I Can't Imagine

I can’t imagine what it is like every day to wake up and look for ways to be a victim. It is one of the vilest things you can do to yourself. And if you are going to live your life like that, you might as well kill yourself now because that mentality will rot your soul painfully, and you will become not only unbearable to the people around you but a burden to society.

A while back, I was visiting Emma, and she had introduced me to some of the people she spent time with at school, and I’m happy she no longer speaks with them because after spending one night with them, they were some of the most life draining people I’ve ever met.

We were sitting and talking, and these people were tripping over one another on their sick little competition to see who was the biggest victim—going as far as listing their mental illnesses to see who has more and comparing pant sizes to see who was fatter so they could claim those oppression points also.

Then they had turned to us and said that Emma and I had expressed no hardships simply because of how we looked, and these people knew nothing about us, especially me. They had known me for less than an hour at this point.

They didn’t know that Emma and I were successful because of all the work we do. The long nights of practice, studying, business strategies, the high-risk-high-reward gambles, the early morning runs, and training sessions to make sure we stay mentally and physically sharp.

Emma and I had met through a mutual friend, and those friends we had are all hard-working and supportive people. Winners, in every sense of the word. Our true friends, coaches, and families support us and push us to be better, and that is why we succeed.

There is something called the Pygmalion Effect, and it is about how people’s perceptions of us can affect how we perform. If someone expects you to win, odds are you will push harder and perform better compared to someone who is expected to fail.

People with victim mentalities are expected to fail, and they do. And then they blame others when the blame is on themselves. It is quite sad. I feel bad for these kids I was forced to be around. I can’t imagine what it is like to wake up every day and look to be offended by everything and be a victim. I’m surprised these kids didn’t say that oxygen was oppressive to them because they didn’t ask for it to enter their bodies. And now that I think about it, there is probably someone out there who thinks that. Maybe in the depths of Twitter, there is a group of people with a hashtag for #stopoxygenrape, but who knows.

Life isn’t fair, and many times, we are dealt cards we don’t like. But success is learning how to play with those cards. There is no excuse. It is not your fault if you are born with a bad hand, but it is your fault if you die that way. There is no excuse. You are a victim of your choices and mindset.

I’ve had people tell me that my life was easy because of how I look, and they have no idea about anything that has happened in my life. If anything, I am the lesson you should learn from this whole thing. You can be dealt a bad hand and make it out of that situation. My parents were killed in a home invasion, and I was orphaned. I was sent to the United States to live with my Uncle, and I didn’t speak a single word of English. I was forced to be homeschooled my first year here because my visa took so long, and I couldn’t apply to go to middle school. I had to jump through all the hoops at eleven to get citizens, whereas others got to cross a border and get in scotch free. My peers bullied me for my cultural differences and accent, and I had teachers think I was mentally challenged because I had trouble writing and pronouncing words in English. I busted my butt in high school to make sure I could get into a college. When I tell people I’m an immigrant, they laugh and tell me I’m not a real one because I came from Europe. I pulled all-nighters constantly to make sure I could make money during college and get the grades I needed with no help from anyone. I got a job and worked non-stop to make ends meet until I started my own company, and now I make six figures. And I did it all by myself.

So please tell me how easy my life was compared to you, who got called their proper sex instead of Ze/Zir. There is no excuse. It’s time for you to start taking your life seriously and stop blaming others for your shortcomings.

This is your wake-up call. Do with it as you will.

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Parting is such sweet sorrow, but until we meet again.

With love,

Richard V.