At first, I was terrified, thinking, "Oh, no, I've got a psychological problem that needs to be solved as soon as possible, so I don't depress my kids. Spent a few all-day work hours chatting online to the cost of finger cramps, and to persuade, to understand the reasoning, but also their own weekdays to figure out the idea of self-psychological guidance are expressed once again. The only responses I got were that I knew him too well, and complaints that I was always talking sense but not solving the real problem. Come on, if I could really solve this world problem, would I still be this confused and helpless? Even if I don't make a fortune as a psychiatrist, I can still invent some kind of loneliness detector for the benefit of mankind.
"We are all born alone" is a saying that I don't want to repeat. In the face of this fact, what can be done? You can only rely on yourself. People this kind of creature, the most powerful skill is recovery. From cell regeneration to national reconstruction. In desperation to find the motivation to survive, in the boring to find the joy of life, is also a kind of survival skills. "Be your own best friend" is the only solution I can think of at the moment.
The essay in high school discussed the difference between loneliness and isolation. Now long ago I do not remember the content, looking back just sweating language teacher's endurance, able to see under such shallow and self-righteous things. The people's teachers are great.
The evening was "La Vie en Rose", Edith Piaf is obviously lonely, a person who tried his best to burn his life to splendor his life, can not not be lonely. Because few people have the courage to burn with her all the way to the end, and even fewer have the strength to burn with her all the way to the end.
This reminds me of "She's Lonelier Than Fireworks," where Jackie is equally capricious, sharp, lonely, and an artistic genius who burns out her talent. If you compare the two, I prefer the latter. Maybe it's the former's strength that's so appalling, while the latter's childlike simplicity and vulnerability allows me to forgive her for all her mistakes, just like her sister Hilary. It could also be that the weed-like vitality and wildness from the bottom of the world gives me a sense of distance. No matter how many psychological trials and tribulations I've gone through now, I still can't get over the fact that I grew up in a near-vacuum from a greenhouse, and I can't reconcile the years-long battle in my mind between "being crazy" and "being quiet".
They are fortunate because of their genius, because they have found the center of gravity in their lives, because their genius has been brought into play, and because their zest for life has been unleashed. The known geniuses who are recognized are the lucky ones. What about the mostly undiscovered geniuses? What about the majority of those who are not geniuses? Where will the center of gravity of ordinary life rest?
I envy those who have found the love of their lives and invested their energies to achieve something, the lucky ones. Last night, I watched Lee's "Sense and Sensibility" concert DVD again, and he said that Lee is just a lyricist, an ordinary person. To be able to label himself with such an identity is already rare. There are people like you and me who can't find a label to put on themselves, and before they have time to find a suitable identity for themselves, they have already ended their lives. At the end of such a life, there should be regrets. But what can be done about it?
Lately, I've let myself get caught up in a lot of things, so much so that I don't have time to think about them, to ask myself questions. And pushing myself to reach out to strangers, to see how more people live. Let yourself get nervous and step out of the cramped space you've boxed yourself into. Wrapped up in the actual real people and things, the present world is stable, as if it is also possible. Unfortunately, when you stop, your heart is always empty.
The sword in the hand is no longer sharp, but also can not fight the loneliness of the heart.
The footsteps are busy, but I can't find a place to store my heart
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