Restless.

Producing too little and finding no real sense anywhere outside of me to be able to support, or barely a little understanding.

Becoming inhabited in solitude as life constantly sinks towards the bottom to the mass's contentless and disturbed present existence.

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Seeing the weak deceived by their cunning, so convinced of being able to be humbly more and more in their emptiness...

Their self-esteem is only on the surface. The personalities are transformed into daubers who carry grief packages to the brush; and the "social competence" always becomes controlling and insists on misinterpreting and lying so that nothing can really be changed; or even get to breathe any freedom...