I JUST SERVED TWO YEARS ON HOUSE ARREST (NSFW)

Congratulations to me, huh? Yep, you read that right, two long fucking years. A true milestone and achievement, marking the end to a grueling two-year house arrest sentence. Mind you, served successfully without incident.

Let me just tell you, I’m still a little bit shocked that I even got it completed. The numbers were definitely not in my favor. Based on data sets, I did something few are able to accomplish: I avoided becoming another sad statistic.

I rode the anxiety roller coaster few would dare ride (and stay on) that would have broken a lesser person. Picture for a moment, one of those mechanical bulls that people jump on and get thrown off of.

Yeah, that bull (in essence) is life and all the hardships associated with a sentence trying everything in its power to throw you off.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say the thought of relapsing didn’t cross my mind many times, especially in the early stages of my sentence, as anger and frustration mounted in my new mode of living.

You think about what someone considers doing when they feel panicked and backed into a corner. Desperate times.

Your bills are mounting. You’re drowning in debt, and feel the lack of control you have over your life, especially on your employment situation. You’re despondent that no opportunity will present itself to you. What do you do?

It can all very much accumulate and boil over one day, that you’ll find yourself at the point of no return. I truly feel that that was the toughest part of this whole thing. Not letting all the stress get you down. And keep you down.

Check out how you can avoid getting “House Depression” right here.

With that I bid you farewell house arrest. I will not miss you and your constant and never-ending headaches.

The way you turned every little thing into a big ordeal. The logistical nightmares you created. The hardships. The way you made me have to explain myself to everyone time and again. And over and over.

“Yeah, I have to leave. You see if I don’t get back home by this certain time, I get to go to prison“

Flat tires. Weather delays. Getting sick. Asshole co-workers who run late to relieve you from your shift, not understanding that you have to go right now. Even not having enough gas in the tank to get to probation and back.

Fuck you for all the stress and grief you caused, seeking to hinder destroy my relationships, both working and at home.

Yeah, thanks for making things more awkward and tense. Fuck you for making me feel like a failure, allowing you to erode my confidence due to work opportunities. Or lack of I should say.

Check out the stress involved with relationships and legal “complications” right here.

You tempted and dared me to do things that would almost certainly have me spending lengthy time (back) in a cage. Thanks, but no thanks.

Check out my rules for navigating the waters of a felony conviction right here.

Not to mention I still carry a paranoia due to the big bullseye I carry on me at all times, what with the branding of being a convicted felon.

Things like that stay haunting you, and is always there to remind you of what you’ve done and inflicted on your life, so no worries.

Okay all finished now with my rant. Done. Onwards and upwards. Big things. No more teachers, no more books, no more… well, sort of. Goodbye house arrest, hello probation for a long (long) time.

Educate yourself on your situation, because nobody will do it for you. Stay well and out of trouble.

–The Educated Felon.