Troy Francis - 10X Happiness, Zero Bullshit : Simple Steps To Kill Your Negativity, Have Better Relationships & Sex, Do Work You Love & Make More Money

The Seven Laws of Seduction

Text Game Mastery

How To Be An Assh*Le

Still In the Game

50 Shades of Game Vol. 1

50 Shades of Game Vol. 2

50 Shades Of Game Vol. 3

Text copyright 2018 Troy Francis

Cover art copyright 2018 Troy Francis.

Cover illustration used under license from DepositPhotos.com

All rights reserved.

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Book preparation by Chad Robertson & Troy Francis

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Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and author have used their best efforts in the publication of this work, neither author nor publisher makes any representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this work and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability of fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales representatives or written sales materials. The advice and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for your situation. You should consult with a professional where appropriate. Neither the publisher, nor the author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial or personal damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

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To anyone whos going through hard times remember:
this too shall pass.

The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.

Ernest Hemingway,
A Farewell to Arms

True happiness is to enjoy the present, without anxious dependence upon the future, not to amuse ourselves with either hopes or fears but to rest satisfied with what we have, which is sufficient, for he that is so wants nothing. The greatest blessings of mankind are within us and within our reach. A wise man is content with his lot, whatever it may be, without wishing for what he has not.

Seneca

Smash Denial

Accept

Realize youre Not in Charge

Flip the Script On Bad Habits

Reach Out To Others

Find Meaning

Live the Life You Want, Not The Life You Think You Should

Endgame

Epilogue
Stasis In Prague

Jovanna, Antonio, Rafael, Christoph, Rob, Pete, Dr. Martin, Dr. Awadazi, Nigel, Dad, Mum and Trevor, Marc, Paul Janka, Rish, Sam, The Marquis de Shard, Tom Torero, AJA Cortes, James Holt, Hank, Anastasia, Ruthless Seducer, Charles Sledge, BK, Fisherman Alkali, Radwan, Jeremy, Kevin Ibanz, Spaniard, Adrian Olivas, Chad at Writing Nights for his great work editing and formatting this book and to everyone else who has supported me along the way.

A phenomenon that a number of people have noted while in deep depression is the sense of being accompanied by a second self a wraithlike observer who, not sharing the dementia of his double, is able to watch with dispassionate curiosity as his companion struggles against the oncoming disaster, or decides to embrace it. There is a theatrical quality about all this, and during the next several days, as I went about stolidly preparing for extinction, I couldnt shake off a sense of melodrama a melodrama in which I, the victim-to-be of self-murder, was both the solitary actor and lone member of the audience.

William Styron ,
Darkness Visible:
A Memoir of Madness

T

hings got pretty shaky there for a while. I went out to the phone box this was before cell phones and tried to call her. It kept ringing but no answer. Time and time again I kept calling, getting that damn ringing tone and nothing.

That was the story of my life right there, encapsulated. A phone ringing forever that no-one would answer.

I staggered out into the daylight, dazed by the sun. She was fucking some other guy, no doubt. But that wasnt the worst thing. I didnt even care about that. Not really. I just wanted to talk to her. I just wanted that light, female, voice on the other end of the phone to soothe me, to lie to me, so I could feel alright again for the next few hours.

I lived from hour to hour, you see. It was morning. My head ached like someone had driven a hot screw into the brain mush inside.

I lived from hour to hour. And every hour delayed the final reckoning.

Just a word from her, even a lie, and it would be OK again, for a while. I could go to the pub by the railway arches and hide from the sun and drink until the feelings went away.

Just for a few hours.

But she wouldnt answer that fucking phone. She was out somewhere, fucking. This time the thought was a bolt of electricity that shot through me to my kidneys. Would the darkness of the bar, the cold alcohol, work this time? Maybe I needed something stronger.

Something permanent.

I walked around, dazed. I needed to get my head right. This was another feeling I knew I should repress, but it was so dark it thrilled me. What if I didnt get my head right? What if, instead, I just found a way to turn it off? For good?

The feelings churned around. It felt as though I were coming towards a decision. I was thrilled and sick with fear. I wandered around outside the phone box. A few steps this way and that.

And then I began walking towards Oxford Road.

There was an office there, a place Id seen before. It had Samaritans written on a sign over the entrance. I felt stupid pushing at the door. Like I was in a corny TV show. What were these people going to do anyway?

I walked up to the counter. On the other side a woman got up and came over. She was in her thirties. She looked kind. I thought maybe she was a young mum. She was nervous, like she hadnt been doing this long. And there I was all sweaty and red-faced, hair greasy, and eyes black-ringed from lack of sleep. I felt like I needed to protect her from me. Shed probably never met anyone like me before. Someone whod gone down so deep and so low.

I wondered if theres someone I could talk to? I said.

Yes, she said, but it was a question. She looked even more nervous now. You can talk to me. But you have to stand there. She pointed out my position behind the counter. Thereve been threats of violence against staff recently.

Im not going to threaten anyone, I said. It suddenly seemed incredibly sad that I couldnt even come around the counter and sit down with her face-to-face like a fucking human being.

Its the rules, she said. I can talk to you from here. So whats bothering you?

The question seemed absurd. It confused me. How could I begin? Did she want me to tell her everything? Every twist and turn of the last twenty-six years that had led me here, talking to a stranger, behind a counter in a scruffy little office in Manchester?

My girlfriend is cheating on me, I said.