I’m about to go to prison in South Carolina for three years on a drug trafficking charge—all because I ordered what I thought was Adderall from a website that seemed totally legit. The site claimed that if you’d had a prescription in the past year, you could order. It accepted credit cards, had no shady vibes, and looked professional. Turns out, the pills were made of meth. Now I’m facing a mandatory minimum sentence because they weighed 0.15 grams over the threshold—enough to slap me with a “violent and serious” label. That means I’ll serve 85% of the time, likely in a Level 3 prison where survival isn’t easy. They target you when they find out you only have 3 years and they all have 30 or life.
This started two years ago when I crashed my car into a guardrail. I woke up in jail, charged with distribution, and bonded out fast. But then they upgraded the charge, and I’ve been a wreck ever since. I fired my public defender and hired a $6,000 attorney—used to be the best in Greenville. I told him, “I CAN’T GO BACK TO STATE PRISON!!” He said, “We can make it happen with some finagling,” but despite two years out with no trouble (and two mental hospital stays), the deal on the table is still three years. My family needs me. I need help. This feels like a victimless crime—except I’m the one paying. And my family is paying. Again. I can’t do this to them anymore.
Trial’s set for early April. My pastor told me to pray, to ask God to guide my lawyer and speak to me through him. I’m trying to trust that, but right now, my head’s spinning with options:
- Take the DA’s Deal: Accept the three years before trial and get it over with.
- Plead Guilty, No Deal: Hope the judge sees I’m not a trafficker—just someone who needs mental health treatment like electroshock therapy, hypnosis, or CBT. (I’m waiting on disability approval for Medicaid to even afford that.)
- Plead Not Guilty: Roll the dice at trial and pray one of six jurors has enough compassion to say “not guilty.”
- Force a Federal Charge: Walk into a bank, hand over a polite robbery note (“No dye packs, just one stack of 20s, thank you!”), and the state should run my current sentence concurrently with a federal one. Federal prison’s 1000x better than South Carolina’s system—unless the Federal judge says “consecutive,” then… Hmmm. Firing Squad?
- Run: Disappear and figure it out later.
- End It: Jump off a bridge the day before trial and stop being a burden to everyone.
I don’t know what to do. I’m not a criminal (anymore) — just a super smart dumbass who keeps making mistakes and now I can’t function under the weight of it. If you’ve got advice, prayers, or just want to tell me I’m not alone, I’d love to hear it. Haven’t slept since Thursday night.
PS One of my stays at Marshall Pickens was because I knew this guy and I asked him for one gram of powder fentanyl and he brought it. My plan was to stash it and if I get found guilty just snort it that night and go to sleep. I decided to test it just to make sure it was real and I did a tiny tiny tiny bump just a spec of it and woke up in the floor when they used the narcan on me. I can not believe my son had to go through this. It hurts me so bad. So bad I’ve been starting to feel and act like a dad. I went from Libertarian to total Maga. If that evil party had won America would not be a place you would want to be. Especially if you are straight white male. People have called me a conspiracy theorist for years because I talked about things I would hear on Alex Jones radio or George Norrey/Art Bell.
Couple weeks of freedom left…