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Unhappy being

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I tell myself, every now and then, that I am incapable of feeling happy, or satisfied. In fact, I don't appear to be in a bad shape though. I have a job. I have company. I get my bedding. I drink and I am still considered young. But no matter how I look at it, I cannot imagine what it is like to feel happy, satsfied, or even loved. I sound like a spoiled teenager who hates everything around himself but I know it's just what I am. The twist is, I always crave to get something better than what I already have. Not a very uncommon symptom in today's general population, I admit. But it is a twist because, despite all my preconditions to plunge myself into the sea of deep depression and despondencies, I somehow manage to do better because I always feel frustrated and wholly unsatisfied. Thus, having looked at some mortal examples who struggle to improve themselves, I almost think that maybe it's not too bad that I find it impossible to feel content with what I am or what I have. That is by no means to suggest I have so much motivation. I always suffer from being listless and lethargic. I hate myself because I have no motivation or passion for something. The older I get, moreover, the harder it is to grasp any symptom of motivation in my everyday life. Like a flu that arrives with all sorts other symptoms such as runny nose, sore throat and fever, my lethargic status of mind or body is infected with inability to feel impressed, moved or excited. But if getting old comes with any kind of relief that has not been manifested in previous years, it is the ability to compromise. I learn to compromise because otherwise I won't be able to deal with my extremely vulnerable glassy mental status. So, in order to overcome all that unhappy states of mind that roam within my system like abominable cancer cells, and I try to overcome them because I crave something better than what I have, I disguise myself under a thick skin developed over many years. A thick skin that is not exactly pretty but gets me going and move around because it offers temporary protection against debilitating rains of emptiness and frustration. Therefore,


I feign.

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