I wish I were on the football field, or the court, or the battlefield, or somewhere that I could count on the pressure from outside to be as loud as the pressure from within. I want to fucking scream sometimes, but all that would do is scare the shit out of my dog, and the neighbors.
I talk to the mentors I have left on occasion, and catch a glimpse of reinforcement, of validation, of awareness that I am fighting the good fight. There are still people out there that I look up to and care about impressing. In a world full of so many selfish, lazy and hurtful people, it's a rare and wonderful blessing that I have any at all, but I know I do. And I care about what they think.
But I miss the guy that could go toe to toe with me when I needed my head readjusted. I miss the only one who wouldn't back down from fear of my temper because he gave it to me. I miss the moment of clarity when he would reinforce every fucking perfect rule that he instilled and every ounce of faith that he knew how to find. I miss the man who was as much a coach as he was a boss, an ear, a father.
I won't dwell in pity any more right now. Instead, I'll get back to what I think I need to do. I'll speak from memory, from experience and from my heart when I lend one of the many voices in my head to the memory that created it and talk to myself:
Stick with it.
Nobody is ever given more than he is capable of handling.
Count your blessings.
Be kind to those around you.