I passed the two year mark at the end of the January. Around then, the Career Scope worked called me out, and asked which, if any, trade I wanted to take. The idea of going home and freedom were fast becoming realities. For about a day, my heart jumped in jubilation.
Then, my instinct for self-sabotage kicked in, and induced a panic attack. What if I had ruined my life for good? What if these past 7 odd years were the prime of my life, and they were gone, spent behind bars?
It’s tough to always keep a positive mindset.
There’s a 40% chance I’ll be back within a year. An almost 70% chance I’ll be back within 5. Only 5% of addicts stay clean for good. Hell, there’s only a 67% I receive a parole the first time around.
Then, there’s the well-known fact that a felony conviction lowers a person’s earning potential substantially. Any job using my brain is off-limits for the immediate future.
The statistics are staggering. The odds are overwhelming…I’m fucked.
Then, I remembered, I ultimately get to decide if that’s the case. I can wallow in self-pity or Count-of-Monte-Cristo this shit (minus the escape) and come out a boss.
I signed up for the carpentry program this week. In two years, I’ll be a college educated, literate-in- Chinese handyman who has two books worth of material. It’ll be enough.
Easy Trouble 