The Day Was Good But I Feel Bad

There is a kind of numbness in mediocrity. When you don't care about yourself, you don't care about anything around you. Time melts into itself; every day plays out the same as the last, and you live in a bittersweet, wretched bliss. Outwardly you can look like someone who is enlightened or has mastered himself, but inwardly it is the total opposite.

Such a person can improve, but it will be either from an intense desperation to fulfil their desires or out of guilt and shame about their current or past state. If you cannot work with virtue, your work will be wanting no matter how hard you try. When it is finally judged—by you or by others—it will be denied, and you will have truly hit rock bottom.

I hit rock bottom early in September. Outwardly I had lost a large amount of weight, but inwardly I had devolved to my lowest point. I hated myself and the world around me. Thankfully, the only way after hitting bottom is up.

There comes a point in any virtuous endeavor when you begin to experience shakiness. You still lack what you desire, but your work only becomes more difficult. You optimize established habits and start adding more. Your day swells with activity, you work harder, and a sense of resolute calm begins to settle in your spirit. But your body and mind have not yet received the message.

In this state you know your emotions and thoughts are not to be trusted, but their grip on your psyche is still powerful. You doubt yourself and your progress. You get upset easily, and you still lack the willpower to stop saying or doing the wrong things completely. The present fatigue and the immensity of the long journey ahead weigh heavily.

The capacity to feel terrible is greatest here. You are more present than ever. You are not dragged by desire, but it will still lash you mercilessly. In my case the desire is for love and companionship—something I have never experienced, but something central to being human. Many will tell you there is nothing wrong with being alone, but they do not know the pain of always having been alone or the rage of every cell in your body crying out for a solution.

An ocean of days is ahead of me—every day almost the same as the last: stark, boring, repetitive. Nothing to numb me anymore; nothing to distract me. I must put my head down and work. Either that or give up and accept total failure.