So, this was clearly intended to be another cliff hanger and I actually wanted to publish Part II a lot sooner. Whenever I started to write something, however, I did love it in the beginning but couldn’t stand it the day after. This is why I ended up not publishing anything for several months and I even thought about abolishing the whole blog when I read posts I had written just a few weeks back and just could not agree with what I wrote anymore. In hindsight I am glad I didn’t do it, because this is called personal development. I now think it is important being able to go back and see the progress I have made since.
At the end of Part 1, I wrote: “Like with most people who have been to prison before, the likelihood of returning there was huge…”
Now the question that remains is not whether or not I would go back to prison, but whether I had actually left it in the first place…
Looking back now, I was more like a hen escaping the cage but still being held “free range”, which is just another word for a slightly bigger prison.
I had left Germany in 2008, because I always believed it limited my personal freedom with its ridiculous, over controlling laws and tight-minded people. As described in the very end of Part I, that was partly true, because the UK, at the time I went there at least, was a lot less regulated and people seemed less tense in general.
It was very exciting in the beginning, moving to a place that does so many things differently – driving on the left, different measuring units, different language, etc. but didn’t I go from my old prison straight into a new one…?
In January 2011 Bruna and I moved to the Spain as I had been offered a job in Gibraltar and suddenly everything changed.
Apart from the great food, the wine and the amazing weather, a big driver in the decision to move to Spain was the fact that Bruna, as a Latin American citizen, would be able to acquire the Spanish citizenship after simply living there legally for 2 years and thus making any future move a lot less complicated.
After the most ridiculous 9 months running behind documents and authorities, Bruna had finally been issued her residence card for Spain, valid for 5 years, backdated to the initial application date in April.
After 2.5 years in Spain, Bruna still had not managed to find a job in Spain or to get a visa to work across the border in Gibraltar and after visiting an immigration lawyer we were told that, without any documents such as bank statements and payslips, the citizenship application could take years. So we decided to leave Spain for Ireland where it would be easier for her to get a foot in the door.
I had already found a job in Ireland for which I applied from Spain and, after another few months, Bruna got a job the day after she was granted her Irish visa, being hired right during her interview.
About a year and a half after having moved to Ireland we moved to a house in Lucan, a suburb of Dublin. We both had well-paid jobs and made the money we couldn’t make back in Spain. We didn’t really have fun, friends or time for ourselves but made enough money to pay for all the medical appointments to treat the health conditions this lifestyle had caused us.
Our completely different shift times and stressful work environments didn’t allow for much of a social life, let alone a functioning marriage. We both had gained countless kilos despite having a gym at work and if we came into the luxury of seeing each other at night, at least one of us was mostly drunk in order to disconnect from the daily work routine.
In early summer 2015 life became unbearable and we spontaneously decided to resign from our jobs and to go to Germany for a couple of months to stay at my family’s place and recharge the battery, which brought some short-lasting relief. As soon as we arrived back in Ireland and had to look for new jobs and a place to stay, hell started all over again.
For years I had fallen into the trap that is commonly referred to as “growing up”. Since early 2011 I did nothing but worry about money, future, job, citizenships and a quadrillion of other things.
Choose a job.
Choose a career.
Choose to be “responsible”.
Choose a fuckin Vauxhall Estate.
Choose to be fuckin miserable with ugly bubbles all over your hands, because society tells you that you have to be productive, you have to make money, or else you’re a fuckin nobody!
I believed all the crap the voice in my head was telling me, because I was domesticated to do so. We all are being domesticated in fact, through things like public schooling, religion, politics etc. We are not meant to be fine. We are actually meant to be bloody miserable, because that way we are easier to control.
So the answer is definitely “NO”! I had never left prison in the first place, because the only prison someone can ever be in, is the one in their own head. As long as we believe the voice in our head, we will never be free (Special thanks to my soul sister – I finally get it now)!
This continued until I could not take it anymore, until I was about to lose it and either kill myself or somebody else, when, I met a good friend from old days who had in the meantime made it from a hairdresser to a certified burnout coach. We had some very profound conversations over a few very relaxing joints (yep, deal with it) and actually only scratched on the topic of Traditional Chinese Medicine but that was when I started to turn shit around into the right direction.
You can’t win the game if you play it by someone else’s rules… Your culture’s rules, your government’s rules, your partner’s rules. The only way to win the game is playing it by your own set of fucking rules!
This game I’m referring to is known as your life!
I am looking forward to playing this beautiful game by my own rules from now on – or to quote Captain Cold in an early episode of DC’s Legends of Tomorrow: “This is not my first prison break”!
Thanks for reading and as always – to be continued!