False belief

How do significant life events or the passage of time influence your perspective on life?

“A person is made by their faith; as they believe, so they become.”— Bhagavad Gita 17.3

What I Became While Writing I did something I did not think through.I wrote while angry.I told myself I was only expressing truth, but the truth was shaped by bitterness. Every relationship I touched on the page turned sharp. I didn’t write to understand—I wrote to wound. I called it honesty, but it was retaliation dressed as courage.

I disliked the people around me. Their visits felt false, their concern rehearsed. Mourning looked like performance. I questioned why they came at all, why food was offered, why words were spoken for someone they resented while alive.

I wanted distance, not ritual.So I wrote distance into existence.The stories did not stay private. Once written, they moved—passed, discussed, misunderstood. I blamed others for this spread.

I named figures of power, influence, and manipulation. I imagined them controlling the narrative, burning my words elsewhere, using them against me.In truth, I had already released them.When my body reacted—heat, stings, marks I could not explain—I searched for meaning outside myself. I named invisible causes. I gave them form and intention. I called them attacks instead of signals.

I did not want to accept that the mind, under stress, creates sensations that feel real and urgent. I wanted an enemy more than I wanted responsibility.So I invented Rathe.Rathe was not a person. Rathe was a name for accumulated anger, fear, and inherited resentment. Rathe lived where thoughts loop and refuse to settle. Every time I reread my own writing, Rathe grew louder.The “invisible crickets” were not messengers from others. They were the echo of my own unrest—small, persistent, impossible to ignore. They appeared when I refused to stop feeding the story. They faded when I stepped away.Time passed, and I began to see the pattern.The events themselves were not destroying me.My interpretation of them was.I had become vindictive in the name of self-defense. Manipulative in the name of protection. I shaped narratives so I would not have to sit with uncertainty or guilt. I wanted control when what I needed was stillness.The Gita speaks plainly about this.

When the mind is ungoverned, it turns inward as an enemy. I saw that my writing was not wrong—but the state I wrote from was unstable.This story does not end with punishment or triumph.It ends with recognition.

I do not erase what I wrote.I do not rewrite it today.I do not want to break anyone relationship between each other. I just wrote the expression of truth which turned I destroyed other people lives. I am the biggest loser for wasting my money.