To Free the Truth

My hope vanished completely in 1999. A slip from the mailroom said I should come pick up my legal mail by noon the next day. The letter from my lawyer stated that one of my state appeals had been denied. He also regretted to inform me that he would no longer be able to represent me because the state of Texas wouldn’t pay for additional appeals. If I wanted to file anything else, I had to pay him or file it myself. It was a long walk back to my cell. 

What could I do? I’d need $20,000 for an attorney to file my state habeas corpus, and if that was denied, an additional $50,000 for federal appeals. I didn’t have $2 for a tube of toothpast; where would I get that kind of money?!? There were a few decent jailhouse lawyers who could file my appeals, but they wanted no less than $2500 deposited into free world bank accounts–if I paid the $1000 for my trial transcripts. 

With nowhere to turn and no real way to fight for my freedom, I sank into a deep state of despair. I’d already been depressed because my mother rarely wrote. The letter from my attorney only exacerbated it. The psych doctor increased my dosage of antidepressants, yet I still walked around listlessly, thoughts of suicide frequently on my mind. There were several guys there that I thought of as true friends, dudes who expressed sincere love and empathy, yet I still felt alone.