“It shouldn’t be this way.” I think that’s the core of suffering – the brain’s conviction that something has gone terribly wrong. I was supposed to have relationships. Friends. I was supposed to be likable, admirable, respectable, decent. I was supposed to be a good person. I was supposed to have a decent, meaningful career, and a family, and a partner. That’s how it’s supposed to go.
But that’s not who I turned out to be. Instead I’m a neurotic, unlikable deviant. I’m socially awkward, depressing to be around, morally twisted. And it’s not that I consciously chose to be any of these things. But I am what I am. And what I am should not exist.
Except I shouldn’t kill myself. Because death is existentially terrifying, and I must do all I can to cling to life for as long as possible.
So I’ve trapped myself in this state of suffering. This sad, empty little existence, where no one who’s not closely related to me wants anything to do with me. And I’m doing this to myself, and I can’t stop. I can’t stop the sadness leaking out of me. Because it wasn’t supposed to be this way, and it’s fundamentally unacceptable. My mind is constantly screaming at itself. Because we’ve got to do something about this. We’ve got to fix it. This is intolerable. But at the deepest level, there’s nothing to do. There’s no fixing it. I am what I am. And what I am sucks.