Falling Down
I'm sure that the majority of us grew up watching American movies, movies in which the hero is always the best looking guy who gets the best looking girl. We all grew up watching movies where the hero was always the portrait of masculinity, if not the perfect male specimen then certainly a damn good one. And we all wanted to be these heroes, whether it's Bruce Lee beating hordes of nameless, faceless foes into submission; Brandon Lee's brooding Eric Draven coming back from the dead to avenge not only his murder but more-so that of his true love; or the stereotypical Arnold/Stallone/Segal/Van Damme/Statham gun-toting, catch-phrase-spewing, bad-guy-blasting, explosion-laden, special-effect-riddled, never-get-a-scratch, survive-anything hero archetype. We've all probably, at one time or another, entertained an action movie themed revenge fantasy in which we were the untouchable bad-ass who beat his foes into submission with impunity.
This ingrained nature to aspire to the role of Alpha Male, macho hero also shaped the way we view ourselves. It has, in one way or another, become our measuring device. To an extent we will always hold these characters up to our own images to see how far we are from the “ideal”. We may not openly or exceedingly strive to actually look or act like those characters. Obviously to act like them is out of the question. The legal ramifications of breaking the nose or finger of anyone who pisses us off are enough of a deterrent. And we certainly aren't going to look like them. Arnold alone won a truck-load of body building competitions including Mr. Universe. To get to that level we would have to subject ourselves to suicidal and self-destructive exercise routines and eating regiments. However, we all want to be “that guy” in some way. We want the power and the raw animal magnetism.
Now I have to propose a hypothetical scenario:
What if you found out you will never come within light years of that ideal? What if you're biggest accomplishment was that you gave yourself your injection this week? What if your finest bragging right is that you can still walk? What if your “not-a-scratch, survive-anything” was that the disease ravaging your body hasn't claimed anything vital, yet?
Appreciating the fact that you can function just like every other healthy person for one more day is no way to live.