Since entering high school, due to some fear of public school girls (came from a very small private school), I entered into the standard nice guy status. Threw myself into my studies, my club, and my sports. (also having a mom that was basically my personal manager, was never allowed, or should I say I never fought back, to play video games or relax and have guy friends to learn and grow from.)

Girls weren’t a part of the radar. During lunch, I was the guy who all the cute girls would come and talk to about the guys they had “done something with”, and wanted my side of the story, since I was a guy. And at the time I felt I was the better ‘man’, the caring one, the only man who was willing to empathize and say that they weren’t wrong about the situation, and that there’s a better guy out there (I was passively saying “THERE’S ONE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, ME!”) . But something also felt off. My emotions were suppressed. Probably due to the cognitive dissonance of me seeing women online go apeshit crazy on dick with the ‘there’s a girl out there waiting for you’ mentality that was instilled in me from my authoritarian mother and missing male idols. I felt like a slave, but I didn’t know any better. I thought it was the battle the good guy had to go through in order to come out the other end as the successful man.

Course this was until senior year (yes, four fucking years of being the therapist who’s dick needed it’s own therapy). I was one of the starters during a home basketball game, and half way through the intense and close game, took a hit that knocked me clean on the floor and knocked me out for a couple moments. Nothing crazy, I just remember the hit, then one of my teammates grabbing my arm and helping me back up. But something felt different. I’m not talking about the slight headache or pain in the muscle. It was a feeling that I just got my ass handed to me by the same type of guy that pounded the girls I consoled. It was embarrassment, respect, and rage. Rage that I haven’t really felt in a very long time. I felt alive with emotion, no more hiding or suppressing how I felt. It was to the point where I didn’t know how to handle myself, having slightly watery eyes from feeling like a weakling, but wanting to get back into the battle and return the favor. After getting cleared by my coach (didn’t tell him about the headache…I know bad idea) I went back in. There was no fear of getting hurt, apologizing when I fouled someone , caring about what the crowd does, or holding back from chastising teammates that weren’t pulling their weight. It’s hard to put into words, but I felt like a unbridled weapon that was ready to do war. For the next half of the game I played, I racked up more points, stopped passing the ball when I had a clear shot, and let the opposing team know that the paint was my territory (went a little overboard with a flagrant foul that laid out the same guy who messed me up).

We lost the game, barely, and yes I was still angry. But here’s where everything ties in. Usually when walking off the court, I would be the chipper nice guy who take my car and go grab some food with a few of the girl friends in the crowd (yea, I now see that they saw me as another ‘girlfriend’ to them), leaving my disappointment/excitement from the games on the court . But this time was different. I wasn’t smiling when walking from the gym with them. I wasn’t talking, I didn’t care about their bullshit, it didn’t matter. After climbing into the car and beginning to drive, the girls slowly transitioned from talking about the game, to the guys they had hooked up with the previous week, trying to analyze (funny how analyze has Anal….side note) if the guy liked them, blab la bla. But when Jenn asked “Hey what’s your thought…” I didn’t let her even finish. Immediately I said something pretty intensely along the lines of “it’s not going to matter, you’re going to rationalize and forget about it, only to repeat the same with another guy.” I don’t know where it came from, but for once it felt real. I didn’t need to think, or project and predict how they would take that type of opinion. It was as if the hit on the basketball floor had done a system reset on my giving-a-fuck/nice guy programming. Her response was accusatory (trying to remember, it’s bits and pieces), with her other friends teaming up, asking why I was being so mean. In retrospect, that’s one of the levels Patrice O’Neal talks about, Level 2.

The story continues with me just going off the chain (wasn’t yelling or saying mean things, just what I felt was the stupid truth to them). I dropped them off before getting to food, saying that I didn’t want to deal with them, and drove home. Fast-forward a couple weeks. In those next few weeks, lots of arguments with my mom (and surprisingly more friendly/deep conversations with my dad), lots of tough music (usually was techno guy, switched over to Eminem). And got my first kiss and girlfriend…it didn’t make any sense at the time (now it does).

Fast forward another month, and my system reset was fading, returning to my norm Dr. Phil advice boy, no more girlfriend.

I’m just trying to convey that I feel like a car that someone’s trying to crank over and get started, and this was one of those times where the sparks began to fly, but didn’t get ignition. But now, for the past few weeks, the ignition sparks are flying, now just need to get some fuel and get this body moving towards what I really want. My apologies about the long read, I hate it when someone types something this long, but felt more like a personal realization that I had to flush out after taking a shower…wtf I’m still in the bathroom typing…pretty funny now that I think about it.

TL:DR – Had a short experience of the red pill after getting knocked down hard in a senior basketball game, like a system reset. Although it didn’t stay, looking back makes me realize that I felt emotion for once and didn’t hide…something that’s been happening since taking the pill in the past few weeks. I’m on the right track