The Program: Cumberland County's Treatment Court

DAWN'S STORY

'The Right Path'

Dawn Mercer's life was a mess.

By mid-2006, she'd been a drug addict for two decades. She'd been in
and out of jail, including a three-year stint in state prison for
selling crack cocaine.

She was a thief and a habitual liar. She was unemployed. The only
money she had coming in was from selling drugs on the streets of her
native Carlisle.

"I was dealing," Mercer said. "I was putting my family and my child
through hell."

The Cumberland County Drug Task Force knew all about Mercer, thanks to
an informant. In one quick strike, the task force arrested her and her
brother.

Again, state prison loomed.

But that, Mercer said, would have been the fate of the other Dawn, the
one who died a slow, hard death in the county's Treatment Court program.

Two years after what her supporters hope will be her final arrest,
Mercer is a free woman, one of the first three graduates of the boot
camp that its participants know simply as "drug court."

She works full time as a cook. She has re-established her relationship
with her daughter and her infant grandson. And, she said, for the
first time in a long time, she has hope.

"I wanted out of that life. I wanted to do the right thing," said
Mercer, 43, of South Middleton Twp. "I was getting tired. I wanted to
make something of myself."

Addiction becomes life:

Drugs seemed so attractive when she started smoking marijuana and
experimenting with speed in junior high school. It got only worse from
there.

"I met a guy who turned out to be a drug dealer. That's where it all
got kicked off, with cocaine," Mercer said. "For me, it was always
cocaine."

Soon, she said, the addiction became her life. She became isolated
from her family. Mercer said she couldn't even stay sober to attend
her father's funeral.

"As an addict, you're used to numbing your feelings," she
said.

In 1990, Mercer went to state prison on a three-year drug dealing rap.
It almost proved to be her salvation.

For the first time in years, she wasn't using drugs. At the State
Correctional Institution at Muncy, she earned her general equivalency
diploma, making up for dropping out of high school. She even earned
certification in blueprint reading and architectural drawing.

And for six months after her release, she stayed clean.

It didn't last. The bad habits of her old neighborhood had too strong
of a pull. Friends got her hooked once more.

She got back into selling drugs, although she was never a high-level
dealer, and kept doing it even after her daughter's father was nailed
for selling drugs and sentenced to 17 years in federal prison.

"It's very stressful," Mercer said of a drug dealer's life. "Your
phone's ringing constantly. You're worried about the cops coming.
You're worried that someone you're selling to is an informant. You
can't think clearly.

"It's just a matter of time before someone in that situation is going
to get caught." she said. "Somebody's going to roll on you."

The man who rolled on her wasn't a stranger, but a long-time customer
who'd been turned by the drug task force.

"I had known that man for 12 or 13 years," Mercer said. "I was
devastated. I knew I was going to prison."

The slow process begins:

Mercer would undoubtedly have gone to prison if not for some fortunate
timing.

The county was just starting its treatment court program in late 2006.
Its organizers reluctantly decided to admit her.

No one was especially optimistic about Mercer's chances, Senior
Assistant District Attorney John Dailey said.

He said he consented to her entry into the program only after
consulting Carlisle Detective Jeff Kurtz, who knew Mercer well because
he'd arrested her so often.

"He didn't think she'd make it, but he was willing to give her a try,"
Dailey said.

"When she came to the first sessions, she looked like crap. She looked
like a street person, an addict," he said.

Mercer was emaciated, he recalled, and didn't seem to care if her hair
was a mess or her clothes were in disarray.

Still, Dailey said, it was obvious that the drug life had worn Mercer
out. "Those are the people we are looking for," he said. "The ones who
have hit bottom."

Mercer said she fully intended to con her way through treatment
court.

"I thought, 'I can slide through this like I have everything else.' I
thought I could still use," she said. "But this program is amazing. It
turned my life around."

That was a slow process.

She failed drug tests and was penalized. An angry confrontation with
another participant cost her a chance at an early graduation.

Learning to manage anger, to think and not just lash out, proved to be
one of her keys to recovery, she said.

"I was short-fused. I'd get physical with anybody," Mercer said.
"Today, I just stay out of peoples' business. I set boundaries for
myself."

At one point, when the treatment court team wanted to ease its
restrictions upon her, she demanded to be subjected to random urine
testing to give her an extra incentive to stay drug-free.

"That was a security blanket for me," Mercer said. "I felt I was still
a little weak."

There is a strong mental aspect to recovery, she said. "It's not only
about the drugs," she said. "You have to change your thought process.

"I have a foundation now of clean, sober people," Mercer
said.

'I'm so proud of her':

The main beneficiaries of Mercer's transition include her daughter,
Sereena, 20, and Sereena's 8-month-old son Julian.

Sereena said she grew up with many flashy toys, clothes, jewelry and
cell phones, all bought with drug money, but she didn't really have a
mom.

She remembered the police raids, especially one when she was 5 and a
cop stuck a gun in her face. Drug dealers and users were always
hanging around. "There were always arguments, fights," Sereena recalled.

She admitted to experimenting with drugs, but said she had too many
reasons to reject that life. "I knew I didn't want to go there," she
said.

The change that treatment court helped her mom to make is amazing and
welcome, she said.

"I'm so proud of her. I never thought she'd be able to do it," Sereena
said. "I thought that after going that far [into drugs] she'd never be
able to come back."

Mercer has a home now, and two cars. She even helps other recovering
addicts by hosting Narcotics Anonymous meetings at a local church.

"My life is so great today. I'm a happy person," Mercer said. "I work
a 40-hour week. I don't miss any days.

"It's nice that my money's legitimate. I have people who trust me,"
she said.