Many people are so busy listening to joyful songs that they fail to grieve when they truly ought to. When they should be mourning and shedding tears for themselves, they mistakenly busy themselves with ignoring their problems, using cheerful and happy songs that can never solve the underlying issues. Problems left abandoned for too long become like rusted cars, like mold filling an entire house, or like vegetables that have rotted over time and exude a foul stench—making it highly uncomfortable to even open them up and look inside. Because they do not know what kind of filth and agony might lie within, they choose to simply be prescribed painkillers to forget the problem altogether.
A life sustained by painkillers is miserable. If one lives on painkillers without addressing the disease, even the mildest ailment will ultimately lead to death. Painkillers that used to work effectively will no longer have any effect. Every single element that once provided an entertaining distraction will no longer bring any joy. Age accumulates day by day, and youth fades away. Those who used to help me grow old as well, and my family ages just as I do.
A life that cannot grieve despite the absolute necessity to do so has never wept for itself; thus, it would not be strange at all if a day of total collapse were to arrive unexpectedly.
One must mourn for oneself, and one must cry out in anguish for oneself. One must lament why their life has ended up in this state, trapped within a hopeless cycle of existence. Rather than fixating on the things that cannot be mended, one must search for the sole method of transformation with a level of agony akin to gouging out one's own flesh. There is a definitive cause for the suffering. As long as the root cause of that suffering remains unresolved, there is no freedom.