From Bitter to Bittersweet

A monotone voice comes over a static filled intercom in the Iredell County jail.

“West, pack it up.”

Dread instantly joins the vast repertoire of emotions that have been sliding through my soul since being given a sentence for active time in the North Carolina Department of Corrections.  I slowly begin to strip my bed down, giving away what toiletries were given to me.  My mind won’t slow down.  I’m nervous, not knowing what awaits me behind a razor wire fence.  Hollywood creeps into my mind as thoughts of gangs and violence run through my head. 

I make my way to the intake section, change into my street clothes.  I am shackled, handcuffed and put into a sheriff’s car.  Off to prison I go, dread in the pit of my stomach.

Rain hits the window of the cruiser as I gazed upon the city I had forsaken.  Water ran down the window like the tears I wanted to cry but couldn’t. That cold, ugly, rainy day was a solid representation of what my life had turned into.  A storm had been brewing on the horizon for some time. 

My first few months in prison, whether the sun was shining or not, were dark and dreary.  For a good while, the guilt, shame and regret of what I had done to get me here ate at me like a cancer would on some sort of growth steroid. A lot of nights were spent staring into the light that never turns off, tears rolling down the side of my face onto the pillow below my head.  I’d stay up all night while the voices of shame screamed inside of my mind.  Then I would sleep all day while the nightmares of my past terrorized me to no end.  

The weight I carried from those first few months was so heavy that I would often sit because I couldn’t stand.  Anger and bitterness towards myself began to take over for the reason that had me in prison.  I was so mad, angry and genuinely disgusted with myself. The mirror was avoided at all costs and I could not stand the sight of my own brown eyes.  I punished myself more than the system or any one person ever could.  Each day I fell further into a dark abyss.  The light seemed too far to even reach, so I lay in bed, covering my head, shutting anything and everything out.

When I would call mom, I would do my best to portray everything as being ok.  She saw right through it, as any mother of her caliber would.  She would try to get me to talk about it and I would give just enough, or all I could in our 15 minute conversations.  I didn’t want her to hurt or cause her to cry anymore over me (which she will tell you is easier said than done.)  At the end of our conversations, she always told me to write what I was thinking and feeling.  So, I tried it.  I would write her letters about what I was feeling but more often than not, I would write and just throw it away. Finally I asked what she thought about me starting to write my blog again and she was completely behind me.  

The first one I wrote was to my victims.  I craved so badly from the pit of my stomach to be forgiven, or at least feel a shred of it in my life.  Through writing the blog and my longing for forgiveness, some I never expected have been able to grant me forgiveness.  It has been the most liberating thing for both the forgiven and the forgiver.  We have a healthier relationship now than it ever was. My mom would read me the comments on my blog, and I began, little by little, to feel some encouragement. 

Finally I came out of the shell, and I met some really incredible guys that I will look to as brothers for years to come. When I did finally get into some sort of routine in my new world, I realized it was not as bad as TruTV portrays.  Although it is no cake walk, I quickly learned how to adapt, live and survive behind this fence. Many of the guys have been through a lot of the same things as me.  They began doing all they could to pull me out of my stupor.  It was a two way street.  We pulled each other up from a low down beaten state.  

As I began to walk through the regret-filled clouds, finding my way with blind hands, I began to accept my incarceration as a bittersweet blessing.

After being in prison for some time, I entered a drug treatment program.  In that program I learned about myself and about addiction in general.  Being a part of that program enabled me to open my eyes and truly recognize my calling.   I realized that I was capable of making a difference in someone else’s life, while they, the guys in the program, revolutionized my own existence. 

Growing up I was diagnosed with ADHD.  Because I was so wide open all of the time, I could never slow down enough to read the first page of a book, much less the whole thing.  Since being in prison, reading has become one of my favorite pass times. Because I have a dad who is extremely well read, I am able to enjoy some of the gems he has found over the years such as Jay Bakker  - who has become my mentor, and Will Campbell – my dad’s mentor and for whom I am named.  When I am able to turn the pages of a book, get into the story or my study, escaping my current reality, if only briefly, my world is transformed by the text on the page. 

I have said that I lived my life at 100 mph, wide open for some time, and honestly that is an under-statement.  I was more like a speeding, runaway train headed for a concrete sealed tunnel.  Nothing could slow me down.  I mean nothing.  I can remember being on the brink of desperation, beaten, broken, truly defeated by the life I had been leading.  I finally broke down and begged God for help.  

This was not my ordinary foxhole prayer I had been accustomed to praying.  You know, the typical “God, if you’ll just get me out of this, I’ll never do it again, I promise.” It was more like, “God, I give up.  I’ve tried and tried.  I cannot do this alone.  Whatever it is you see to be necessary for me to overcome this, please make it happen. I’m throwing in the towel and following your lead.”

Shortly after that, I was arrested, placed in the county jail (and felt every bit of the withdrawal process, no fancy drugs to get me through it.)  I asked and finally gave up, and God began applying the brakes to that runaway train…quite abruptly, I might add.

I know you’re wondering how all of this rambling ties together and how it all relates.  These are just some of the reasons I am thankful to be in prison.  I know that may seem weird to read. I could have come to prison and become bitter towards society and the system, blaming either for being locked up or away from my family.  I’m not going to do that.  I’m not willing to try and find a place to blame something or someone else. All there is to blame is me. 

So, when I chose to accept responsibility for what I had done, I chose to look at all of it as a bittersweet blessing instead of just being bitter.

I can remember when I was young – 14 or 15 years old, telling my friends I did not believe I would make it past my 25^th birthday. I just celebrated my 26^th behind these walls.  The truth is, had I not been sent to prison, my parents would have received a call by now that I was dead.   A cell for an extended amount of time always outweighs a casket.  My dad has always said that where there is life, there is hope.

When my attitude changed, I was able to see doors begin to open for me.  I have been given an opportunity to better myself.  A few weeks ago, I was given the opportunity to start a program that allows me to take college classes.

The best thing of it all, on Wednesday, February 4, I celebrated one year clean.  I’m so thankful to my family, those of you who support me, God and my situation because I never expected to be where I am right now.  

I have been reading a book called the “Ragamuffin Gospel” by Brennan Manning (who died a recovering alcoholic.)  In it, he says “when I get honest, I admit I’m a bundle of paradoxes.  I believe and I doubt. I hope and I get discouraged. I love and I hate. I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty.  I am trusting and suspicious.  I am honest and I still play games.  Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer.”

I believe that where I am now – I, too, am a bundle of paradoxes. 

I am incarcerated, yet liberated; imprisoned, yet more free than I have ever been; disliked by some, yet loved by others. I am resented and forgiven.  

Some say prison is hell.  I say it is a bittersweet blessing.  

Always strive for the silver lining.

#letgracesetthepace