- Alcohol
- Drugs
My name is Randy A., and I’m a person in long-term recovery. What that means to me is that I haven’t had to use drugs or alcohol since January 9, 2005. It’s hard to know where to begin my story. I started using cocaine when I was 21 years old. I knew the first time I tried it I loved it. It made me feel like Superman. I could do anything, say anything. I was indestructible.
Fast-forward ten years. I’m 31 years old and in a failing marriage to another addict. We all know two wrongs don’t make a right, and when my marriage finally ended, my addiction got worse. I hooked up with an old friend (of course another addict, even though she would call herself a “social user”). That relationship got very intense, very fast and ended horribly. That’s when my addition kicked into overdrive. I was now using three to five grams of cocaine a day, and within six months that amount doubled. I could no longer support my habit on my current income from my job, so the next step was obvious. The only way to pay for that amount of cocaine was to start selling it. Within a few months of my “career change,” my habit was around 10 to 14 grams daily. I was selling a lot of cocaine by this point which meant I could use as much as I wanted too. I now had what I thought was an endless supply.
On July 23, 2004, I was raided by the DEA. I was arrested and charged with possession with intent to distribute a lot of cocaine. The amount doesn’t really matter. What matters is that it was enough for the federal government to charge me with two felonies. I was held for one week which is a big blur to me as it took that long to come down. I think I slept for 90 percent of that visit to jail. After they let me out, what do you suppose I did first? I made a few phone calls and scored a lot of cocaine, not to sell but to use. At this point I figured it didn’t matter what I did. I thought my life was over.
About two weeks later, the very same men who raided my home the first time paid me another visit and found more cocaine in my house. Once again I found myself cuffed, stuffed and on my way to jail. My second stay was shorter. I only spent the weekend in jail because someone, somewhere, screwed up and let me bail out. After bailing out of course I got some more drugs and headed home.
I violated the conditions of my release, and my bond was revoked. This time I took a trip to a federal holding facility. After spending several weeks there, my sister helped me get a Rule 25 which was what they called getting free treatment at that time. I saw this as a way to get out of jail, so I said, “Sure, why not go?”
I was very nervous the day the corrections officer said, “Pack it up, you’re going to treatment.” I found out a few days earlier that I was going to a place that had a reputation for being the toughest treatment center in the state. The U.S. Marshals shackled me up, and off we went. They delivered me in a green jump suit with brown jail slippers and, of course, handcuffs, leg irons and a belly chain.
After the U.S. Marshals uncuffed me, I was instructed to proceed to the third floor to join the group in progress. It was like getting dumped in feet first. That is when I first met Pam along with a whole room full of men who stared at me in my green jumpsuit and wondered about this guy who was unceremoniously delivered by the U.S. Marshals. Scared and in a green jumpsuit, I began my treatment.
I was in the 60-day outpatient program, which in my book wasn’t truly outpatient because I had to stay at a house a couple of miles away. I couldn’t go home. After a few days and a change of clothes, I thought I had this place all figured out, “I’ll say the right things, do the right things, no problem, and this will all be over in no time.” I figured I could fake it until I made it. After about a month of treatment, I was allowed to have weekend passes, and I was thrilled to get out of the place for a while. On my second pass weekend, my truck was stolen, and I had no way to get home. I called a cab, went home and sat in my place stewing and eventually called someone to get some drugs. I got high, which was stupid, but nothing like what I did next. I brought drugs back to treatment with me and got high all night in the basement. Of course I got caught, and I then tried to fake my urine analysis (UA) and got caught doing that too.
The Monday after it was straight to the bench for me, and at this point I wasn’t sure what would happen next. Tuesday I had a court date to sign my plea agreement. When I arrived at the federal courthouse, the first thing they made me do was a UA because of my weekend antics. When the judge called my case, he informed me that my UA came back positive for cocaine and under no circumstances would he permit a person under the influence of cocaine sign any plea agreement. The judge instructed the U.S. Marshals to take me into custody. You can imagine the shock I was in at this point. Back to jail I went. I thought this would be my last stop before prison.
Five weeks later the corrections officer once again calls out, “Pack it up, you’re out of here.” I thought, “Well, this is it, off to prison I go.” To my surprise instead of delivering me to prison, they instructed me to put my own clothes on because I was returning to rehab. I was shocked and asked how that was possible. I was told that “some lady named Pam” had gone to bat for me, and I was going to the inpatient program.
When I returned, I met Mark, my new counselor. At that point I was very nervous because Mark had a reputation, and I had seen him in action with the other men in the program. Up until this point, I had very little interaction with him. Mark brought me to the UA room, and I will never forget what he said to me: “You must be the dumbest **** on Earth.” He proceeded to share a few other choice words with me, and after I got over my initial shock and anger with him for daring to speak to me like that, I decided to give this treatment thing a chance. I began to listen to what they said, I did what they told me, and somewhere along the line it really started to stick.
Next came a day I will never forget: my new sentencing day, July 6, 2005. I went to the federal courthouse that day not knowing what to expect, but secretly hoping that because I’d been doing all the right things, it would all be okay. When the judge said, “I sentence you to 87 months,” my heart fell out of my chest. I was devastated by an outcome that was so much worse than I ever could have imagined. I left the courthouse with the intent to get enough cocaine to numb the pain, maybe forever. I went through treatment, and I got clean. How could the judge sentence me to 87 months?
To this day I have no idea why I called my counselor Mark, told him what happened and what I was on my way to do. Of course Mark told me not to do it and somehow convinced me to come have a cup of coffee. He asked me to give him five minutes and then I could go do whatever I wanted. I don’t remember that visit at all. I only remember that I didn’t go get high.
The judge gave me until August 17, 2005, to get my affairs in order and then self-surrender. That day came quickly, and let me tell you, it was the worst day of my life. I had no idea what prison life would be like except for what I’d seen on TV or in the movies, and I was beyond scared. I was terrified.
I served 54 months, and now when I look back, they seem like a blur, thank God. Since being released in 2009, my life has been better than I could have ever hoped for. I am married to a wonderful woman, and I also own my own home. In September 2013 I did what I consider to be the second most frightening thing in my life (of course the first being self-surrendering to federal prison). I enrolled in college. I will never forget the day I was driving to college. I was sweating profusely and was so nervous I must have turned around two or three times telling myself I can’t do it. Well I did it, and I am so grateful I found the courage.
I am currently enrolled at a technical college and am working on completing my associate degree in addiction counseling. I start interning May 18 at the very same treatment facility where I was given this incredible gift of recovery. The facility has already offered me a full-time position as a counselor. I will have to continue on to procure a bachelor’s degree while working on a temporary permit that gives me five years to complete my education and then become a LADC (Licensed Alcohol and Drug Counselor). In the last year, I can’t believe the awesome people I have had the pleasure of working and becoming friends with. There are also so many organizations that I have become familiar with and enjoy working with to erase stigma and provide quality care for those seeking a life free from drugs and alcohol. Wow! This is a life beyond what I could have imagined.
I recently saw the movie The Equalizer, not too shabby of a movie, and at the beginning it displayed a quote I connected with and will forever hold close to my heart:
“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” — Mark Twain
Now I know why!
Thanks Dean for suggesting I share my story.