Once again, my depressing days. The feeling of happiness is never long lasting. I don’t think you could even call that happiness in the first place. I mean, what’s a couple of laughs, or speaking so enthusiastically about something only to end up being too noisy. I don’t even know what happiness is anymore. It feels like I’m analysing every feeling in my bones and asking myself if this is the real meaning of it. Because sometimes or most of the time I’m always not satisfied with something. And people will always fail to make you happy. So just count it on yourself. When you depend too much on someone, that’s your deepest pit. It’s not called love, it’s simply not being independent. And most of the time the feeling sucks. I think I’ve got myself into that pit, and every decision I make the bad eventually outweighs the good. I don’t know what the idea of happiness is and definition, incomprehensible but I know that I can’t find it from the life I’m living. I’m always scolded or at least guilty for doing something I’m “not supposed to do” but I still do it anyway maybe for the sake of others and too many reasons to it other than the fact that I’m rebellious. But these people don’t see that you have gone through so much shit for them and they end up not living up to your expectations once again. And then I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of being neglected or unappreciated. You know no matter how many different type of relationships there are in the world, it will always boil down to each individual thinking for himself and himself alone. Why do doctors save life? Life is important but there will always be a part that will make them feel good about themselves. I think saving someone’s life is always instinctive, because no one can bear the lifelong guilt stored if you don’t try. Why will I eventually let go of things I’ve held so dearly, because I’m just not happy really.