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\*\*It starts with a baseball bat to the chest.\*\* 

Solid. 

\*\*Unforgiving\*\*.

Before you can even catch the breath that’s been stolen from your lungs, 

there’s a half-assed crack across the cranium.

You aren't just hurt; \*\*you’re fucking stunned.\*\*

 \*\*Disoriented\*\*.

 The world goes sideways,

and you’re left gasping in the vacuum of what used to be a plan

\*\*Confidence\*\*\*\*?\*\*

 That’s a fickle bitch

\*\*Ego?\*\*

 Even worse. 

But the chest...

... the chest is where the real damage lives.

 \*\*That’s the epicenter.\*\*

But here’s the thing about a cracked skull: 

the neuro-pathways get shaken open. 

The old, stagnant electrical signals—

the ones that carried that pathetic "\*\*angry, sad, and sick" routine—\*\*

are being rerouted.

 I’m done with that. 

\*\*Being a victim is for suckers.\*\* 

Revenge is for the dead, 

\*\*and whining is for fucking children.\*\*

\*\*I love her.\*\*

 No doubt.

 I’m okay with that reality now. 

Adulthood hits you with this strange, cold realization:

 holding a grudge for years isn't "standing your ground"—

it’s a goddamn misallocation of resources.

So, here is the state of the union: 

Sovereignty and autonomy are intact.

I’m done bullshitting myself with fabled treasure chests or "happily ever afters."

I see the reflection for what it is.

We share a fucked-up, wild past, and honestly?

That’s why I love the fellow criminal.

We’ve both got the scars to prove we were there.

This is a Hail Mary.

The pain part is over—

now the seasons about over so.

 I play to win, but I know not every Super Bowl is a nail-biter.

Sometimes you just sit in the stands, 

drink the shitty beer,

eat the overpriced snacks,

and enjoy the company of the only other person who knows how shit went down.

The Contingency:

 I’m going to relax.

I’m going to do my work.

I’m going to apply a healthy, structured approach to healin—

for me and for us.

 That’s my integrity.

That’s my structure.

If being healthy doesn’t take away the pain,

if it doesn't heal the rot,

 then it ends

Period.

But if this work allows the real thing to flourish or evolve?

Then we both walk out of this better than we entered.

I’m pissed off, sure.

 But to what end?

 I’m just going to sit back and enjoy what’s left of us.

Because in my experience,

once you stop lying to yourself,

any fucking thing is possible.

Title: The Hail Mary Protocol // Shaking the Neuro-Pathways Open