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Karma Isn’t Real

Over the years, I’ve had conversations with my mother about my past drug addiction and we both agree on one key point; getting drunk and high by themselves were not good choices, but what they lead to were outcomes more valuable than gold. At twenty-one, I spent nearly all of my time lounging around on my parents’ sofa in their den, playing video games and watching Youtube videos. Now and again I’d step outside to the back patio to spark up a cigarette but I did not know how to do my own laundry, cook for myself, clean up after myself or even fill my own car with gasoline. To top it off, my hygiene was awful as I rarely took showers, brushed my teeth or bothered with any kind of self-care routine. When I went to drug rehabilitation on two separate occasions, I began to learn independent living skills which allowed me to finally develop some much needed autonomy.

Just as it is with any addict, I have dirty hands which I hold behind my back at all times and plenty of skeletons in my closet. Some of these are secrets I will be taking to the grave with me. When I think about all of the dirt I did in my life, specifically during that period, it amazes me that I’m not serving years in prison or that I’m not dead in a hole six feet deep. In fact if you go to twelve step recovery meetings (specifically Narcotics Anonymous), this is a reoccuring theme you’ll hear from people telling their own stories of redemption and sobriety. They will often express the same sentiment that I just did, at the fact that they too like me, managed to survive the results of their “karma”.

I don’t say any of this to brag, but to acknowledge how fortunate I am that I’ve been given a second chance at life. This is not a lesson I take for granted or scough at in the slightest. In recognition of this fact, I make an effort to stay clear of any criminal behavior in the best interest of myself and in the service of my sense of purpose as well as to maintain a positive self-esteem. A big part of this is staying away from all of my vices which not only includes drugs, but ladies of the night and porn since I am a sex addict as well. Gambling aside, I’ve struggled with the most common vices one might be able to think of.

We Don’t Really Know

If my life experience has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t really know what’s “good” or “bad”. Getting clean didn’t just mean I had an opportunity to learn, but it also meant that I had an opportunity to live in a place called Cheyanne Village, which I would probably best describe as a place with staff whose purpose is to help adults going through a transitional phase in their lives obtain skills and knowledge that would allow them to gain independence. Originally when I began my journey for independence, the help I received was less intensive.

At Cheyanne Village however, the whole purpose of living there was for further growth and personal development. I lived at Cheyanne Village for a couple of years. During this phase, I met a friend of mine named Larz who has become one of my best friends over the last nine years. These things only happened after I got sober. From there, I eventually managed to move to Thornton, CO where I got an apartment of my own without roommates and a new job working at Amazon. I worked there for a couple of years before moving to West Deptford, New Jersey.

Loss and failure has the potential to open up new doors and as a professional fool, I’ve always managed to turn mistakes into opportunities in the most unexpected ways. There’s often a period of profound resentment, disappointment and childlike anger I experience before I find my footing again and before I’m able to see the diamond in the dogshit. I am not a master craftsman of turning garbage into gold or any kind of brilliant strategist. If anything, I am stumbling through life like a determined madman, exploiting my own tragedies for personal gain and using newfound insight to take the roads less traveled.

Seeing just how quickly life can change, it is difficult for me to see most events in my life as “negative” aside from having an initial emotional reaction towards them. After some time passes though, I’m able to calmly reassess and see the tragedy from a new perspective. Sometimes it is necessary for me to pout or throw a silent Mantrum (Manly tantrum) as a way to cope. After recovering from this phase of emotional instability, I can usually re-adjust my expectations and find new meaning in my pain.