Beneath Floorboards; Underground Man

Readers Alert: If philosophy and psychology make you spiral, proceed with caution. This piece isn’t trying to make sense. It’s here to reflect the madness that is Notes from Underground. What makes this book terrifyingly beautiful is that it’s not about new ideas — it’s about the ones we’re too afraid to say out loud.
The ones that whisper: What if society won’t understand me? What if these thoughts aren’t “normal”? What if I’m not alone in thinking this way… but everyone is just pretending?

“So here we go — into the spiral. Together.”

Inside the mind of the underground man

So here’s the thing — Dostoevsky didn’t write Notes from Underground to give you answers. He wrote it to throw you headfirst into the mess of someone who overthinks everything, feels everything too deeply, and still does the wrong thing. It’s like... he knows what’s sublime and beautiful — he gets it, he really does — and then just turns around and wrecks it. Why? That’s kind of the point.

You meet this guy — the Underground Man — and you quickly realize he’s not just suffering. He’s aware that he’s suffering. And that awareness? It becomes its own kind of sickness. Like, there’s a part where he obsesses over a soldier who once brushed past him on the street. Weeks go by, and he’s still fuming about it. He plans this whole moment of revenge, even spends money he doesn’t have just to “bump” back into the guy — and when the moment finally comes, it lasts a few seconds. That’s it. All that mental buildup... for nothing. And he knows it was ridiculous.

Or there’s this time he forces himself to go out with a group of people he knows don’t want him there. He sits through the whole thing, deeply uncomfortable, and you can tell he’s asking himself, “Why am I doing this to myself?” — just for a sliver of validation. Is human validation that important?

And then there's Liza. That one hurts. She’s a prostitute, and he meets her, tears her down with this cold, philosophical talk about how her life doesn’t matter. But when she comes back later — vulnerable, maybe even looking for connection — he destroys her. Tells her she means nothing. And the worst part? He knew what it meant. He knew what he was doing. And he did it anyway.

Because to him, choosing the irrational thing — the ugly, self-sabotaging thing — is freedom. It's a weird kind of rebellion against logic, against being told what’s “right.” He doesn’t want to be a machine that always does the reasonable thing. Even if what he’s doing is awful… at least it’s his decision.

And maybe that’s the scariest part — the awareness. He sees the mess. He is the mess. And somewhere deep down, he almost takes pride in it.

Coming Home

When I read the first part of Notes from Underground, I kept asking myself, what is this man even trying to say — and why does he keep insisting on it? But then I got to the second part… and it all started to make sense.

Think about it: how often do we know that a decision will hurt us — and still go through with it? We light the cigarette, text the person we swore off, hold back the apology we know we should make. Why? Maybe because we can. Maybe because doing the wrong thing gives us a strange sense of power — the power to choose, even if it's destructive.

And then there's validation. I’ve come to fear it — that deep-rooted need to be seen, approved, acknowledged. Arthur Schopenhauer talks about desire being fundamental to the human condition. But what is desire if not a constant plea for validation? Kids get straight As hoping their parents will finally notice them. Adults chase achievements, followers, or even dangerous highs — just to be seen.

But here's the kicker: does the validation ever fill the void? Or do we just keep shifting the goalposts, one craving to the next?

Then comes the worst of it — the part Fyodor warns us about — becoming too conscious of our own actions. He calls it an illness, and honestly, I agree. I miss being delusional. I miss not overthinking every boundary crossed, every silence, every look. Back then, I’d get hurt, cry, and still laugh the next minute. But now? Awareness makes things feel heavier. Lonelier.

Still, I don’t think I’d trade it. Being surrounded by people who don't respect you feels just as lonely — if not worse. So then the question becomes: what do I really want out of all this?

Just another day

If you’ve made it this far, welcome — you're now part of this whole unraveling. Like I said earlier, this isn’t meant to answer anything. It’s meant to tap on the glass a bit, ask the questions you’ve probably whispered in your head but never said out loud.

Anyway, here are a few of the Underground Man’s most haunting quotes — not because they’re dramatic, but because they feel eerily close to how we live now, quietly, every day.

“I am a sick man... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man.”
We scroll past curated lives on social media, quietly telling ourselves the same thing. Maybe not out loud, but it’s there — the self-loathing, the comparison, the resentment. It’s all just a more polished version of spite.

“I swear to you that to think too much is a disease, a real, actual disease.”
Overthinking is practically a personality type now. We laugh about it in memes. But behind it, there’s that same paralysis he talked about — thinking so much that you do nothing. Then hating yourself for doing nothing.

“What can a decent man speak of with most pleasure? Answer: Of himself.”
Yeah, we know this one too well. We’ve just rebranded it as self-awareness, or personal branding. But the mirror is still the same — it’s just dressed in better lighting.

“Man only likes counting his grief; he doesn't count his happiness.”
You ever catch yourself listing what’s gone wrong before you name one thing that went right? Exactly.

“To go wrong in one’s own way is better than to go right in someone else’s.”
Now this — this one hits hard. Because sometimes we know the advice is right, the path is solid, the logic is sound… but we still choose chaos. Because at least it’s our chaos. That’s the kind of freedom Dostoevsky was getting at.

The Collapse

Cheers. By the end, my mind was tired. Tired of following this guy down every rabbit hole only for him to turn around and spit on hope. The Liza part? That one almost broke me.

You knew she was a prostitute. You offered her something soft, something kind — even if it was wrapped in pity. She showed up. She showed up. And instead of offering her the decency you hinted at, you broke her. You dragged her through your emotional rot, bullied her into believing she was nothing, and then had the nerve to chase her down hoping she’d… what? Forgive you? Save you? Validate you?

That’s when I just sat back and asked — after all that awareness, what was the point? What are we even chasing?

Love? Power? Control? Validation? Redemption?

And the bigger question is — does knowing all our faults actually help us? Or does it just give us a bigger vocabulary to describe our own self-destruction?

That’s the hellish beauty of Notes from Underground. It doesn't offer a resolution. It doesn't tell you, “This is how to live.” It just holds up a mirror and dares you to look. To realize that even the most intelligent, self-aware person can still ruin the very thing they long for.

To the Followers
Next in Line: The World as Will and Representation by Arthur Schopenhauer — because what’s a descent into despair without understanding the mechanism of will behind it?

Current Read:
Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl – balancing despair with purpose.
The Book of Job – ancient suffering, timeless questions.

Let’s keep peeling the layers.