We have to stop attacking ourselves. But no one has taught us how to live otherwise.
See? Right there, that’s the excuse that will kill us eventually. The moment of but I didn’t know any better, this is what everyone else was doing, and on. We see what’s wrong, maybe we even recognize that we need a solution or – bite your tongue – figure out what a solution might look like. But we won’t. Because that would mean acting against what we’ve been taught for our whole lives, since the dawn of man. We’re begging for survival at the cost of happiness or peace or internal stability. We have no idea what we’re missing, so we continue on, trudging up the hill, against all reason, because that’s the only thing we’ve ever been taught. Or even if we haven’t been taught it, that’s the only thing that we can see and so we cling to it, desperate to fit in, to be what the others are, because even if we’re all miserable, at least we’re miserable together. Because – who knows? – the alternative could be worse. And that’s something we’re not willing to risk, while we’re all clinging on to the cliff face with bleeding fingers and scratched-up faces, even when the smooth path, with handrails and informative signs, is only meters away. Because it could be worse. And if no one else is taking that path, it must be. Because who would choose pain and hardship and comparison and diminished self-worth when the alternative was so easy, so close this whole time, unless the alternative was actually a lie? Because we’ve all been lied to our entire lives. The truth doesn’t mean anything anymore. We’re all just telling stories, again and again and again, until the plots all run together and the characters sound the same, and the words get shorter and shorter. And you’d think eventually, two people would end up with the exact same story, when the words combined the same way. But we all have our little differences, and the letters don’t line up perfectly, like mismatched cups on the top rack of the dishwasher.