1
I Am Prisoner #276187
I am prisoner #276187, otherwise known as Tony Vick, a convicted double murderer, serving two well-deserved life sentences in the Tennessee Department of Correction. In 1993, I killed my first wife, the only girl I had ever dated, and in 1996, I killed my second wife, the only other woman I had ever dated. Both women were beautiful, wonderful, loving people who fell in love with the man I had created from lies and manipulations. You see, for thirty-four years of my life, I held a secretâI was gay.
Forty years ago, saying these words, âI am gay,â was not as easy as it is today. Being a good Southern Baptist meant that being homosexual would send you straight to hell, and I believed in hell. Most Sundays from the pulpit, the preacher painted vivid pictures of such a place of eternal torment. The religious folk said that God could cure any disease, and, to them, homosexuality was a disease of the mind. However, with enough faith, one could be set free from such a miserable curse. I prayed and prayed, repented and repented, asking God to take the wicked thoughts out of my mind. When he didnât, I had to accept that I did not have enough faith to warrant such a miracle.
As a teenager, I finally sought the advice of a preacher. He told me that I needed to walk the walk and talk the talk of a heterosexual man, and that eventually my heart would catch up. He insisted that God was waiting for me to accept his miracle and live accordingly. So, I took a girl to my high school fall dance and eventually married her. Surely this would show God that I was serious about receiving his miracle.
The miracle didnât come, and, close to my thirtieth birthday, the thought of living another day with my lies didnât seem possible. Instead of telling the truth and facing the consequences, I chose a cowardâs way and an illogical path by killing my wife. I had created such a web of deceit that I didnât recognize myself. I felt lost, to God and to the world. God, I thought, could forgive anything, including murder, but could not tolerate or forgive homosexuality. Even though I had never acted out any of my fantasies of being with a man, the thoughts alone were forbidden sins that required Godâs healing hands. My entire life became one big lie, and everything I said and did was formed out of an alternate reality.
After my wifeâs death was ruled accidental, I thought surely this was a sign from God that he was trying to heal me. So, sometime later, I married my widowed neighbor, a friend, and was going to try again to walk the walk and talk the talk. I had to find the faith to be healed. I did not, and my marriage ended the same wayâmurder. Two women, their families, their friends, and their community were all devastated by my selfish, cowardly acts of lying, manipulating, and killing. There is no way to justify or rationalize my choices. They were all mine. I was convicted, and now Iâm in prison where I deserve to be. Even this place, with all of its horrors, canât punish me enough for my sins. Nor can it add any more grief or remorse to my heart than my own mind already has. Am I crazy? I donât know. Iâm just me, mixed up, confused, scared. The âwhyâ of it all canât be explained, at least not by me. The thirty-four years I lived in the Free World are valleys of time that I wish could be erased. But thatâs not how life works; it is what it is, for better or for worse.
My first years in prison were spent barely existing, walking around like a zombie without any real emotion, trying not to feel anythingâseemingly dead inside, unworthy of happiness, kindness, or life. I lacked the courage to kill myself. I had proven that by killing others instead. In that pit of despair is where I really found God, the same one who had been there all along. I had spent so much time trying to be what I heard man tell me to be that I failed to be quiet and listenâto be still. I didnât hear an audible voice from the Almighty, nor did I have a burning bush moment where lifeâs secrets were revealed. What I did find was calmness, peace, and a slow realization that God loved me, just as I was. I found that his love and forgiveness were enough to cover all the evil I had done.
I believe God has forgiven me, but forgiving myself has been a more difficult process, one that perhaps will never be fully complete. The miracle of forgiveness seems so incredible that itâs hard to simply accept. But if I didnât constantly remind myself that itâs possible, I would wither away at the bottom of a pit. I donât expect forgiveness from my victimsâ families, friends, or communities. The scars I left are likely too deep to ever heal. Scars were also left on my own family, who became victims themselves. My parents and brother have died since my incarceration, but, while alive, they suffered greatly as a result of my sins. And my precious son, just a young child when I entered prison and now a grown man, has spent his childhood, teenage years, and now his adulthood burdened with the sins of his father. My choices robbed so many people of their hopes, dreams, and, perhaps, a countless number of great things my victims might have achieved. Unforgiveable by human hearts. I understand.
I canât cast blame on the church or the preachers for my crimes, nor can I blame my gayness. Many people have faced similar challenges and have not destroyed other lives in order to gain their own authenticity. All I have to blame are the dominoes of lies that I lined up beginning early in my life. I finally tipped one over, beginning a ripple effect of destruction. They fell hard and for a long time. All the dominoes have now stopped falling, but the tumbled masses of debris is left as a constant reminder of my deceit that created them and the forces that pushed that first domino overâall my actions.
But here I am, still alive, breathing, feeling, thinking. Unfair? Yes. Nonetheless, a reality. Prison forced me to drop my veil of deception. God gave his forgiveness, and now Iâm left with the question, what to do? Prison is my community now, full of broken people and souls needing love and a voice. My hope is to share the experience of incarceration with a world that may be surprised at the true state of our prisons and the emotional trauma experienced inside the razor-wire fences.
Why is this important? Most inmates will get out of prison. Some will even be your neighbors. Some will be working for you or with you. Some will be serving you food at a restaurant. Some will be around your children. Some will be everywhere you go. So, itâs important that, while your tax dollars are funding their stints behind bars, inmates receive treatment, education, and other preparation to live successfully without re-victimizing the community in the Free World. One thing is for sure: you cannot put a tiger in a cage, throw him a crumb occasionally, keep him from human contact and love, continually poke him with a stick, and think that, when the cage is opened, he will become a house kitty.
I hope you will receive these essays and poems from the flawed creature that I am. I have attempted to paint a picture of prison for you to experience and interpret. Then, you can decide for yourself if you can comfortably hang this picture on the wall of your world. Or is it too disturbing?
I Was, I Am
2
Iâm Hungry, Feed Me
Food is the ultimate equalizer. We cannot live without it, and most of us spend countless hours s...