It was a media circus. I was on tv and in every major newspaper around the world. It was on every channel. I was being called the first mercy killer by a father of his child. Whenever I saw, or heard the words ‘killed his daughter’, it cut me deeply. Not sliced me, that’s too easy a description, but cut me, tore at me inside. Like a punch to your stomach, only deeper. It was horrible.

I was in Time magazine. Even The Enquirer and The Weekly World News. I know this because I would get bundles of mail from everywhere. Europe, Canada, even Japan. I read them and they were either hate mail or people praying for me. I actually read through the hate mail. Anything starting with ‘God forgives you’ or ‘I’m praying for you’, I threw away. There was no God. How could there be?

My trial lasted a month. I was convicted of first degree murder and sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole for 25 years. I remember Judge Cowart asking me if I had any last words before he passed sentence. I was crying as I asked him, begged him, to let me say good bye to Joy before I was sent to prison. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to visit her again.

He explained he didn’t know if the Dept of Corrections would pay for it. Then, a Sgt., the guard who was in charge of the detail that brought me to the courtroom and took me back to my cell each day for the last 6 months, said that he and fellow officers would do it. This was the same officer that had taken me to the funeral home to see Joy, and to her funeral. He said that they would do it on their own time! I wish I could remember his name. I’ve tried, it’s just not there. He was a red headed Sgt. at the Dade County Jail and his picture was in the Herald taking me back to jail from the funeral home. If you should ever read this, “Thank You. I’ve never forgotten you. You gave me my last moments with my daughter for over a decade.”

I said good bye to Joy on Christmas Eve. I prayed beside her grave in handcuffs. It was surreal.

I’m at my daughter’s grave.

I’m at Joy’s GRAVE.

In handcuffs.

Convicted of killing her.

It was surreal.

Sober Living: Roadie Rock Bottoms

Hey all, Ernesto here — Recovery Arts would like to share its first short essay from a recovering roadie named Phill that will be part of our ongoing series of recovery testimonials titled, “Sober Living.” His gripping and enlightening testimonial really conveys what addicts must often go through, in hitting rock bottom, before they can continue on the path to recovery. I’d like to thank him personally for opening up to us and letting us hear his story about reaching a state of sober living. Enjoy.

Sober Living: Roadie Hits Rock Bottom

I did it. I hit rock bottom. As a roadie for a rock band I started drinking and partying and living like the image I had in my head of a ‘rock star’ or a ‘celebrity’ because it looked like they were having so much fun. At first, the parties were new, the people I was meeting were exciting and the access to drugs and alcohol at concerts and events was never an obstacle.

Then my addictions began to deepen. Before I realized how much the substances had started taking over my life, I went from drinking top shelf liquor and getting wasted on Hollywood quality drugs to waking up in strange places with people whose names I didn’t even know and sharing a needle. I had thought I was living life in the limelight, but then the dreams quickly evaporated as the lime started to rot.

People I called ‘my friends’ weren’t really my friends. You’re great when you’re up and you’ve got dope, and you can get them in with the ‘in crowd.’ But their motivated by the same addictions you are and they’ll chase the next high instead of sticking with you the first time they have to choose. To a user you become little more than a wallet with a face. If you don’t have drugs or money for drugs, you just aren’t their ‘friend’ anymore.

When my real friends finally couldn’t take my lying and stealing any more I cast them off without seeing clearly how much they wanted to help me. Instead I decided that Dope was my only friend, my mother, my father, and my lover… even as it was killing me.

My family had no choice but to shut me out, I was as dangerous to them as I was to myself. Life spiraled out of control, I hated the person I had become but I was falling so fast I couldn’t even decide which way was up. In fact, it was like I wasn’t even a person at that point. I was just this ‘thing’ that spent every hour of every day trying to score some more dope. When I started using I was consuming drugs, now it was the drugs that were consuming me.

When I hit rock bottom I was sleeping on the streets and a dog that I had tried to keep as a pet decided to leave and find a better companion. At first I was crushed, not even my dog thought I was a worthwhile person. But I was lucky, that dog’s decision saved my life. I needed to know that I was alone, needed to know that I had no place else to fall. I hit that bottom hard but I learned to kiss the floor as I finally became receptive to HELP!

It broke me. I didn’t want to be sick anymore. I knew I needed help or I was gonna die. I’m not gonna sit here and tell you it’s easy. I don’t think rehab ever is. It won’t happen unless YOU make it happen… but you can not do it alone, nobody can. Every day is its own struggle and the only weapons we have in this battle are our faith and our true friends. Getting yourself surrounded by the right people, the ones who care about you and not the dope… the ones you meet in a structured recovery program… they are the light at the end of the long and very dark tunnel of addition.

Thanks for sharing my story –
Phill