I have done several interviews since being incarcerated, including one for an A&E forensic documentary, “Speed Kills,” for the recently released series, “Bloodwork,” on the Crime and Investigation Channel. Interviews are always emotionally trying as I am forced to face the hard questions and relive the events that placed me here. Not “hard” because I am in prison, but because I’m flooded with emotions each time I revisit that day, and the heartbreak I caused the Kap family. “Remorse” seems an inadequate term to describe how I feel about causing the death of an innocent man. Just the words, “causing the death” seem surreal as I write them. One of the questions I am repeatedly asked: “What do you say to those who believe you shouldn’t have a voice?” A fair question, and my response never wavers: “Of course everyone is entitled to an opinion, and I don’t hold it against anyone for judging me. I judge myself the hardest. I didn’t ask for a voice, but was given one.” If I were to sit in prison for the rest of my life, there would still be some who would choose to never forget, never forgive. I am the face of everything they loathe, a walking reminder of countless lives lost, and to “condemn the man” (me) seems a valid outlet for their pain and disdain. I understand that, but cannot understand allowing those feelings to interfere with a message that could potentially save lives. Should our failures silence us? If our fall can be used to lift someone up, then why neglect the chance to use it? Why waste the pain? Right after my accident I was asked to speak at my local high school Bible Club and I can tell you it was the last thing I felt like doing. I wanted to crawl under my covers and disappear, especially in light of the community outrage toward me that was cropping up online and in the local paper. But I had always spoken out during the good times in my life, so it seemed only fair that I show my face in the midst of my shame. Anything less seemed like wasting the pain. If I had acted on my feelings alone, I would have never shared my story that day at my local high school, or gone on to speak to so many students around the state prior to prison. In fact, my feelings would likely suggest that I skip the interviews, and blogs, and all of the uncomfortable and avoidable reminders of the devastation I caused on March 7, 2009. But I cannot trust my feelings, or be governed by them—especially here in this chaotic and depressing environment. I choose to maintain a positive attitude, because my attitude is one thing I still control entirely. A Corrections Officer supervising a recent interview, approached me and said,” People definitely need to hear that message and you’re doing a good thing here, keep it up.” He has no idea how those words encouraged me and motivated me to keep talking about my shame, even when my feelings advise against it. There is healing in knowing we aren’t wasting our pain, but even more so, when we are using it for a greater purpose. (ED. NOTE: The author, of Court House, a former professional soccer player, is serving five-and-a-half years in state prison after pleading guilty to manslaughter and driving while intoxicated in October 2009. Matt’s blogs have been read by over 100,000 people in every state, 114 countries, and in 67 different languages. www .themattmaherstory.com)