There is a life I have never lived. It breathes somewhere inside me — unheard, unexpressed, and unseen.
I was made to live as we and, in doing so, I forgot I.
THE CURTAIN OF DUTY
Duties became my disguise — a curtain behind which I hid my hunger for freedom.
I called it responsibility, but often it was fear — fear of being judged, of being selfish, of breaking the script written by others.
I have played the roles: father, husband, provider, friend — yet in this crowded theatre of life, I remain an unseen actor in my own story.
My freedom terrifies me. My childhood memories, imprisoned and incomplete, rattle their chains within me.
The short-lived love I once felt — now a ghost that whispers through my sleepless nights.
ESCAPING INTO FANTASY
In my idle hours, I walk with my pet or bury my loneliness in the gym.
I drift into hallucinations, imagination, and delusion — a fantasy world where I reclaim the power and importance that life demanded I surrender.
I have nothing — and yet, paradoxically, I have accumulated everything.
What remains is not joy, but residue: the loneliness of self, the indifference of wife, the silent dissertation of children.
AILING SYMPTOMS OF THE UN-LIVED LIFE
I tolerate despair, morality, illusion, and delusion — I live secretly, concealing the life unlived within me.
Symptoms of this quiet ailment include:
1. Unhappiness
2. Alien thoughts and alien modalities
3. Self-hatred
4. Aging without wisdom
5. The shadow of death
6. Suicidal impulses disguised as fatigue
7. A heart distant from the wife, dreaming of an imaginary partner
It is a comfortless feeling — an ache that no medicine can ease.
WHO HAS DAMAGED WHOM?
Who crippled whom? Who reckoned with whom?
Man often chooses to love the woman who can destroy him — he falls in love with her venom, her fangs, her words that wound.
He loves her because she keeps him chained — her cruelty gives him meaning, her rejection gives him purpose.
And I wonder — am I strong enough to self-serve my own spirit?
For even my friends use their eminence to assert authority over my wounded will.
THE HEALING
Healing begins with unburdening. Nature — that quiet, solitary mentor — calls me to release, to confess, to ask for help without shame.
I must dissect my own psyche, for I am a creature born of my own suffering.
My mind and body must live in two compartments:
1. The body must feel pain to create.
2. The mind must recall memories of solutions.
But my thoughts clot with trash and lust, blocking higher vision.
I realize — my goals never planned for my own peace, my retirement, my repose.
I should have said yes to every minute of my life.
Each moment should have been coated with passion — the sacred alignment of the three Ps: Passion, Profession, and Pathway.
I loved name and fame; I must now learn humility.
I must fall in love again — this time with tranquility, with the orderly universe.
For a life without mystery, passion, and hurdles is no life at all.
CONCLUSION: THE PATH TO FREEDOM
1. Stop worrying about what others think.
2. Recognize that lust is a diversion — a well that pulls the soul down.
3. Remember: comfort, truth, and growth always travel with pain.
The unlived life is not a tragedy; it is a teacher.
It waits for us — behind the curtain of duty, beyond the noise of success — whispering:
“Live. Not as we. Not as they. But as I.”
