I know there are many people on the same planet living more miserable life than me; people in Africa are starving to death and I have enough food than my appetite, children don’t have clean water to drink and I waste too much water in shower, women don’t have enough clothes to cover their bodies and I keep buying new outfits for me. I’m not a coldhearted person, I realize the misery of suffering humanity, but when I’m knocked down by my inner self, I become selfish and cruel to think only about my pain and my misery. I consider myself as the most unfortunate person on the planet. My conscious mind disregards all the blessings to be grateful for and my achievements to be proud of and in return, zooms in all the wounds of my soul in the form of deprivation, past failures and future worrisome. Despite knowing, I’m not a part of the social rat race, I start comparison with others. Surprisingly, at this point of time, every person I know appears to be valuable and successful, making most out of his rocking and exciting life. In the sparkling light of which, my dull and boring self becomes more regretful and I get buried in the mud of shame. My existence was never such meaningless as it seems now. At this moment, the power of reason surrenders in front of overwhelming irrational emotions of despair, probably that’s why all the self-help literature I keep reading to boost my morale, fails to encounter the irresistible negativity within and the self-counseling techniques sound not more than an absurd and futile remedy. My self-esteem and self-worth seem far distinct to approach. The light, which I found in myself after going through several sessions of trial and silent meditation, disappeared leaving behind the haunting darkness. The only blessing of such phase that I could recall is a fanciful comfort of death because life, in front of which, seems to be much more frightening.