A Venting Vault of an Ego Trip: The New Me and Old You

In this thirteenth week since my accident, my calendar counts 93 days of this new life. Three months might as well have been three years or even 30 years for that matter. Aside from my deforming and inactive left arm and shoulder, physically I pretty much look like the same person I was – though I do keep my hair much shorter now, mostly for convenience in this hot tropical summer weather.

Beyond a casual glance, however, both physical and mental aspects of ‘me’ have, completely detoured astray from the usual paths they once were accustomed. On one hand, seemingly for the worst ( Literally and metaphorically), yet on the other hand, destined and determined for the best. Life moves on. While it has been extremely difficult adapting life routines commanded by one good upper limb, my breath has not ceased to circulate the rest of my existence, though rotten aspects of my old life continue to pierce and penetrate my struggling sanity.

For one, I’m no more the socialite that frequents clubs bars and parties. Along with the trivial spending of time and money–out and about with no particular goal or target–I have completely eliminated alcohol and tobacco consumption from my routine. While I do look forward to drinking beer again someday (after it is certain that my nerve recovery window reaches plateau), I intend to happily lead the rest of my life without the risk, nuisance, and hindrance of cigarettes.

Along with such artificial social cohesive elements, so went the need in my mind for maintaining ties with much of my so called friends and acquaintances. I have strived to shut myself out from what I deem to be unnecessary occupation of valuable time and oxygen. Yet, futile persistence remains.

I find myself sneering and grinding teeth in sheer annoyance at the people around me who fail to display any will power—a lack of mutual motivation to seize a common drive towards a healthier and more fulfilling lifestyle. All with intact limbs and lungs, puffing away on their cigarettes, trying to recall all the things they can’t remember from the previous night of foolishness, and still have the nerve to try justify to me how addicted they are.

For all those who this venting pertains, a final word:

You’re right. It is your life, not my own. You have every freedom and right to trample all over it at your own will, or lack thereof. With that said, I want nothing to do with your loser lifestyle. Therefore, if you insist on being nothing, achieving nothing, willowing away in your pitiful excuse for existence, and think I am obligated to accept you in my life, you thought wrong once again. So don’t flaunt your junky ways before my eyes and expect me to respect you. I pity you as scum and wish you away from my oxygen space.

Good day.


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