I needed help, and I couldn’t do it alone. There is no room for pride when you are in recovery. I was carrying baggage, drowning myself alive. All my resentments were destroying me from the inside out. I had a fight going on inside of me between two masters. I would do good for a while when I was sober, but when I drank, my hurt self would come out. The one who was abandoned, the one who had no voice, the one who had no control over his welfare, the one who was picked on. I let go of this trash and replaced it with my first sponsor, Robert. He was my accountability partner and was a lifer for murder. He gave me what I needed. A kind ear day or night and never judgmental, even when I backslid! He would say, “Okay, you messed up. Learn from it and keep moving forward in your recovery.” He gave me his precious time. He took every step I took forward or backward with me. My recovery was based on changing my mindset. I couldn’t have transformed without making one change at a time. And NO, it did not happen overnight. It took years. I can say now that I am a positive member of my community! I care about people. I know what I felt when I thought I was alone. I have learned that listening to a person can help tremendously; a human being needs to share and let out their feelings, good or bad. But the bad ones lead us to negative self-talk and work up our frustration to the point of violence. It happened to me many times, and the difference is that I now take responsibility. I practice listening with family, friends, and people I meet. I could offer what was given to me and not be judged for my shortcomings if my sponsor gave up on me every time I messed up. I would never have a sponsor. Once we understand, we do this work out of love. There is no better reward. I have seen it first hand, that’s when we can be vulnerable and safe to a true friend, that is a blessing in and of itself.
I was born in 1972 and named after my father. I was his firstborn. My father was very abusive to my mother. There was a lot of domestic violence. On this particular occasion, my mother fought back and hit him in the head with an iron, taking his life. I was one year and four months old. My father was murdered, and my mother went to prison for manslaughter. Now I find myself in prison for a senseless murder, a coincidence, is there a connection there?
In his hands
Born a junior in ‘72
To a father that
Abused
An iron held high
Led to sad goodbyes
Motherless and fatherless
Before the age of
Two
Now I’m doing time
For a life I took
My fate in the
Hands of the
Board and not
Knowing my
Course
I cast my eyes
To the sky
For there lies
My guide
In him, I will
Trust!
