Battle Meditation (Patreon)

As if hardwired the same thoughts always invaded just before the fight. I kept seeing the lanky, dirt blonde computer science major in my mind. How he powered through the night playing Counterstrike on retro night fueled only by Mountain Dew and Red Bull. How he still showed up in class hours later without sleep, dozing through the lecture, yet eeking out a passable score on every test. It used to make me enraged and sad in equal measures. How I had been turned from that into what I am now. A blunt tool apparently made for nothing other than grappling, locking, squeezing, and lifting. A machine of muscles fine-tuned to dominate whoever I meet on the mat and nothing else. I used to pound whatever was within reach out of frustration whenever I tried to read a text only to be met by the soup my dyslexia produced. I kept forgetting everything that wasn't related to macros or reps. Perhaps the thoughts are hardwired by whatever or whoever did this. But I no longer let it affect me. I only had to make a small little adjustment, a minuscule step. I just no longer see myself as transformed from one to the other. This is me. This is my body. This is my purpose.