The good thing about optimistic people is that we’re able to squeeze out ounces of positivity even when the moment feels utterly dry of it. The bad thing about optimistic people is that even though we know we should, sometimes we feel we really can’t, and that is ultimately what kills us. It’s not the insecurity and anxiety perse (although that’s definitely a part of it), but our conscience lecturing us inside of our head. It can be a perpetually taxing argument.
I’ve tried, I’ve tried and I’ve tried to detox myself of self-acidic thoughts and I have been successful, even if only briefly. I run or give myself time and space to clear my head, so that I’m away from what triggers such feelings of uneasiness, which rises from my gut and slowly eats away at my better judgement.
I don’t want to feel this way about myself or other people because when I do trivial details seem to magnify differences that shouldn’t make a difference in the first place. It’s sickening how easily I can relapse even though I’ve given myself time to feel better about what ever has been bugging me. What’s annoying is how the attack can come out of nowhere, so I rush to hopefully keep the tumor benign.
I can feel great most of the time, but some nights when I get home, all I want to do is close my eyes. That’s where I can see the ceiling of my mind.
Decarte’s third meditation reminds the optimist of the infinity beyond the container of her mind. Getting out of it is exactly what she’s trying to do because if she can’t master her thoughts then she knows that her woes will trouble her forever.