I make people mull at their misfortune, or wallow in self-pity. Because of me, they feel that they’d been treated fairly, or that they don’t deserve whatever administration given. Sometimes, I stir up your emotions, so that it will consume logic and mess up your mind. I make you see what you want to see and anyone who tries to hurt me will make you get bitter and angry. I will only get stronger as you grow older, because there’s more you stand to lose if I’m gone. Yet as you keep me by your side, you become increasingly disillusioned, thinking you are making progress when you are merely marching on the same spot.

Who am I?

The name is Pride.