Hello

This is a picture of me and my daughter at my wedding in 2022.

My high school girlfriend and I conceived her in 2003, when I was 18 and she was 15. In Texas, teens being more than 3 years apart, even in a consensual relationship, is a crime. We were 3 years and 5 months apart. I spent 6 years in prison for it, which nearly destroyed my life.

It took ten more years to recover from the PTSD and alcoholism, but I did it. However, having that charge on my record has caused horrible consequences that affect my life still to this day in 2025. I am determined to help change things so that what happened to me doesn't happen to other teenage guys who want to live a successful life as a grown man.

This is how Phoenix Reformation came to be.

My Story

It happens every day; high school teens have consensual relations. If you are more than 3 years apart and one of you is 18, it's a crime. Not getting pregnant -- just having intercourse is the crime. But in real life, 99% of the time nobody says a word; no police officer tracks down 18-year-old seniors dating sophomores and questions them to see if they are sexually active, ready to pounce and make an arrest. So when we realized she was pregnant, her parents were extremely upset and called the police. They interviewed my girlfriend, and she told them it was all consensual, we were boyfriend/girlfriend and had been sexually active for a while. I quickly enrolled in the Army, planning to be a father and knowing it was a stable step toward providing for them both. I thought that because it was consensual, we were good. I wasn't even aware of the statute.

As young and naive as I was, I was actually a little excited about being a father. My parents had divorced and both remarried - neither had much room for me, so I was couch-surfing at friends' houses and living in my truck. Now I could build my own family and home. Her parents calmed down, and when they saw my contract for the Army with basic training starting in October, they called the police and said, "We overreacted. We don't want to press charges or anything - he's going into the Army now." But it was too late, the police said. The prosecutor had already been told. They were pressing charges regardless of whether her parents wanted them to or not. And so, I was arrested just before I left for basic training.

In Texas, it falls under the Statutory Rape category, but on record, on paper, the prosecutors call it something much more heinous: Sexual Assault of a Child.

What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of someone convicted of sexual assault of a child? Yes, me too. I bet you don't picture a high school boyfriend and girlfriend who accidentally wound up pregnant. I have asked myself for years: WHY would Texas charge it like that? WHY would they lump teenage relationships into the same charge as the worst of the worst monsters on this earth? It's because they want to, plain and simple. Even now, in 2025, 18- and 19-year-old young men are still having their lives ruined by the name of this charge.

I did not sexually assault a child. I am innocent of that charge. But my record says I did. And that's all people need to see to close the book on you, period. I'm not alone; there are thousands just like me, who have had their lives nearly ruined in this way. I was put in prison, and the record says "for sexual assault of a child" - that right there is putting a young man in prison for something he did not do.

The prosecutors offer the young men what they call "A Second Chance", which is 10 years' probation, like they did with me. They tell you if you follow every single term of the probation for 10 years, it will come off your record. But what happens if you don't know how challenging and expensive that will be? What happens if you're a teenage kid living in your truck? What happens if you're in despair and feel paralyzed? My Army contract was canceled immediately. They wanted nothing to do with someone arrested and on probation for you-know-what. I had to attend pedophile classes as part of the terms of probation, which consisted of looking at terrible, awful photos to measure any "penile" reaction - it was horrifying and traumatic. I can't and won't ever describe what they forced me to look at. I couldn't attend another one of those, so I didn't. I had a minimum wage job and couldn't afford the monthly probation fees. I started drinking, dabbled in drugs. I spiraled, feeling hopeless.

In 2004, I officially failed at "my second chance". My probation was revoked,

and I was sentenced to 7 years in prison--not for consensual relations with my

girlfriend who was 3 years and 5 months younger than me (if only they had a

charge for that)-- but for sexual assault of a child. I was 19 and my life was over.

I can still hear the clang of the bars, the jingling of the guard's keys.

That's a picture of me happy to see my mom during the first visit I had.

Don't let my smile fool you; smiling used to come easy to me. Prison takes your

smile and stomps on it until they make sure it's destroyed.

Prison was torture. Anyone who has been in prison understands. It's beyond inhumane, it creates more monsters, it victimizes and traumatizes good people who happen be in prison for a mistake they made. There are some truly evil people in prison, who belong away from society. But many people in Texas prisons have charges and sentences that are egregiously severe and do not fit with that they did. They are decent people who screwed up and regret it. Worse, there are innocent people in prison. It's prison that makes them hard and mean, because you have to literally fight for your life every day. I'll save the prison stories for my book and fast forward here.

After several years of learning how to defend myself and remaining "solo" (never joined a gang), I was placed in one of the Texas prisons that offered programs. I was able to start college with a major in communications and get certified in horticulture/ landscaping. Yes, I did have that opportunity, but it took me years of hell to get that. And I was still locked up. In prison, no matter how well you do, you are seen as less-than, unfit for society. It's a struggle to not buy into that. My daughter was being raised without me, the world was passing me by. I didn't hurt anyone; my girlfriend and I just got pregnant in a state where it's a crime (it's not a crime in 32 states). And here I was, sentenced to 7 years in prison, my future bleak. I cried myself to sleep many nights thinking, "What did I actually do so wrong to deserve THIS?"

Getting Out

This is a picture of me on the day I got out of prison 6 years later. My smile is gone. I'm standing next to my old truck, a 1987 GMC Sierra given to me by my grandfather (my dad's dad) before he passed when I was 15 years old. I call my truck Knobby--my grandfather's nickname--and I still have that truck today at 40 years old. My dad kept that truck maintained while I was in prison. When he took this photo that day, he said to me, "Son, you got a thousand-yard stare."

I had bulked up some muscle as a means of survival - my "don't fuck with me" demeanor had kept me alive. I didn't know what I was doing or where I was going with my life, but I was free. My dad let me live with him and his new wife for a short time (she did not like that). I loved being in the bathroom, just enjoying the privacy of using the facilities alone, with dignity. I hadn't gone to the bathroom or showered in privacy in 6 years; it was like a new world. While I was on the inside, smart phones had been invented. Everyone was using them, in a rush to be somewhere or do something. I could not believe how fast everything moved now. It was like prison had frozen me in time.

Prison does not prepare you for "reentry" into society -- not at all. They throw you out to fend for yourself, and if you don't have a family member or friend, you're almost sunk before you walk out of the gate. There is something called "decision fatigue" common with people coming out of prison. You go from not being allowed to make any decision to being thrust into a world of making decisions and making them NOW. There's an enormous amount of pressure. Many fail because they aren't prepared for what to do and how to do it. How do I get a job, a place, how do I get set up for utilities, how do I DO life?

There's another thing they don't prepare you for when you "re-enter" society: the PTSD that slowly creeps in and then takes over your mind. My dad was right about that thousand-yard stare.

A Hollow Victory

My dad and I set out right away to clear my name. I'm Edward David James, III, named after my father, who was named after his father. I receive parole after 5 years in prison, but I had to go through "sex offender" classes for a year to make sure I was no threat to society -- even though they already knew exactly what happened in my case. The charge is the charge -- I sat next to true pedophiles, men in their 40s and 60s, never meant to be out in the world amongst children. It was chilling.

I had to take a polygraph, go through sessions with a sex offender expert, and complete class after class. The one lady who ran the class, she was as nasty as they come. I told her, Watch me: when I get out, I'm going to clear my name and a court is going to agree. She said it would never happen. I was who the charge said I was, otherwise I wouldn't be there.

I filed pro se in the Dallas County Criminal Court to get a court-ordered exemption from the sex offender registry. I attached everything - my clear polygraph, the expert testimony assuring that I was not in any way a violent sex offender, and the police reports from 2003. They even interviewed my daughter's mother, who said the same thing - we had been in a consensual relationship. While we no longer talked, I appreciated her honesty after all those years.

My dad came with me to the hearing, which was just a few months after I had been out. Presiding Judge Gracie Lewis (I'll never forget her name) read through everything and concluded...I was right. I did not sexually assault a child. It was a consensual, nonviolent teenage relationship. I was exempted from registering as a sex-offender every year, forever. That was a huge deal, huge. We walked out of that courtroom doing the walk of victory. Damn right, I thought. Finally, vindication.

You would think that, if they wanted to do the right thing, they would then take the charge off my record, right? Wrong. That's when I really learned the truth. Around the time I was arrested, the federal government incentivized every state with millions of dollars to get tough on sex-offenders. The more sex offender cases, the more federal Byrne JAG funding. Prosecutors used this to ensnare young men just like me. In fact, the year I was charged in 2003, Texas received DOUBLE previous years' awards specifically for sex offender cases, from $2M to $4.1M. It got so bad that Texans started to speak out against this wrongdoing and started DeregisterTexas.com. In 2007, Texas passed the Romeo and Juliet law to protect young men like me. I was already in prison by then.

I won the exemption, but the damage had already been done to my life. I missed the raising of my daughter, I suffered for 6 years in prison, and there was no getting that time back. I would always be labeled on any background check as convicted felon of sexual assault of a child. I hate typing it as much as you hate reading that term. I could never get a mortgage, a corporate job, and even a passport wasn't given to people with records like mine.

Still, you bet I carried that exemption around with me everywhere. It was just in case; you never knew what could happen.

Lost in the Abyss

I could only stay with my dad for a short time; his wife made sure of that. I couldn't get a lease with my record, so I relied on living with friends and girlfriends. It felt like there was target on my back and the best I could do was disappear in solitude. But I wanted to succeed and make a life for myself. I wanted to make my dad proud. I wanted to be a father to my daughter, who was now 7. I got a job as a groundskeeper for a golf country club and actually was given a small place on the grounds to live. On the outside, I was slowly putting my life together. On the inside, I was lost in the abyss of prison PTSD.

I tried to see my daughter right when I got out. Her mother had not made the best choices while I was in prison, and my daughter was being raised by her grandparents. My mom had been a great grandma to her, seeing her often, trying to keep some mention of me in her life - your dad loves you, he can't wait to meet you. But the grandparents blocked it. They didn't want to mess up anything in my daughter's life, she was stable and happy. They said I could meet her when she was 16. I was crushed. I tried going to court to get visitation, but that didn't work. I didn't want to risk them stopping visitation with my mom. I'd have to settle for pictures, just like in prison. My PTSD worsened; nightmares happened every night. I would wake myself up from yelling out loud in fear. Flashes of the worst times in prison became recurring images I couldn't stop. Crowded places gave me severe anxiety - at any moment, a riot could break out or someone could try to kill you, didn't people see that? I had not had a drink during the 6 years in prison, and I kept that habit once I got out. But as the nightmares and memories continued to flood my mind every day, I became desperate to escape from it.

My old high school friend asked me to meet him up in Dallas at a bar. I took a sip of a beer, then another. Then whiskey. My memories dulled, and I felt better. Drinking became my answer. It was good to sleep at night (pass out) with no nightmares.

While I held down several jobs over the next 10 years, drinking took its toll. I moved to Amarillo where my mom lived and started my own landscaping business. I found peace and quiet among plants, gardens, and trees. I would try and get sober for a couple months, but it didn't last. There were two times where I could feel my body shutting down, and I welcomed death. I ruined relationships with my family and friends. My sloppy, obnoxious behavior would always turn to depression and despair, and no one wanted to be around that. I wasn't violent, just severely depressed. My mom took me to Texas Tech Hospital near Amarillo in October of 2019 because I was dying from alcoholism. They diagnosed me with PTSD. I stayed sober for months. That's when I finally got to meet my daughter; she was 16. It was beautiful, but my heart hurt from the lost time. How do I become a dad to my 16-year-old daughter? She was just amazing; nervous, understandably. I could see how much we looked alike, and she had some of my mannerisms; it made my heart swell. The visit was good, but she lived 7 hours away, so we didn't know when we might see each other again. It brought back all the pain from 2003. I could feel the nightmares and memories coming back. I stayed sober until New Year's Day of 2020, then started drinking again. I decided I would drink myself to death. Nobody cared if I lived or died.

Little did I know that I was about to jump into a new timeline that saved my life.

Like A Phoenix

You know when you walk into class on the first day of school as a 7th grader, and you hope your teacher is cute? When I walked into my reading class, I was thunderstruck. My 7th grade teacher was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. It was an instant crush, and I sat in her class every day, just wishing I was older. She told us she was 22, and I pictured me as a 20-year-old, finding her at 30 years-old and asking her out on a date. I daydreamed that it could happen. She made reading come alive - aside from what she was required to teach, she would read books aloud like Intensity by Dean Koontz. She played Metallica's "One" video and we read the lyrics as a reading comprehension assignment. We watched clips of Beethoven's Immortal Beloved and wrote stream-of-consciousness essays while listening to his symphonies. She was the teacher you never forgot because of how fun and meaningful her lessons were.

When she was out sick and we had a sub, our class made a homemade card for her. We all signed it with our little jokes and comments. I made sure I was the last one to sign it, and I wrote "I really do love you" and signed my name. I don't know if she ever saw it; she never said a word. She just thanked us as a class and went into another fun lesson. It was just the best year, having her for teacher. I went to look for her on the first day of 8th grade, but she was no longer at my school. My classmates had heard she moved to New Jersey.

In prison, reading saved my sanity. I remembered my favorite teacher reading Intensity by Dean Koontz and asked my family to send me every Dean Koontz book available. I thought of her often, wanting to tell her that I remembered her class, that I had a school-kid crush on her, and that I was thankful for everything she taught. But I couldn't. I was in prison, she wouldn't remember me, and even if she did, I didn't want her to know that I was an inmate.

When I got out in 2010, it took me a year to snap out of the fog as I got used to being free. She would pop into my mind and I would wonder where she was. In 2012, I found her on Facebook. I was 27 by then, so she would be 37. That wasn't that far apart in adult years. But...she was married with two kids and lived in New Jersey. I messaged her, thanking her for all she taught me, reminding her of my favorite lessons. Lo and behold, a couple days later she messaged me back. "Hi, of course I remember you! You were one of the brightest students in the class. Thank you for the kind words, I am glad to know I made a difference." I thought of Dumb and Dumber: So you're telling me there's a chance....

Life went on, but she kept popping up in my mind. In 2013, I messaged her again. I had thought of another lesson she taught, and it seemed to be a harmless way to reach out. She messaged me back with the same thank you, you're so kind. She was still married. I realized I had to let that daydream go because that's all it was... just a pipe dream.

When the world stopped in 2020 with the Covid lockdowns, I had already decided to drink myself to death. By then I had finally managed to get a tiny 2-bedroom rental house that used to be a garage - I took over the lease from a friend and the landlord was happy to have someone quiet and clean who always paid on time. I had a girlfriend at the time, and our relationship had been over for a while. I broke up with her Valentine's Day weekend, and it made me feel just a little bit better. She was a heavy drinker like me, but she also did drugs and dealt them for her best friend, Geoff, who lived with her. She had moved in with me to do better, but she hadn't stopped messing with him. There is a saying, "When you lie with dogs, you get up with fleas", and it just felt dirty even dating someone involved in illegal stuff like that. Breaking up was a turning point for me; it gave me a small sense of taking back control of my life. I wasn't totally sure I wanted to drink myself to death now.

My mother and stepbrother with special needs had moved in with me. It felt good to take turns cooking and have the company. Soon after that, my cousin, a military man, took me to lunch and gave me a book called Declare War On Yourself. It was about getting your life together. He told me it was time to tell my story, to stop hiding it. His idea was that I should create a website about what happened and how I overcame adversity and beat the odds. I was unsure, but it sparked something. My soul was wanting to live again. My spirit wanted to come back to life. That's when I got my dog. I named him Phoenix. It was time to rise from the ashes of the last 10 years.

Getting Phoenix was like being reborn. I just felt happier. I was still drinking, but I wasn't passing out every night. I'd take a couple days off and save it for the weekend. I wrote music and played my guitar. In March, I posted on Facebook something about healing after everything I had been through, and you will never believe it. SHE commented on my post, my favorite teacher. She said, "I am so happy to hear this, you were always the brightest student in my class, and I know you'll do great things!"

I was on cloud nine; she saw my post, and she thought enough of me to reply with a supportive comment. She's right, I thought. She remembers who I used to be. I was the smartest, the brightest; I was popular-- I was the only 7th grade dude with an 8th grade cheerleader for a girlfriend-- I was in all the sports and did well. Now, everyone around me only knew me as this drunk who had been in prison, but SHE knew me for who I truly was. And now, the door was open to message her again, which is exactly what I did. "Thank you for the kind words," I typed. "I have been through some stuff, but I am determined to rise above it and be the best I can." There. Let's see if she messages me back.

I tried not to check to see if she replied, but I found myself doing just that every couple of hours. Days later, just when I thought she wasn't going to, that it was a "one-and-done" comment, I heard a chime. It was her. My heart jumped out of my chest and soared at what I read: "Trey, what have you been through? I'm so sorry to hear that you have suffered, I always thought you would go on to do great things. I have a restaurant that had to close due to these lockdowns, so I have time if you want to share. And best of luck on your healing journey."

She has time if I want to share. My cousin's words echoed in my mind, "It's time to share your story, to talk about it."

I tried to be cool and wait an hour before replying, but I couldn't wait.

"Yes, I can share. Can we talk on the phone?" I asked.

She replied, "No, I'm not a phone person, can you type it?" Of course I could type it; I could share however she wanted me to share. So, for the first time, I wrote out everything that happened from 2003. The tears poured down my face. Her reaction was everything I had ever wanted to hear, and of course it came from her, my favorite teacher, my school-kid crush. She was shocked, angry, sympathetic, and supportive. Her sister, who used to visit her class often, remembered me, she said. Her sister was a therapist, and she asked her about how a person heals from something like what happened to me.

"She gave me some good advice and tips for you," she typed. "I'm not a phone person, but I can Facetime if you want and tell you what she said?"

Facetime with her? Facetime with her? I couldn't believe what I was reading. I was going to see her and talk to her after all these years. We set a time for 10am the next day. I looked in the mirror. I was looking old. I had lost all my hair in prison. My beard covered my face; I didn't want anyone to know me and my beard was my mask. I had prison tattoos; one was an entire sleeve on my left arm. But I was still me, and she knew who I was before all this. Would she still see that?

When we saw each other for the first time on video, we talked for two hours. I told her she looked exactly the same, and she laughed. I didn't tell her she was just as beautiful as I remembered, I kept it cool. I'll never forget when she said, "The only thing I recognize about you is your eyes, the rest is like, full-grown man, I can't believe I was your teacher. Call me Kelly, don't you dare call me Miss. Lepine. Wait, how old are you now?"

Something sizzled in the air. I had been waiting for this moment. I said, "I'm 35 now." That's right, I'm a grown-ass man in my mid-thirties. I remember the ways her eyes blinked, like she couldn't believe I was that old. Was she doing the math, too? "Wow," she said, "we're only about 10 years apart, that's crazy." She looked like she was 25. My crush had never left my heart. She was the exact same. Except for one thing -- she was still married.

We found a reason to Facetime again. She wanted to keep in touch and see how my healing journey progressed. But it didn't take long to realize the minute we met eyes, we were in trouble--or she was, anyway. All those years she had never left my mind, and it was for a reason. I just knew we were meant to be. The chemistry, the spark, it was off the charts, and yet we didn't acknowledge it. We ended up talking for hours over days on Facetime about everything in life, and how crazy Covid lockdowns were- she was a freedom fighter like me, but her husband wasn't. As for the state of their marriage, it's not my story to tell, and I respect the man too much to speak out of turn.

When I say things happened fast, I mean like lightning. We spoke on video for the first time in late April, and on May 2, 2020, she said the words I had always dreamed of hearing from her. "I think I am falling for you, and I want to explore this more. I'm going to talk to my husband and tell him it's over. We've been living like that, just haven't said it out loud. But it's time." By May 9, 2020, he had divorced her on Legal Zoom. He was devastated and angry, and I didn't blame him. By June, we met face to face and knew this was, indeed, meant to be. We began making plans to be together, which meant I had to find a way to New Jersey.

I was still drinking, and she drank, too, but not like me. I told her I wanted to control my drinking better. I wanted to measure my drinking like she did and believed I could do it. I couldn't. I'll save the details for another time, but the point is, I stopped drinking in mid-June. I set a goal to move to New Jersey by August. Life was amazing. I could not believe how my life had turned around once I broke up with that girlfriend, who seemed like she was from another lifetime now. I celebrated every day I was sober, believing I could really do it forever this time. After all, I had the love of my life; I got her. I felt like I was living my dream.

That dream was about to come crashing down.

On June 30, 2020, we were on Facetime, talking about our future, celebrating another sober day, when I saw US Marshals pull up to my house. They got out of the car and approached me. I mustered up the friendliest tone I could find, my PTSD on max alert. "Can I help you?" I asked, feeling my body tremble ever-so-slightly.

"Are you Edward James?" Words I never, ever wanted to hear again for the rest of my life. My heart knocked inside my chest.

"Yes...", my body going into full panic mode, frozen, terrified at what might be their next words.

"You're under arrest for the assault of Becca Smith*. Please place your hands behind your back..." their voices became a blur.

That was the name of my ex-girlfriend, the one from another lifetime ago back in Feb of 2020.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Whatever it is, you got the wrong guy," I said. They ignored me and began telling me I had the right to remain silent. Kelly was still on Facetime; she saw the whole thing. I told her I'd call her when I could and hung up.

I felt and heard the handcuffs click.

Jersey Boy

They booked me and put me in the tank with the other guys. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but if Becca was involved, then so was Geoff and the rest of that drug crew. I remembered how tainted I felt being around them. "If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas." Whatever it was, the fleas had found me. Not for long. It's different when you have the love of your life in your corner. I was brought to the judge to be arraigned and was told it was for assault with impeding breath. I was dumbfounded. Impossible. When? How? I knew nothing. I wasn't given any more information.

I pled not guilty. I paid bail and was back home in three days. But...those three days in jail brought my prison memories all back. I stopped at the liquor store. My nerves were fried; my PTSD was back in full force. I couldn't stop shaking. I needed that whiskey to calm it all down. I Facetimed with Kelly and tried to explain why I had to have that whiskey. "It's ok", she said, "I love you. One day at a time."

"I can't let this happen to me again," I said. "I never assaulted her, never impeded her breath or whatever they said. But I have a pretty good idea might have." Even though I knew it wasn't me, I didn't want to do what was done to me and accuse someone else with no proof. I had seen her roommate Geoff manhandle her, raise his voice and swear at her for missing a drug deal, use her to pay all the rent and bills while he spent his money on things, and convince her to lie to the police to cover for him about a gun charge. Heavy drinking and drug use was the name of the game. He was bad news.

My mind was reeling. Why didn't the police tell me she accused me of this, ask me about it? Aren't people supposed to know when someone has made an accusation against them? How could I be just arrested out of the blue? They can't have any evidence because I didn't do anything, so how could this be happening? Was it simply because she said so? No, no, police wouldn't do that, just go arrest someone based on someone saying something...without stopping at that person's house and interviewing them...would they?

What are you doing, Becca, I thought. Can't you just leave me alone?

The thing about a being in a new timeline is you just keep living in your new, wonderful timeline. You refuse to go back to the old one, where the fleas are. For my bail, I had to check in by phone every Thursday. It was fine if I moved to another state, as long as I called in every Thursday. I retained a lawyer at a Texas statewide law firm that had awards on their website, so I figured I was in good hands. Most of all, I was sure I could never be convicted of something I didn't do. The truth would come out, I was certain. While we waited for my lawyer to get his hands on the State's file, I moved to New Jersey. By plane. In my old timeline, I didn't fly-- never would. But in my new timeline, I had Kelly. I'd board any form of transportation to be with her.

I got a job at a marina within a week and rented a room at a small hotel near Kelly's restaurant that she ran with her sister. We did not live together, that wasn't even on the table. Kelly's kids were teenagers, so she split time evenly with her now ex-husband. We had our time together when she didn't have her kids. Much like her marriage--the details of their relationship post-divorce and the kids--it's not my story to tell, and I have too much respect for all of them to talk out of turn. It was challenging, lots of ups and downs, but five years later in 2025, we have calm waters. It's peaceful.

I was still drinking, trying to moderate it to Kelly's pacing. If I could just keep it moderated, I'd be fine. I was winning at life. I liked my job, was making decent money, and when Kelly found a cute rental home for herself and her kids, I moved into the apartment she had rented temporarily. By November of 2020, it seemed like life was only getting better every week. I wasn't worried about the pending charges back in Amarillo, because I didn't do it. There's just no way they can convict me for something I didn't do, I thought. What evidence could they possibly have that tied me to this? Nothing. My lawyer will straighten it all out, and they'll drop the charges.

Okay. Maybe just a little part of me remembered that I also didn't do what I was charged with in 2003, yet I spent 6 years in prison. I mostly thought about it when Kelly was with her kids, and I was alone. That old drinking habit would rear its ugly head, and I would wake up on my couch, having passed out hours before.

I sought counseling for my PTSD; she was amazing. I was truly healing and moving forward, until I drank. Then I would get depressed about it all over again. My drinking started to get heavy-- Kelly noticed-- her sister noticed-- her staff at her restaurant noticed-- so she put her foot down. I set a new goal to stop drinking. For weeks at a time, we would have fun with it. She signed me up for every program and bought every book and did it with me. But it just didn't last -- eventually we would agree that I could moderate again, this time for certain.

At the marina I worked at, they had a small restaurant space that had closed due to Covid. My boss was constantly stressed about needing a restaurant in that space again. I had an idea. Kelly and her sister were pros at running a restaurant, they could teach me, and all three of us could open up a restaurant at the marina, right on the water. It was only for the summer, so it wouldn't take up too much of their time, and I would do most of the work. I asked Kelly and her sister, and they loved the idea. I approached my boss with the proposal, and he said yes. I'll always remember how the three of us hugged and jumped up and down together when we got the news. We were scheduled to open up in May of 2021. I was going to be a co-owner of a restaurant.

The part I'm about to tell you now is key. This is why Phoenix Reformation exists. When I say I know what you're going through, I mean it. Look at the life I was building, how happy I was, how much I had going for me. Let's not forget the woman of my dreams left her husband to be with me. I was happy with myself PLUS I found true love. So why, why would I ever let alcohol destroy that? Because that's what alcoholism does; it destroys what you love most.

Coming Full Circle

Christmas was beautiful, but by January, I just couldn't stop drinking. I started hiding it; Kelly knew. By the end of February, she was heartbroken and angry when she called me and ended our relationship. I begged her with more ideas and promises, but she hung up on me. She had never done that before. She was really done with me. I had gotten the girl and then lost her. I was so ashamed that I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me. To make a long story short (details saved for later), I surrendered. I can't get sober by myself, so God, if you're there, take over for me.

God sent me an angel in human form. A man overheard me talking about how I needed a place besides inpatient rehab or outpatient treatment to truly get sober. He stepped right into the conversation and said I should call Coming Full Circle (CFC), a sober living home, where his nephew worked. It's a home, not a hospital or office building. They took in men like me who wanted to get sober (that's key) and needed a full time sober environment to help them. It wasn't rehab, but you did attend peer recovery classes each week. They had curfews and drug/alcohol tests to keep you accountable. They all worked on chores and cooking together, and the cost of a nice room in a big house was about $80 a week. Then the man wished me good luck and walked away. I called CFC and they welcomed me in that day. I had a nice room in a huge house with 8 other guys and a house manager. It felt right. I knew this was where I needed to be; it fell into my lap straight from God. Just like Kelly had...

You think I gave up on winning Kelly back? No way. I called her often and told her of my progress. I still knew in my heart she and I were meant to be. She was cold and distant at first, but she picked up the phone every time. So you're telling me there's a chance...

Getting sober was not easy, I guess that goes without saying. But being in a sober environment where everyone around is also living sober -- made such a difference. I graduated from the first 6-week SMART recovery class, and something clicked with me. I really liked the tools it taught. But the cravings still happened. The class facilitator gave me an aquamarine gemstone that he said represented me on my journey. I kept it in my pocket at all times. I gave the house manager the keys to Knobby so I couldn't drive to a liquor store. Luckily in New Jersey, they don't sell alcohol anywhere but at liquor stores -- no convenience or grocery stores. When I would feel that alcohol craving so strongly that I considered walking to the liquor store miles down the road...I would reach into my pocket and hold that stone from class. The craving will pass, and one day, it will never return. Kelly will take you back if you're sober. Do it for her.

CFC worked miracles on me. Pretty soon, I was getting sober for me, not just Kelly. I saw how much better I was not only feeling but thinking. I liked how clear my mind felt, I liked feeling so much energy and waking up refreshed. My PTSD was healing, too. Maybe I hadn't ever stopped drinking for long enough to realize I could handle my PTSD better as a sober man. That was a lightbulb moment. They had weekly optional classes, weekend outings, camp adventures, concerts, and it was all done in a sober social environment. What a great idea -- immerse people in fun social activities where everyone is sober, where there's not even a chance or question of alcohol being involved. People like me who thought I could only loosen up and have fun if I was drinking--well, you learn that's not true. You actually have more fun because you're present, you're clear-minded. I made friends there who were also sober. No fleas.

Around the 60-day sober mark, I asked Kelly if I could please help out at our restaurant, even one or two days a week. She agreed, and I jumped right in. I ended up helping out a lot more than she planned -- post-Covid, restaurants had a terrible time finding reliable staff. I did every position - payroll, scheduling, dishes, bussing, serving -- I even worked the fryers when one of the cooks would call out. Despite the stress of running a restaurant, I didn't even think about drinking. I had already put in 60-days, so every day sober in a row meant a lot more to me. I never wanted to go back to Day 1, that was for sure.

I had heard about the 90-day mark, but I didn't believe it. Sober men said after 90 days, your brain rewires itself and it no longer craves alcohol. It's just gone. Now you might crave ice cream, sure, but hey, a win is a win. The physiological effects of how alcohol tricks your brain is just that --a trick. And it makes you happy at first, but then its goal is to make you sad, sadder than sad. But I digress.

When I hit that 90-day mark, I felt it. The craving left my body, my brain. It was gone. Could it be? I checked myself; I imagined whiskey, wine, beer...nope, nothing. If anything, it was a slightly negative feeling. I loved it. Talk about feeling free! True freedom. I realized I had spent 6 years in a physical prison but 10 years in a mental prison with alcohol. Sixteen years. I was almost 40 and felt like I was truly free for the first time. I wanted everyone struggling like I had to feel what I felt now. I have to help others on their journey, too, I decided.

I was hanging out at the CFC main center, getting ready to be a facilitator for upcoming classes, when the leader of CFC, Jay, called me into his office. He knew all about Kelly and how I was determined to win her back. He said, "Kelly called me. She had dropped off donations for CFC but accidentally dropped off the box of staff t-shirts for her restaurant with it. She's coming by now to pick them up and doesn't think you're here. Why don't you carry them out to her car?" He had me at "Kelly called."

I saw her pull up. I saw her realize it was me holding the box she was coming to pick up. Her face froze. We hadn't seen each other in a while. I looked healthy, bright-eyed, and happy. I was sober, sober for life this time, and I knew it. I smiled at her. She got out of the car and said, "I didn't know you were going to be here." Then she burst into tears. So did I.

I put the box in her car and wrapped her in a hug. "Please don't give up on me," I whispered. "I'm telling you, I made it through, I don't even crave alcohol, I don't think about it. I love being sober. I love you more than anything in existence."

She wiped her eyes and I saw that spark there. She still loved me. "I could never stop loving you even if I tried - and I have tried," she said, half-crying, half-laughing. "I love you too, so much. I am so impressed at what you've done. I didn't think you could do it. I love you."

Wrongfully Convicted Again

Hello,

This is the team from StandWithEdwardJames.com.

Please see that website and help expose how this 2003 charge was used to wrongfully convict him in 2024. Edward is in jail challenging extradition to Texas with a Habeas Corpus petition. He will not stop until he clears his name. We are his supporters, spreading the information.

With your help, we can get Edward freed and he can go back to helping others on their recovery journeys.

Thank you!