Masochism

"Crack!" The agony rippled through my stomach and chest. As my arm violently convulsed, the barbell smashed against my stomach. I rolled off-of the bench onto the ground clutching my chest. I attempted to move, but every moment of the struggle tore at my brain, begging me to stop, to remain complacent. I lay their curled into the fetal position, pathetic and vulnerable, as the lamentations of a sixteen year old gal cascaded along the contours of my conscious psyche. "Please stop!!!" A lamentation that deserved a proper response, yet I elected to make an ill conceived joke about synonyms bred-from the mind of some half-ass director, of a half-ass move, composed of half-ass stereotypical performances. Half-ass perhaps this phrase reveals something about my general approach to the human experience. I am half-assed and I have constantly been told that my efforts are half-assed, perhaps this is the reason that I have embraced this masochism, this complete deconstruction of the self. It must be an attempt to better myself, or perhaps at its root, its an attempt to destroy myself. Am I attempting to better myself, or destroy myself?

They are not mutually exclusive, in attempting to "better myself" I am destroying myself. I subject myself to self-imposed torture in an attempt to deconstruct my former self and create a superior me. The act of training is an act of self-depreciation. A hatred of the self. My pain is a manifestation of my internal struggle for self-determination. A struggle that I am obviously losing.