Thomas Young4 said:Someone once defined life itself as a constant struggle. If you look at it that way, giving up on the fight basically means giving up on living altogether. To anyone with a healthy mindset, walking away from that battle isn't even an option. So, if we decide we don't want to fight anymore—if we take all that leftover energy and just start taking it out on our own teammates and sabotaging our own people—then our "condition" is pretty easy to diagnose. You could find a definition for that behavior in any standard American psychiatry textbook.
Here’s my second question: how can we actually be certain that we’ve exhausted every single possibility? Is it enough just because *we* feel like there's nothing left, or is there an objective way to know we've truly hit a dead end?
The third question hits deep: where does our motivation actually come from? What’s the true engine behind why we do what we do? And more importantly, is that fuel supposed to be an endless supply for everyone, or is it meant to run dry? When does it happen, and why exactly does that spark eventually fade?
Destructiveness—or even self-destruction—as a byproduct of giving up, like you were saying, Solaris, feels to me more like a regressive, immature defense mechanism. It’s basically how a protagonist who quits tries to manage their own anxiety, which likely stems from a fractured sense of self—that desperate need to see oneself as some kind of "ideal" or superior being. By hating that version of themselves, they end up taking their frustration out on themselves. Or, they project that anger—which is really just weakness—onto others, destroying them as a way to settle the score with themselves.
Mmm... now that is a total medical treat. 😉 🙂
Look, if we aren't actually going to step up and fight in this context—if we’re just going to keep using whatever strength we have left to beat our own teammates into submission and sideline them—then our "condition" is pretty easy to diagnose. You could find the definition for it in any standard American psychiatry textbook.
Alright, go ahead—lay it on me. Give me your best shot at a diagnosis, or whatever psychiatric definition you think fits.
And you can even grab the full treatment package right away. 😉
So, here’s the second question: how can we actually be certain that we’ve exhausted every single possibility? Is it really enough just because *we* feel like there's nothing left to try?
Absolute security is an illusion—it simply doesn't exist. But at the end of the day, all that really matters is how a person perceives their own reality, because they are the center and the true source of their own life.
Honestly, all that matters is that it aligns with what we personally believe to be true.
Unless we actually change our minds, nothing changes.
The third question on the table is this: Where does our motivation actually come from? What is its true source, and is that wellspring supposed to be an endless supply for everyone? At what point does it run dry, and why does that happen?
That is a phenomenal question. 👍
Do you have the answer?
The destructiveness—or even self-destruction—that comes from just throwing in the towel, like you mentioned, Solaris, feels to me like a regressive, immature psychological defense mechanism. It’s essentially how a protagonist who gives up tries to manage their own anxiety, which likely stems from a fractured sense of self—that desperate need to view themselves as "perfect" or superior. By hating that version of themselves, they end up taking their frustration out on themselves, or they project that weakness onto others, destroying them as a way of settling a score with their own soul.
👏
Regression, sure, but how deep does the rabbit hole go?
Why on earth is their sense of self even distorted in the first place?
Who exactly is out here demanding this "perfect being" standard?
That is seriously impressive!
And... what’s the cure, Doc?