The Cost of Consciousness

Raw, honest thoughts on love, loneliness, and the fear of truly knowing yourself.

I fear being alone.
When I am, I don’t feel good. Not even close. I feel as miserable as a man can be, though my thoughts contradict themselves. We lie to ourselves for pleasure—that’s the truth. And that’s why I fear solitude. Because when no one’s around, I face the reality of what I am.

I don't do anything meaningful when I'm alone. I waste myself. I regret it. But then again—don’t we all? We men, the so-called gentlemen, we hold ourselves to ideals we rarely meet. I feel sorry for myself, yet my thoughts betray me.

Man shouldn’t kill man. But he does.
He shouldn’t steal, lust, or sin—but he does.
And he does it just enough to keep his pride untouched. That’s how we maintain our illusion of nobility.

A great man is, in truth, a selfish man.
He must be alone.
He must trust no one.
Because trust is dangerous—when it breaks, it buries you. A man must be the carrier of his own being.

Being alone taught me how disgusted I was with others who claimed they were happy. “I found true love,” they say. But how foolish that sounds. True love is just self-love in disguise. Why do we disturb others with our feelings, our desires? Because we are social animals—addicted to talking, connecting, and eventually, being betrayed.

But happiness?
If there is any truth to happiness, it lies not in kissing someone you desire, but in feeding someone who’s starving, or freeing an innocent soul. And yet—why do that, if man is selfish? Can a selfish being truly care? Or is it just pride dressed as compassion?

Let me give you an example.
You fall in love. You think it means something. You act, or you don’t. Either way, you lose. She walks away. You watch. So what should a “true” lover feel? Crushed, maybe. But men are fools. They turn heartbreak into poetry and call it growth.

Man must fear being alone, because solitude brings thoughts we can’t control. Emotion takes over. A man driven by emotion is a clown in a costume party dressed in plain clothes. Everyone else plays tricks; he’s the trick.

Master solitude—or fall to it.
But here’s the paradox: the more you run from something, the more power it has over you. So yes, man should fear being alone. Because knowing your limits—truly knowing them—can be the most spiteful realization of all.

We come into this world to explore.
I explore it cautiously. You explore it foolishly. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. It’s like drinking alcohol for the bitterness without getting drunk. It has no meaning.

Life is built on minimal information and changing odds. Control is an illusion. But we cling to it. And when we finally get some grip—when life lets us choose how we suffer—we call that freedom.

Death is feared because it is pure freedom.
It can’t be avoided.
We like to believe that dying in a hospital bed gives some dignity. But it’s the most pathetic end of all. You did everything—and for what? If it were war, at least you'd die a martyr. That’s meaning. But most of us won’t get that. Life is a rigged game, and we just want a little control over how badly we lose.