People spend their lives running from themselves, drowning in distractions to avoid facing the truth of what they are. The chase for the next fleeting high—the validation, the illusion of purpose—becomes the only thing that matters.

One message, one moment of clarity, could shatter it all. Confidence crumbles, ego collapses, desperation spills into the open. Everyone fights to justify their existence, but some do it so pitifully, so transparently, that it’s hard to see it as anything but raw survival instinct dressed up in self-deception.

Rather than rebuilding, rather than channeling rage into something meaningful, they cling to false comfort. They laugh off insults they secretly internalize, they attach themselves to relationships built on need rather than love, they convince themselves they’re happy because the alternative is unbearable.

And in the end, perhaps none of it matters. Perhaps perspective will come only when it’s far too late—when the distractions fade, and the unavoidable truth finally sets in.