Sole

As the ego is crumbling away a sense of solitude escalates. The illusion turns even more vivid and poor little me feels totally isolated, unappreciated, misunderstood, abandoned, misjudged, lonely and separate.

If they only saw what I can see. If they only had the wherewithal to look within like I do. Etc.

Methinks

The truth doesn’t hurt. The truth never hurts. What hurts is that there is nothing in it for me. The truth won’t validate or cater for me in any way whatsoever.

The price of the truth is the loss of the illusion of me (in the truth vis-a-vis youse).

It ain’t easy and it ain’t pleasant. I stands to lose every thing and every body.

 

Relevance

Melancholy is a great way to bypass the truth (of the moment): Feels so good to wallow in self-pity and to feel the me being dissed, pissed, frustrated, misunderstood, abandoned, disturbed, annoyed, perturbed, inconvenienced and other ways victimized by fortuitous circumstances—jilted by girls, misjudged by other egos, bothered by noisy neighbours and enervating nocturnal emissions, etc.—it keeps everything deeply personal. It keeps the world revolve around me.

Without struggling and constant frustration nothing else remains but this moment, constantly, that turns on a dime, instantly—no guarantees, no hope, no prospects, nothing, really.

Victim

As an ego am used to routinely playing the game of putting myself in the position of being chosen and hailed by circumstances and people so I get to defy the potentially undesired consequences without me being responsible for creating them. I is a perfect perfectionist.

Only by losing (the image of) it do I actually see it for what it is

What hurts me is not that I’ve lost her but that I am losing the image I’ve cherished about her.

It’s painful to see this because it means that I am losing the image I’ve cherished about myself too.

Without the hope (the projected image) of getting her back there is noone to suffer for and there is noone to suffer.