The Absurdity of Moral Superiority

I do think that my sadness can’t ever be justifiable because of how immeasurable it is. People get hurt for valid and clear reasons, but I don’t. Or maybe I do. But I put my heart on my sleeve to the point where I feel emotionally naked, and somehow I feel like it is my fault anyway. Never someone else’s but mine. I should have not taken it personally nor thought about it that much afterwards. I was supposed to just let it all go and be the bigger person. I was supposed to forgive without them apologizing. No one is perfect anyway, right? Everyone makes mistakes. I do, too. So why be sad? Why be depressed? We all hurt and get hurt, it is a vicious cycle that is inevitable throughout our life. Sometimes we are the perpetrator, some other times the victim. Sometimes we chain people up, the next month we are the one chained up. Sometimes we realize, other times we don’t—or can’t.

Quaintly remarkable, don't you think?

As naive as I can be, I am not innocent—no one is. Deep down, we all know we’re not that nice, or kind, or good. We all have a tinge of darkness deep beneath our skins. We just learn how to look the other way but that doesn’t mean it is gone at all. Some people get tired of it but they learn to befriend it anyway. Some others let it consume them entirely so they can rest. But really, they are forcing themselves to sleep soundly on top of roses with thorns. Seems beautiful, but actually malicious. When they’re bleeding, they do whatever it takes to make other people bleed too, just so they wouldn’t be lonely in their sleep. It is a call for help, but more than that, it is a call for companions. Not many people could see this, but I get why. Those people can be so destructive, it becomes unbearable to breathe in the same room. So, we destroy them.

We are destroyers of other destroyers, then we judge them, perhaps by social dogma, morality, or law, but truly, never by mirrors. I mean, if you successfully destroy the monster at the end of the story, then what becomes of you? Do you, then, become the monster itself to replace its place in the world? You tell me.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who’s the filthiest of them all?”

...

There we are.