CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 464
'What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.' Do you agree or disagree? Why?
Who the fuck came up with that one? No, no, let me guess. Was he drunk, and lying in a ditch? Oh, come the fuck on, please, spare me the idiosyncrasies of your stupidity.
Taking it literally, no, what doesn’t kill us, does not make us stronger. Reason being, that any injury that ranges from a sprained ankle, to beyond, will, most probably, leave some sort of damage, permanent, semi-permanent, or otherwise. The same goes for smoking, poisoning, inhalation of chemicals, and wild animal bites. In one way or another, they will damage, and if it is not damage that leaves a permanent effect, then it will be a permanent mark, or bad, lasting, memories. Sickness is in the same area, because things such as cancer, mental illness or infarctions, will have a lasting effect on the person who suffers under their, quite possible, tyrannical rule.
Not taking that statement literally, then, yes, what does not kill you, does make you stronger. By which I mean, not physical or mental, injury, or illness, but life experiences. If someone close to you dies, then you keep going, because you have to. There is no escape from death, and, believe me, I should know, since I get to see it every single day, as a part of my job. If you do not get a promotion, or something you’ve been looking forward to, is cancelled, then those are lesser examples of loss. However, the larger ones, like death, or life changing experiences, which can branch into injury and illness, are the things that have the most power to make you stronger. Other things, yes, they can make you stronger, but the large things, the ones that don’t kill you, but maybe, should have, are the ones that will really keep you going.
I lost the three people I loved most in life, and every day of my life since those events, I have felt horrid. Guilty, sad, suicidal, depressed, and, just, generally horrid. The thing is, I usually am not any of these things in very large amounts, at least, not often enough for it to be a problem. My parents died, my wife died, and I keep on going, because I have to. Sure, if they had lived, I’d still have the same determination, and knack for life, but it would be based on entirely different things. In my life, I should have, at the very, barest, least, been killed twice, and, yet, I’m not dead. Tragic experiences, in my life, have only served to make me stronger, because, they haven’t yet killed me off. I will keep going until my life ends, by whatever means possible, but, until then, I am going to live like living means something to me, because, really, it does.