They wanted to be able to feel a way that was familiar to them. Comfortable. And it did not have to feel good. They did not have to feel joy. Because joy was too fleeting. To them, joy was uncomfortable, because they could not control it. To them, joy was uncomfortable, because they knew it would soon be gone. But they could control their suffering. They could control their own despair. They could hurt themselves whenever they wanted to. They took solace in this. Finally, something consistent. A place to settle in. A cranny to hide within.
The world soared past them.