Identity. The answer's identity. You lose your identity, you're dead. In the loosest sense, of course. But still dead.
There's about two things that are universally liked: things that are cute, and things that feel good. It changes based on how you define "cute" and what you think feels good, but in general, the "makes your insides feel fuzzy" type of things are pretty unwavering between human beings.
Everything can be broken down into soul-sucking routines if you're pessimistic enough.
It's not enough to sit around and stare at antiquated household appliances all day. It's not enough to be healthy. It's not enough to be happy. It's not enough to be smart, and it's not enough to be well-off. You have to be the healthiest, the happiest, the smartest, the richest - you have to be the best. Everything you own has to be the best. The best house, the best car, the best heating system, the best wife, the best washing machine, the best cutlery - the best life.
Physical is the same as mental pain - it's all in your head.
It's an abstract type of feeling. It's a conflicting state of mind. I want to stay in my shell, but the advisers on the internet tell me otherwise. They tell me that I should be more open. They tell me that success comes to those who grab it by the neck.
You like underdog stories, because you insert yourself into them. You like hearing about guys "pulling themselves up from their bootstraps," because you want to be like them. You weren't born into money. You weren't famous from birth. You're just a regular guy. But you still dream.
It's like a low-budget slapstick comedy movie. I'm in my room. A close-up on my face. I wake up, eyes wide. My eyes are drawn down, towards my legs. A rustle, and the bedsheets over my face. My face is contorted. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out except a slight "tsss." The morning is …