Odd and unexplainable, the sudden feeling of unease that washes over when it's time to go to bed, and the body does not wish to comply. At that point in time, the day's joys and delights all appear to be trivial and insignificant, and all the random events we experienced all come rushing back, with a special emphasis on those that caused sadness.
Where did that come from, and how can you stop it? I lay in bed feeling like a completely different person to the one who laughed hysterically with her friends a few hours ago, devoid of happiness, and feeling like the most ungrateful person in the world. Having had a great and comfortable lifestyle with caring parents and a sound education, what could I possibly lack? What could I possibly want? Why was it that my poetic senses were only tingled at times of utmost misery, provoked by loneliness? Sometimes, when we're with others, we want nothing more than just to be alone, and when we're alone, the solitude is degrading to our psyche. "The grass is always greener" strikes me as a silly, trivializing statement that doesn't even start to encompass the entirety of the emotion that is felt.
Surely, we cannot expect to be happy always, but perhaps, what terrifies most of us is the fear that the sadness will formulate a new state of permanence? Perhaps we fear the idea of evolving into perpetually sad people who experience small and horribly temporary bursts of happiness?
When the sadness hits, should you embrace it? Should you let the tears fall and allow the heavy sobs to send tremors through your body? Or should you clear your mind and fight it?
At that point in time, I considered all the philosophies I knew, and felt nothing but pity and affection for everyone I disliked at some point in time. I realized the sadness would have united us all.
But
What path should I have taken? Did enlightenment mean I had to let all my emotions decompose? Would that reveal a strong, indestructible person, or someone barely human? Would the "I" I had developed into throughout the years vanish if I disposed of my emotion, or would the conquering of "I" solely imply a conquering of ego, and somehow open me up to some wondrous insight of the universe that my emotion had clouded?
I mused over the entirety of my thought process and slowly disconnected from wakefulness, to descend into a healing episode of sleep. As usual, I woke up feeling like someone who had no connection to the person I was the night before.
Perhaps the trick lies in unifying our multiple personalities? Perhaps there is no trick at all? Will we ever know?
Where did that come from, and how can you stop it? I lay in bed feeling like a completely different person to the one who laughed hysterically with her friends a few hours ago, devoid of happiness, and feeling like the most ungrateful person in the world. Having had a great and comfortable lifestyle with caring parents and a sound education, what could I possibly lack? What could I possibly want? Why was it that my poetic senses were only tingled at times of utmost misery, provoked by loneliness? Sometimes, when we're with others, we want nothing more than just to be alone, and when we're alone, the solitude is degrading to our psyche. "The grass is always greener" strikes me as a silly, trivializing statement that doesn't even start to encompass the entirety of the emotion that is felt.
Surely, we cannot expect to be happy always, but perhaps, what terrifies most of us is the fear that the sadness will formulate a new state of permanence? Perhaps we fear the idea of evolving into perpetually sad people who experience small and horribly temporary bursts of happiness?
When the sadness hits, should you embrace it? Should you let the tears fall and allow the heavy sobs to send tremors through your body? Or should you clear your mind and fight it?
At that point in time, I considered all the philosophies I knew, and felt nothing but pity and affection for everyone I disliked at some point in time. I realized the sadness would have united us all.
But
What path should I have taken? Did enlightenment mean I had to let all my emotions decompose? Would that reveal a strong, indestructible person, or someone barely human? Would the "I" I had developed into throughout the years vanish if I disposed of my emotion, or would the conquering of "I" solely imply a conquering of ego, and somehow open me up to some wondrous insight of the universe that my emotion had clouded?
I mused over the entirety of my thought process and slowly disconnected from wakefulness, to descend into a healing episode of sleep. As usual, I woke up feeling like someone who had no connection to the person I was the night before.
Perhaps the trick lies in unifying our multiple personalities? Perhaps there is no trick at all? Will we ever know?
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