I thought I knew the definition of suffering, at least in its entirety. I’m familiar with the physical pain of an injury or the emotional anguish from a traumatic experience. But I recently became aware of a subtle brand of suffering, one that is voluntary and not based in reality. I found myself wallowing in a depression because a relationship didn’t work out the way I wanted. And the funny part is, the person involved wasn’t aware there was a relationship, which makes the situation rather pointless. Nonetheless, I willingly suffered for a week over it. Looking back, I’m stunned at the degree that I am a slave to my whims and how the least thing sends me into a tailspin. Depression, anger, jealousy, remorse and shame are all mental suffering. And most of the time, I manufacture this misery myself.

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