Just because some people are smiling in a cheerful-looking way, it doesn’t mean that they live an easy life. Just because some people look depressed and carrying around a huge black cloud on top of their head everywhere they go, it doesn’t mean that they live the most miserable life.
Everyone has got their own problems. My problems are not bigger than yours, yours are not bigger than mine. To think of my problems as something that’s bigger-than-yours or yours as bigger-than-mine is such a selfish thought.
But no matter how fucked-up your life could be, it’s you—and only you who could decide:
You can wail around—screaming and crying until your eyes popped-out from the socket, like the image of that girl in Tim Burton’s The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy. You can drink a bottle of Southern Comfort to comfort you or curse with your mouth shut. Or you can listen to angry songs on your iPod in maximum volume while sipping a cup of hot coffee in a cafe somewhere, smiling to the passers-by.
And whatever you do, whatever you choose, I won’t judge you. Because that, too, is selfish. And I’m not into fishy stuff.