what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger
2003-11-29
@ 7:38 p.m.
what a line of bullshit.
i, like most unsuspecting faceless drones, used to put stock in this concept. suck it up, dollface. pain builds character... lessons learned and all that jazz. you'll be a better person. you'll thank me for it in the end. so i bought into it. took the bait right down my throat. used it as my mantra in a manner of speaking. if it wasn't a challange i wanted no part of it. i wanted to take a bite out of life and feel the juices drip down my chin. i wanted to live fully - recklessly - and have a history that the gods whispered about over their morning coffee. i managed quite nicely for a while, too. saw some places, met some people... spent a few nights in dark hallways, woke up with my hair in the moss and my alias in my back pocket more than once. and all the while chanting the phrases of my newfound religion. that this is my world, my destiny... and, of course, what doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.
except it didn't.
it didn't. i'm sure of that now. in hindsight i see that every room, every city, every chopped out line, every Maker's on the rocks, every new pair of eyes undressing me under dim bar room lights has stolen a little more of my resolve. a simple magician's trick... the fingers are faster than the eye, my dear. and you're no longer the tough girl you used to be, are you? some days that certainly seems to be the case, wandering around with my eyes cast to the ground, dodging the lights, dodging their stares. some days it seems that one more nudge will send me spiraling downward into that territory where there are no maps, no arrows, no exit signs. some days i wake up tattered and used, like rags from Salvation Army counters. the whitecapped waves of life's difficulties have been crashing and tugging at my sanity relentlessly for so long now that it's worn smooth... salty... slippery... and impossible to grasp. some days the tide never goes out.
so yes, i must beg to differ. as i sit here crouched over my keys, hands shaking, smoke curling around my face from the cigarette resurrected from years past i'll have to disagree with you. you as well as all of those optimistic, spoonfed masses that continually get it fucking wrong. what doesn't kill you simply leaves you an inch closer to your grave.
