Reiterating the querulous phase

It is the time when you get unsure of everything and anything your life is made up of.  It is that feeling when you see the sand in the upper part of the hour glass mingling steadily with the one in the lower part, and you fail to distinguish between the two and wonder if they were ever different. It is when you vacillate over the idea of existentialism and question if there ever were any idiosyncrasies to your character. You wonder if you ever had any belief system or just the dogmas impressed on your perfunctory mind.

Your quest for the never aging answer of being the righteous inclines towards the exact opposite side of the scale, you held with the presumption of maintaining the balance of your universe dexterously. You are shaken, broken by opening the shutters you made for this pretentious life to make you happy. Your pretense no more holds you tight, but only blights the progression it was supposed to cause.

And then the story continues and this vicious cycle binds you into some infinite loops. You get back to the incipient phase of the cycle and march slowly towards the end to get back to the state of condemning self, reiterating yourself through, but never being strong enough to change again, for all you believe at last is that happiness is the true ultimatum of human life.