Just a happy little muse

What if everything you thought you were...you weren't? If you had based your life on something thought innate, how would you handle finding out it was a figment of your imagination? I see the fools walking by every day, content with their dillusion, unwilling to find the truth. They somehow muddle through life, jadedly thinking that their miserable existence is as good as it gets. How I long to have that narrow-minded view again. Why can't you unknow things? Why must one be responsible for what he knows? I know I must grow and change, but I'm happy here. I'm filled with sorrow, knowing the life I'm making for myself is for nothing. I don't wish this to happen, yet I wish it were over already. Just pull me out of this misery.