What I Learned My Current Situation Of Regretful Truth

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My once stagnant legs began to buckle and quiver, descending my knees towards the coarse particleboard of the barn floor. I felt helpless and cognitively muddled. If it were possible, to have someone of a third party vividly paint a mural of my being and emotional experience in the rain the night before, and replicate the same style of brush stroke depicting my dejected state in the barn the following morning, not only would the vibrancy and swirls of the watercolor differ, one would not believe that they were viewing the same man within a twelve hour interval of time. I hoped to understand my current situation of regretful truth, where I’d realized my emotional instability, by trying to rationalize my transitions, or how I’d shifted throughout my time in the quaint, little village I called home. I transitioned with ease, without recoil, from an apathetic recluse, to a triumphant conqueror of emotional restriction, to a melancholic man who thinks himself into psychological catastrophe all within a twenty-four hour time frame. In the open field the night before, I believed myself to be rid of emotional baggage, such as the type I was displaying on the barn floor that day. Perhaps my strain and grief were not meant to subside just yet; perhaps I needed to understand in its entirety why my mind naturally steers itself down this path of anguish so that I could understand others in order to be of aid. It didn’t make any sense to me. How could a human being experience such a slew

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