for example...i can complain and complain about how sickeningly terrible my life is, that just means it's bad. but it's usually the things i don't mention that bother me the most. maybe it's the very fact that i don't talk about these stuff that makes it worse. but i don't think it is. it's more like even if i were to say, people probably won't understand or misinterpret.
and now it's worse because i rarely get to talk to people i can talk to. so, the solution? i talk to myself. am i going insane? perhaps. emo as it may sound, i still realise i don't know a few of the people that i thought i knew but i shouldn't be that surprised since i realise i don't even know myself.
i need to take a break. people tire me. i tire myself. but i don't have the luxury of time.
to put it short...心情不好, 没人知道.
Beneath the noise, below the din,
I hear your voice, it's whispering,
in science and in medicine,
I was a stranger, you took me in...
