Timmy was a commonly seen Parolee; a white kid in his mid twenties, but looked like he was in his fifties.  Maybe 5’6” if he stood up straight, but was was always hunched over, shrinking him to closer to 5’2”.  He was rail thin, like a skeleton wrapped in paste white, ashy skin. The only colors on him were the dark, sunken circles under his eyes and the thousands of bleeding, pus oozing, pink, pock marks all over.  As he spoke to me, he was constantly scratching and picking at the craters, making them so much worse. Timmy was with me for an obvious drug addiction. He didn’t have access to any of the cool, sexy drugs, he was hooked on the deadly, soul dissolving drugs; crystal meth and fentanyl. 

At 25, Timmy had been through three strokes and multiple seizures. Of course, it wasn’t because of drugs, it was because of other health issues, at least that what he’d tell me.  Timmy met me at my office a handful of times, testing positive for a cocktail of poison. It wasn’t long before he stopped coming in out of fear or being rearrested. I went out to find him but he was never around. He lived in a trailer park in the worst part of town. Calling it a trailer park was kind, it looked more like an enormous landfill with a dozen broken down shacks set up along a dusty path made into a road. Timmy was in lot #23, but I could identify it by the pile of used diapers out front. After a few failed attempts at his home, I put out a warrant for him.  Weeks later he was picked up by local police hanging around a 7-11.  

Timmy did three months in jail for his non-compliance. He was released to me, so I could impose more restrictions and sanctions that he would not be able to do – Gotta keep the community safe. When I picked him up at jail, he looked remarkably different. He was standing straight, his dark circles were gone, and so were the pock marks. He looked … healthy.  The ride home was about 30 minutes and Timmy didn’t waste one.  

“This is the longest I’ve been sober in my life, I feel really good.” He stated he no longer was having seizures and admitted the obvious; that his addiction was killing him.  This was tremendous progress. Just acknowledging his problem was something he’d never done prior. It wasn’t all great, unfortunately Timmy’s fiancee had passed while he was in custody. I could see the pain in his face as he told me, the emotion was something I didn’t know he was capable of. He admitted she died due to an overdose, something else he’d usually not admit to. Timmy was aware of the danger he was in, he knew he had to change his lifestyle if he was going to survive. That included his friends and the dreadful trailer park he lived in. As we turned down the dusty path toward his shack, he noted one of the trailers had been burned down since he was there last. I could see the fear on his face, he was doomed. This place was loaded with depression and drugs. It was unescapable. When we stopped at his home, a  neighbor appeared from behind a old pickup he was dismantling for the past 30 hours, a common pastime of the tweaker. He greeted Timmy and tried to make plans for later. Timmy was scared to death. He didn’t stand a chance.  

Timmy was in my office a week later for a office check in. I tested him, and he was clean, first time ever. He was shaking as he sat down. 

“This weekend was really hard, I gotta get out of that place.” The fact that Timmy knew the changes he had to make and the difficulty involved instantly got me invested. I pulled out a list of drug and alcohol programs, good ones. This list almost always found its way into the trash because no one was interested. But Timmy was. I told him to call every program, and put himself on the waitlist. As soon as a bed becomes available, he was ordered to call me.  

“I don’t care where the program is, if they have a bed, you are going.” I ordered him. I’d call for him, but that defeats the purpose; these programs want commitment, if someone else is calling for them they already failed the first step. Timmy’s motivation to change was compelling and I wanted to keep it going. Also, I wanted Timmy to have a chance.  For the first time ever, he was motivated to change his life to something better, but I know that trailer park was burying him.  This was an incredibly difficult battle to win, and I really wanted to help him, but I couldn’t, he had to do it alone, I could only coach from the sidelines. 

“As soon as you get the call, you call me.  I don’t give a fuck what time it is, you call me. I’ll come get you and bring you there. Got it?!?”  Usually when I yell or swear it’s not for positive reasons, but this time you could hear me two doors down the hall. Timmy looked back at me and nodded.  

Timmy was in my office a week later, a little more worn down.  He hadn’t heard back from any of the programs and he looked defeated. I told him to start coming in twice a week, just to keep in touch with me. He missed his next appointment, then his next. I went back to the trailer park in search of him. I strolled past the growing pile of diapers and swarm of flies and knocked on the door. Timmy opened with a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. The dark circles were back. He looked tired and lost. I was crushed. Timmy was being buried alive in the depression and filth of this place. I talked him into coming in the office the next day, he tested for for meth and I arrested him. He seemed relieved to be going to jail. This thought saddened me. Jail was his safe place. He was released three weeks later and got his own ride home.  

I never saw Timmy again. He didn’t show for office contacts and he was never home when I was there.  The trailer park tweaker said Timmy hasn’t been seen in days. A warrant was issued but to this day he was never picked up. I’d like to think Timmy got out of the area and started a new life somewhere. He fooled us all, like Harrison Ford in the Fugitive. That’s my hope for Timmy, but reality isn’t as kind. I still check the jail list daily, hoping to see him.  Maybe he will find his way back to the one place that will keep him clean.