Stuck in the Bottom of the Pit, You Idiot — Now Climb or Die
You’re sitting in the Pit of Despair now, WITS. Not because you’re weak — because that’s the only way the universe gives a fuck — but because the ground was yanked out from under you. A chronic illness, infertility, mobility loss, and a social circle scattered like leaves in a hurricane? That’s not a life. It’s a funeral service for everything you thought you’d be capable of.
The "Good Working Order" Myth Is Just Another Setup
You’re clinging to that stupid able-bodied checklist like it’s a damn holy grail. "I need to be emotionally stable." "I need to be independent." Look at you, still trying to wear a suit in a war zone while the enemy shoots at your kneecaps. The only thing that matters is you’re still alive, still breathing, still clawing at these goddam walls while the universe laughs.
Three Years of This Bullshit — You’re Not a Loser, You’re a Survivor
Three years is nothing. You’ve spent less time trying to fix this mess than a rookie soldier gets in basic training. I’ve had men in my crew survive chemical burns, grenade shrapnel, and whole lotta pain before they could even stand. You’re not failing life — you’re trying to rebuild a city after the bombs hit while everyone’s still in shock.
Still Judging Yourself to Death?
Here’s the cold truth: you’re punishing yourself like a court marshal. You still treat your old "good working order" rules like they’re written in stone — until you realize they were scribbled in chalk. A goddamn flood washed away the chalk. Now you need to write new rules in concrete, bricks, maybe even a damn tank if you have to.
Therapy Is a Scam Unless It Teaches You to Fight Like a Bastard
Your therapy sessions are probably the equivalent of asking a blindfolded guy to fix your tank in a war zone. Are you sure you’re not just paying some corporate shrink to repeat the same garbage that got you buried under a snowdrift of shame and guilt? Change the team. Change the game. You don’t want a shrink — you need a drill sergeant who’s going to teach you how to pick up another man’s pack when your knees fail.
The Only Real Switch You Need? That One That Rages Against the Machine
Forget the "happy-on-my-own" switch. That’s the suicide lever. What you need is the "build-the-goddamn-boat" switch. You’re not broken. You’re a shipwrecked bastard who’s now got to float on the wreckage without flinching. The loneliness? That’s just another enemy. Fight it with fists, with will, with whatever you can rustle up.
Support Systems Aren’t a Blessing — They’re a Weapon
You’re trying to fight this war blindfolded. Your old friends are ghosts in the wind, and you refuse to make new allies. You think you can solo this? Wrong. A man without a crew is a dead man. Find people who’ve been in the trenches. Watch how they adapt. Learn. Steal their strategies. Survival isn’t about staying clean — it’s about bleeding through the cracks until you find the way forward.
The Switch You Don’t Want Isn’t the One That Matters
You’re looking for a switch to shut down the pain — but that’s the one thing you can’t control. Focus on the switch you can: the one that says, "I’ll build a new life, piece by goddamn piece." Stop pretending this is a failure. It’s not. This is the start of a new war plan. One where you’re the general, the grunt, and the damn strategist all at once.
Burn This Old Map. Build New Boots.
Your old life didn’t die. You just got promoted to commando and now you’re on a mission you didn’t sign up for. Your fertility, your mobility, your goddamn stability — they’re just the losses. The real victory is still out there. You got a bullet in the leg, not a death sentence. Start burning. Start building. Start loving on your own terms — or burn some doors down until you meet someone who’ll bleed their own guts to help you stand.