The most ambitious DIY project I’ve ever taken on was… my ressurections.
No, I don’t believe I’m Jesus. What I’m referring to are the times I’ve had to rebuild my life from smoldering ashes. Sometimes the matchstick was lit by my own hand, while other instances the forest was set ablaze by others.
Last time I counted, I am on my 8th rebound. I’ve lost houses, cars, motorcycles. I’ve slept in a F-150, in the floor of a workshop, and in an empty room in a mentally unhealthy environment. I’ve had to abandoned everything I owned countless times to just get away from the situation I was in… Oh, and I’ve been the target of attempted extortion that was carried out upon my refusal to comply.
What this life has done is to put me into a constant survival mode. Instead of building a list of close friends, I’ve always developed a network of assisted escape routes… I think? That’s what it feels like at least.
Should I be proud of making it this far? Never giving up and continuing to move forward? How many times do I need to DIY my own life before the glue sticks? Will it ever?
All I know is this time feels like the final attempt. This is an attempt to rebuild a life more than halfway through its expected lifespan while managing significant physical and psychological limitations with no idea what the future will look like and no idea how I’ll get there.
Off The Rails 