Could it be that you have gotten so used to the pain that you’ve been feeling inside, that when it really did end and you were just about to pass into something easier and better, you subconsciously denied yourself happiness and embraced another self-inflicted distress for the sole reason of being scared of the change?
Change, seems easier in words, but it is followed by inertia. Of the few laws of the universe that we know, there are these that state that we tend to be in the state we’re in. The longer you’ve been there, the more resistance you’ll feel when there is a change that is brought about.
What we forget is that it works both ways, most definitely going from happy to sad, but also the other way round. Could it be that you’ve been down for so long that you are scared to be lifted anymore? Lived so long in the disbelief for yourself that now believing in yourself seems vague and too much effort or even pointless? Have you made yourself believe that?
Or could it be the things that you see in the world? All these people living their own lies . Lies that suit them the best, some stupid enough to not even see that, feeling safe in their little bubbles of pretense, pretending their way to the end of days, telling themselves the same lies, over and over again until they believe it like it’s the truth? So scared of accepting what they really are, and that they prefer believing in the pseudo-self they have created in their head, completely ignoring who they are, and constantly thinking their way into being a unique thing in the universe and quite ironically becoming a part of a herd that includes people just like them. Letting their misery and their happiness depend on their own definition of unique?
Honesty is the best policy, and lying is consequently the worst. Well, the worst of the liars are the ones that believe their own lies like they were the truth. The worst lie ever spoken is the lie spoken to self. Lies that fight and break and remold the reality of the world in order to find a pseudo solace.
I think we all tell ourselves stories to suit our conscience, we ought to; what matters is how true and believable those stories sound and how far we’ve accepted who we are. Does it take those stories to make us special? Or is it the unshakable belief in those thoughts inside our head? Is an absolute right or an absolute wrong? Or just consequences? Consequences of who we, inside our heads, have pledged to be…
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