Vice Die Hard: A Journey from Darkness to Virtue

She woke up with a splitting headache, her mouth dry and her body heavy. The faint sunlight creeping through the blinds felt harsher than usual, like it was accusing her. Lying there in bed, she felt the weight of her decisions press down on her—decisions that led her to this moment. Last night had been another blur: loud music, endless drinks, empty laughter. She had been chasing that fleeting high, that escape from reality that never lasted long enough.

Her phone was still buzzing with messages from her friends, talking about how much "fun" they had. But in the quiet of the morning, it didn’t feel fun anymore. It felt hollow. She could feel the disconnection between her outward life and her inner thoughts. Every time she chose this path, it seemed like an easy way to forget the pain, but the problems never went away. Instead, they grew, like shadows lurking just out of sight, always waiting for her to sober up.

Her mind drifted to the relationships she had damaged. Her family, the people she loved, the ones she kept pushing away because she couldn’t bear to face the truth in their eyes. They saw what she was becoming long before she did. They saw the girl who was once full of potential, who had dreams, talents, and aspirations that could have created a meaningful life. But she had chosen a different path—a path that led further away from who she truly was.

It wasn’t just her life she was messing up. It was the lives of those around her. The ones who cared, who still believed in her despite her repeated failures. She could feel their disappointment, not in the things they said, but in the silences, in the way they stopped expecting anything better from her. And what scared her the most was that she had stopped expecting more from herself.

Lying there, she couldn’t avoid the realization any longer: she had chosen the suffering of vice. The suffering of escape, of temporary relief, of postponing responsibility. And this suffering was slowly, piece by piece, stealing her life from her.

She reached for her phone, almost on autopilot, as if it held the answer to everything she was feeling. The screen lit up, and her fingers swiped through notifications—likes, comments, a few messages from last night. For a moment, she felt that familiar rush of validation, a brief flicker of excitement seeing how many people had reacted to her latest post. But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came.

Scrolling through social media became her escape route, the way she avoided the emptiness inside. She watched other people's curated lives—photos of vacations, success stories, perfect relationships. It all seemed so effortless, so unattainable for her. The more she scrolled, the more distant she felt from herself, as if she were living in a shadow of someone else's life. Yet, she couldn’t stop. It was a mindless habit now, a way to numb the guilt and disappointment.

She lingered on a photo of her from the night before, all smiles and laughter. The girl in the picture seemed carefree, happy, like nothing in the world could touch her. But looking at it now, she felt disconnected from that version of herself. The likes, the comments—they were all meaningless, just surface-level affirmations from people who didn’t really know her. She posted those photos to maintain an illusion, a fa?ade that masked the reality of her life.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button, but she didn’t press it. Instead, she kept scrolling, hoping to distract herself from the nagging voice inside her head. But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. What was she really chasing? Validation from strangers? The illusion of happiness that others projected? Deep down, she knew none of it was real. None of it would fix the growing hole in her heart or bring her closer to the life she once dreamed of.

She put the phone down and stared at the ceiling. The distraction wasn’t working anymore.

As she lay there, the silence grew louder, and the thoughts that she'd been trying to escape began to crystallize. There was no avoiding it anymore. She was at a crossroads. She could feel it deep within her—the pull between continuing down the path of self-destruction or making a change, a real change. But change wasn’t easy. Change required effort, sacrifice, and—most terrifying of all—responsibility.

Her mind raced with questions. Why had she allowed herself to sink this low? How did she become someone who ran from life instead of facing it? She wasn’t born this way. Once, she had ambitions, goals, dreams that stretched far beyond these hollow nights and empty mornings. What happened to that version of herself, the girl who believed in more?

It’s not too late, she told herself. The thought was fragile, almost distant, but it was there. She had seen others change their lives. She had seen people rise from the ashes of their mistakes and rebuild themselves. It wasn’t an easy path, but it was possible. She could choose a different kind of suffering—the suffering of discipline, of self-reflection, of learning to live with intention and purpose. The suffering that comes with virtue, with saying no to instant gratification, no to the toxic people who dragged her down, and no to the habits that kept her trapped.

Her heart pounded as the realization hit her with full force: she had the power to choose. It wouldn’t be easy. It would mean letting go of the people, the places, the habits that had been her crutch for so long. It would mean standing on her own and facing life head-on, without the comforting numbing of her vices.

But it also meant something else—freedom. The freedom to live a life that wasn’t controlled by fleeting highs, empty validations, or other people’s opinions. The freedom to be the person she was meant to be, to rediscover the strength and potential she had once let slip away.

She sat up slowly, feeling a shift within her, a spark of determination. This wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to face it. Ready to embrace the struggle of building a meaningful life, one rooted in virtues, in values, and in the courage to take responsibility for her choices. She wasn’t looking for the easy way out anymore. She was ready to fight for the life she deserved.

"I've spent too long running from the pain of my choices, but today I choose a different kind of suffering—the kind that builds, not breaks. The struggle to rise above, to embrace who I’m meant to be, is the only path to true freedom. My past doesn’t define me; the choices I make now will."