Tom Richey: 'My chance of a new life will not be wasted'

I KNOW my life is changing. I noticed it the other morning as I stood on the prison yard and watched prisoners circle the dirt track, their steps falling on the impressions made by a thousand frustrated men before them.

I felt disconnected, no longer part of the struggle they battle each day. It's a struggle I endured for twenty-four years.

I was always aware of the walls, the razor-wire fences, the scrutiny of the guards, a future of spending the rest of my life in an American prison without being given the chance to prove the man I've become isn't the daft teenager with drugs in his system and a loaded gun in his hand.

As soon as the Washington State Supreme Court issues its order to strike my invalid conviction, I'll be returned to the Pierce County Superior Court and will walk free following the hearing. I often doubted this day would come.

Forever it seems, I've witnessed a daily trickle of prisoners being escorted to the prison control centre preceding their release. They no longer move as if they've nowhere to go and all day to get there. They have a bounce in their step as if a great burden has been lifted from them, and they seem to breathe a euphoric high unattainable to the likes of me. I envied every last one of them.

Months later, many of these same men, who vowed to all who cared to listen that they'd never be back, stepped from the prison chain bus in shackles and cuffs, unable to meet the stares from lifers like me. They blamed everyone but themselves, but they had never prepared to lead productive lives. Most of them wasted their years in prison playing cards and watching TV, making promises to their loved ones they couldn't meet. They squandered their chances, some many times over, and I resented them.

In 2008, I resented my brother when he left Ohio's death row after 21 years and stumbled and fell into a jail cell in HMP Saughton months later. He'd promised he wouldn't fail, but he hadn't prepared himself to succeed. He fell in with the wrong crowd, drank excessively, used drugs, and essentially lived as if there was no tomorrow. But he lied to everyone. He told people what they wanted to hear while he privately hungered to recapture all he'd lost.

Kenny didn't make things easy for me. When I return to Edinburgh, people may hold their breath, expecting me to stumble and fall as he did. But I've spent my years preparing for freedom, preparing to succeed in society. Each familiar face that returned to prison hammered home my resolve to fortify my education and to understand myself so I could better face the challenges that tripped them – and my brother – up.

I don't feel a hunger to recapture my past. I deserved punishment for taking a life. There isn't a day I don't forget that. I've served more time than most, but I can't complain any more than my victim can complain. To leave prison only to stumble as Kenny would waste all I've worked to achieve. Some people will always judge me for the mistake I made as a teen. I can't change that. I can only hope that, when I return to Edinburgh, most people give me the chance to show the worth of the man I've become.