Season One
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- FormatePub
- ISBN8223629368
- EAN9798223629368
- Date de parution23/07/2023
- Protection num.pas de protection
- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurDraft2Digital
Résumé
As a Thirteen-year-old competing in basketball, I witnessed the corrosive power of trash talk. The older players would fling insults and mockery at me like arrows, each piercing my confidence and shattering my self-worth. They laughed at my shots, sneered at my skills, belittled me like an ant compared to their own grandeur. It felt as if they were crushing my spirit under their boots with each cruel remark.
Every missed basket was met with ridicule and every mistake accentuated; I felt stripped down to nothingness until all that remained was an empty shell void of any joy or confidence. I thought about the ball and how it felt in my hands, like a part of me. When I was playing sometimes, if I made a good shot, it didn't feel the same anymore. It was more than that - like there was nothing left to cheer for and lead me forward.
Every missed basket was met with ridicule and every mistake accentuated; I felt stripped down to nothingness until all that remained was an empty shell void of any joy or confidence. I thought about the ball and how it felt in my hands, like a part of me. When I was playing sometimes, if I made a good shot, it didn't feel the same anymore. It was more than that - like there was nothing left to cheer for and lead me forward.
As a Thirteen-year-old competing in basketball, I witnessed the corrosive power of trash talk. The older players would fling insults and mockery at me like arrows, each piercing my confidence and shattering my self-worth. They laughed at my shots, sneered at my skills, belittled me like an ant compared to their own grandeur. It felt as if they were crushing my spirit under their boots with each cruel remark.
Every missed basket was met with ridicule and every mistake accentuated; I felt stripped down to nothingness until all that remained was an empty shell void of any joy or confidence. I thought about the ball and how it felt in my hands, like a part of me. When I was playing sometimes, if I made a good shot, it didn't feel the same anymore. It was more than that - like there was nothing left to cheer for and lead me forward.
Every missed basket was met with ridicule and every mistake accentuated; I felt stripped down to nothingness until all that remained was an empty shell void of any joy or confidence. I thought about the ball and how it felt in my hands, like a part of me. When I was playing sometimes, if I made a good shot, it didn't feel the same anymore. It was more than that - like there was nothing left to cheer for and lead me forward.