Losing Perspective

Hasib's Substack - Vol. 22

For two weeks straight it felt as if I could not win. Work was not going well, I lost in Catan, I lost in volleyball, I lost in basketball, I lost in video games, I lost in tarnib, I lost a lady - you name it, I lost it.

The breaking point came during my Thursday soccer runs. Normally, loss sharpens me. I’m blessed with that switch—the one that flips after a mistake. When I lose, I grow calm but fierce. My thoughts narrow. The noise fades. I study the angles. I adjust. A loss fuels me. A second one makes me dangerous.

But a third? A fourth? Something begins to erode.

After our fifth straight loss that night, I felt it. Not anger. Not even frustration. Just emptiness. Drained of all passion for something I love. I couldn’t see the path to winning the next game. I couldn’t look at my teammates and say, “We’ve got this.” And worse—I didn’t believe it. The fire that usually rises in me after defeat was gone. No edge. No conviction. No juice.

In that moment, I finally understood what depression was. Depression isn’t just sadness. It isn’t weakness. It’s what happens when you lose enough times that you can no longer picture yourself winning. It’s the death of possibility, the death of optimism. It’s standing on the field before the whistle blows and already knowing—feeling—that the outcome is fixed against you. It’s a losing perspective.

I refuse to be depressed. Too many people count on me. There is work to do. There are hands that expect mine to be steady.

I refuse to be depressed. Not because it isn’t real. Not because it isn’t heavy. But because I am fucking crazy, and I will succeed. I dominated this last week, it is so intoxicating to overcome defeat.

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Death of Optimism
Used to be a hard worker, used to put in overtime, 
But passion has passed me, I'm so over time, 

How did I get here? What did I do?
What happened to that kid from the bayou?

I have broken the chains of my past, I have forsaken my heritage, 
Cut ties with the crown and crowd, I chose to be a heretic,  

Obsessed with winning, some days are dark, and sometimes I feel like I could die from a loss, 
I get very bleak, and start having negative inner dialogue, 

"I hate to break the news, but nobody has heard of ya, 
And you have a hole in your heart, it's got a hernia,

You'll never accomplished your dreams because you’re a hedonist, 
And everything you've done is borderline meaningless."

Alfredo Casteneda, 28 Dias como Febrero, 1993

Think first, March 2nd
Still a fan even though I’m salty, 
Regret attacks, it assaults me,

Our final fight was sad, and a tad hilarious, 
She said, “I knew it wouldn’t work out, you’re a Virgo, and I’m a Sagittarius,”

It’s a tragedy, she was a girl that you meet once in a lifetime, 
And she’s ending up with a guy you meet at a Lifetime, 

He can give her riches, luxury, probably even a handmaid, 
But I would give her great stories, endless laughs, and letters that are handmade,  

Nothing promotes reflection
more than rejection, 

I can’t let her know, 
That I can’t let her go.