"What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason!
how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how
express and admirable! in action how like an angel!
in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me,
what is this quintessence of dust?"
Hamlet (Act II, Scene II)
Why does being disillusioned get such a bad rap? Being deeply disappointed by a frustrated ideal or a false held belief is an awakening. Waking up is not the most comfortable routine in our day but consider the alternative?
To "relate" to another human being, don't we actually need to converse with them at some point? Not fill our finite time with small talk. Why are people so afraid of real feelings and intimacy? Why is an authentic conversations so rare?
Perhaps it is the belief that if I don't relate to others, they can't betray us and we will not get hurt? If so, what a painful way to go through life. Is this why we are so anesthetized? We waste an enormous amount of energy and time on anniversaries, birthdays and new year celebrations. Jumping for joy for what? Why are we so consumed with celebrating natural passages of time when what we should be celebrating is our awakening?
Sadness is a such a maligned emotion. Our wrinkles and scars are our road-map, why do we need to mask them? 
Disillusion is expressed in sadness. We gave sadness an evil name, call it a disease and even have pills to make it go away.
Sadness is a side effect of living, just as happiness is.
They are the unavoidable consequences of being alive, like breathing, eating, dying, sleeping and belching. Do we really want to live a life where we dare not relate or risk loving someone for fear of losing them?
Oversleeping doesn't make our dreams come true.
I have no interest in wishing away another day. I want each passing moments to count, in all its grime, hurt and bruising ambiguity. We don't get any of this once we are laid out like a plank to be washed away.
We possess nothing. This life is on rent. It is all a grand illusion. We don't matter and if waking up and getting out of bed is the worst part of my day and then that is why it is the best.
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stem wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
SONNET XCVI (96)
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