God doesn't pull punches

Roll with the punches, that's what I have been telling myself since last quarter when things started to go south at work. If I hold my breath when the fists hit my abdomen, maybe it won't hurt as much.

Problem is, I am not talking of physical pain here - I would have run as fast the first time I felt pain then, my tolerance being non-existent. No sir, this is all pain of a different kind, the one that leaves you with unseen scars and broken psyche.

So I roll with the punches, hoping I'd be numb soon enough. Hoping that soon, I'd be the one asking for more, to keep 'em coming. Maybe this kind of brutality is meant to be addictive.

So I give more. First I gave up one dream for another, deluding myself that it's not really giving up the one thing I promised myself not to let go - that I am just postponing it. Guess what? I only succeeded in achieving clarity, that the one dream I worked my ass off for the past 3 years is the one I should have never let go when promises of greater glory came along. Glory came and went, all fifteen minutes of it. I became great then petty. From a guardian angel to the angel of doom. Everybody now hates me. And for what?

One dream for another. Worse, I could have taken that road less traveled, embraced an apprenticeship that would have led me to where I originally intended to be - the gates opened so wide all I had to do is put one foot after the other. But greater glory calls, and I was mesmerized. I forgot that nothing is free, even dreams are not free.

What's worse than a man who's left with nothing but broken dreams, empty promises, battered heart and spirit half-dead?

Roll with the punches.
The heart is battered, but it can mend.
The spirit is half-dead, but it has half a life still.