So it turns out I have a lot of problems, one of them being I’m no longer 430 pounds.  I can no longer use that extra cushion of comfort as an excuse for not participating in life. 

Now I’m really screwed; 27 years old and never truly been released out into the wild.  I always assumed it was for society’s protection.  It’s been a damn easy life style hanging on my parents’ coattails all these years.  I could keep this up, but it only seems fair to test other waters before I settle.

I’m terrified of failure and even more petrified of success.  Change and the unknown are hard and continually burying your head in the sand sounds much for favorable; but what’s the worst possible thing that could happen?  And more importantly why does it matter? 

My therapist asked me today, “What do you think life would be like if you could live without fear?  Can you imagine it?”

“My God,” I replied, “It’d be wonderful and I’d feel so sorry for everyone else in the world.”  And that’s the answer to the question, isn’t it?

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my recent hobby (reading books about ancient history) is that since the dawn of mankind we’ve been fucked.  People in the past managed cataclysmic errors in their lives just as we’ve done today and will most assuredly keep up the habit in the future. Noone was ever even remotely perfect and in the end, everyone became a bastard.