Without Corner House, Richard Atchison knows he’d be dead or in prison today.
“What it all boils down to is that Corner House saved my life,” said Atchison, a former resident of the halfway house who has been clean of drugs for 21 months. “If I hadn’t been slowed down here and put in Corner House, there’s no way I could have done this on my own. My best thinking is what got me into such a bad position.”
Corner House is trying to raise $1.3 million for a new 11,000 square-foot drug and alcohol treatment center by July 1. Board vice-president Basil Kessler said on Monday there was $92,000 left to raise. If it fails, the house loses $470,000 in challenge grants.
Atchison says he is cheering them on. He knows all too well what a mess his life used to be and how much help it took to put it back together again.
Finding a crowd
Growing up in Topeka, Atchison said, he had good grades, loving parents and no real sense of where he fit in.
He was a good wrestler, but outside of wrestling season, he didn’t really have a niche.
“I didn’t fit with the in crowd, I didn’t fit with the out crowd,” he said. “I was stuck somewhere in the middle.”
He began hanging out with other “middle kids,” some of whom started drinking and using marijuana. Atchison always turned down their offers to join in. But he never walked away, either.
Things started to cut loose around the time his parents divorced, Atchison said. He started fighting and realized he was good at it, eventually becoming a high-ranked martial artist. He started drinking about the time he joined a fraternity in college. He tried marijuana, but found he didn’t care for it.
“I didn’t like the feel of it,” Atchison said. “It made me tired and lazy and the next day, I was hurting pretty bad.”
So he left the weed and fell into speed. That one stayed.
“I kept doing it so I could fit in somewhere,” he said. “I felt like I fit in with a lot of people.”
Time to run
Atchison stayed in school from 1990 until 1994. For much of that time his major, ironically, was law enforcement.
“My mind became sick enough that I thought I could avoid being arrested if I knew what they were going to do,” he said.
He finally switched to physical therapy, then dropped out altogether. By 1996, his mother had remarried but he had basically disappeared, moving from place to place. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to get messed up.
What he eventually got was arrested.
The Topeka police picked him up for possession in 2003 and sent him to Valeo Stepping Stone for inpatient treatment. He finished the program after 35 days and went on probation, required to check in at Stepping Stone once a week.
He quit within a month and started using again. His probation officer gave him a choice. Move into Stepping Stone for inpatient treatment again or go to jail.
He moved in.
“That lasted a grand total of seven days,” Atchison said. “They gave me a UA (urine test) and I failed that. Seven of us got tested. Six of us got kicked out.”
Atchison went on the run for several months. When the police finally found him, he was caught with methamphetamines again, winning another possession charge.
He missed his court date on the old charge, then showed up for the new one. His probation officer was waiting for him. He didn’t mince words:
“Mr. Atchison, one way or another, you’re going to jail today.”
Atchison waited for him to leave the room for a moment, then fled down the fire stairs.
End of the line
A week later, Atchison was at his parents’ house in Jefferson County, getting ready to pack up and leave the state. Without meaning to, he fell asleep. He stepped out on the porch the next morning to smoke a cigarette.
A driveway full of police cars was waiting for him.
He took a step. The car doors opened.
“I thought, ‘This is like Simon Says,’” he said.
Atchison moved to the left. The police officers came straight at him. Soon they were telling his parents to let them search the house for drugs or they’d get a warrant and seize it if they found anything.
His parents let them in. The drugs were there. And Atchison was looking at 60 days in jail.
“I was in there, freaking out, coming off of the meth and not sure what I was going to do,” he said. “After three weeks, my head started to clear from the drugs. I realized I didn’t want to spend my whole life in and out of jails, in and out of prisons. ... My mind was so messed up, I had no idea what getting back on track even involved.”
Atchison joined Narcotics Anonymous and served out his 60 days. This time, he wanted to stay clean. And his probation officer decided his best chance to do that was to get away from his “friends.”
“He said, ‘I don’t think you’re going to make it through the program if you stay in Topeka,’” Atchison said.
It took 30 days to find an opening somewhere else, during which his parents kept hold of his car keys. On day 29, the officer congratulated him on another clean test — and then told him to pack up for Emporia.
“I need you in Emporia by noon the next day.”
“Can it be later?” Atchison asked.
“Noon, or we put you back in jail.”
“I’ll be there at noon.”
“And into Corner House I went,” Atchison said.
New start
Atchison said he planned to be at Corner House for three months. Then his mother found out that a warrant had been issued for his arrest on the newer charges. He began to panic, got ready to run again.
A Corner House counselor stopped him cold.
“She said ‘What good will it do to go on the run?’” Atchison said. “You need to face this so you can get on with your life.”
The next day, he called a bail bondswoman, turned himself in, set a court date and was back out on bail in about 90 minutes.
“I basically got saved from going to prison because the counselor was able to talk me down,” he said.
He ended up staying at Corner House for five months, keeping to the requirements: regular chores, five group meetings a week, regular one-on-one meetings, getting a job. And most of all, staying clean.
“At first, it felt pretty overwhelming,” Atchison said. “I’d never had any idea what responsibility was... . But things changed — and started to get better.”
He began cutting more links to the past, began feeling more and more free. By April 2006 he was able to leave the house, only having to return for weekly meetings.
“It gave me ... it really gave me a sense of self-respect back,” he said.
He started delivering furniture while he was at the house, but had to leave the job in January after diabetes rendered him legally blind. He’s due to have a surgery today that may give him enough of his sight back to drive again.
But he still sees the important things clearly enough. No more running. No more hiding.
“There’s always a choice,” he said. “I can choose to go back to drugs and destroy everything I’ve gotten. Or I can choose to remember the life I had and what I have now. And there’s no way I want to give this up.”