Ever looked down the barrel of a gun and wondered when the pain of the bullet would come?  I had that experience a few hours ago.  Have I mentioned my father had some ‘interesting’ friends who aren’t exactly fans of mine.  I push forward, and they push back.  The thing of it is, though, I know I have to push harder until I’ve pushed through completely.  And I know I *will* push through.  No questions.  That said, I’m fine.  I have a very small cut and bruise where the barrel of the gun just slightly scraped above my eye.  Every scrape, every scar, and every broken bone.  Every scream, every moment of terror, and every ounce of shame can be a motivator.

They push, but  I will *always* push back harder.


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