path where I walk
    people have hidden a snare for me. ⁴ Look and see, there is no one at my right hand;
    no one is concerned for me.
I have no refuge;
    no one cares for my life.

⁵ I cry to you, Lord;
    I say, “You are my refuge,
    my portion in the land of the living.”

⁶ Listen to my cry,
    for I am in desperate need;
rescue me from those who pursue me,
    for they are too strong for me. ⁷ Set me free from my prison,
    that I may praise your name.
Then the righteous will gather about me
    because of your goodness to me.

For two more days I prayed. I knew God had again saved my life for a reason and it was obvious. I had no idea what I was going to be walking out to or who I was going to be walking out to. I just knew I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t sure what trouble or further consequences were going to be waiting for me beyond my release.

On Wednesday Morning, September 11^th, 2013, that release came. A detention officer came to my cell. The cell that had been home for 10 days. I gathered my hygiene items and made the walk back up to booking. I changed out of that orange jumpsuit and into the clothes that I came in with. They were muddy and wrinkled. I received the personal items I had come in with and waited at the door. Not knowing what to expect on the other side, I waited for the buzzer. I knew I wanted different. I knew I needed help to change. Finally it came. I heard the radio sound off. “Control, Door 528/529, Releasing One.” The door unlocked and I stepped through.

I was about to find out that what used to be normal, no longer existed but God was running the show.

I just spent three nights in a two night town
Suns comin' up and I'm just goin' down
Am I ever gonna turn my life around
I just spent three nights in a two night town

It was women, it was sinnin', it was alcohol
It was everything the Bible says will make a man fall
And I didn't wanna little, Lord I wanted it all
It was women, it was sinnin', it was alcohol

When am I, ever gonna learn to walk away
When the chips are down and the cards ain't fallin' my way
Why do I always gotta stay too long till it's too late

I just spent three nights in a two night town
With a bunch of lost souls all tryna get found
Girl I've been a little crazy since you walked out
So I just spent three nights in a two night town

When am I, ever gonna learn to walk away
When the chips are down and the cards ain't fallin' my way
Why do I always gotta stay too long till it's too late

I just spent three nights in a two night town
Suns comin' up and I'm just goin' down
But baby this pain is still hangin' around
I think I'll spend four nights in a two night town

“Two Night Town”-Jason Aldean