Look... The day will come where it takes a mortician to show you there are worse things than your depression. Death and/or dismemberment. It's not just a falsified insurance claim. The day you fell to your knees and wept over the great pacific ocean In the city of angels you were humbled by its majestic potion. A message in a bottle sent. Or it was swept carelessly away in the rain. The day you spoke about your loneliness sitting in an upright-coffin-confession. Adjacent to the man who ***** children to make himself feel... more... man. Literally, I meant. Did that yet distract your pain? The day you cried to the doctor about your back and lack of motion. She had just finished up hospice for her cancer-ridden husband over the phone. Off to die, he was sent. But, oh, that little tiny pain. The day you complained to your flat-mate about your job being so mundane. As she opened the letter from her employer who fired her, after ****** her, to avoid the human resource claim. You were hell-bent. As she went insane. The day you cried to your best friend about your second wedding being destroyed by the rain. He was a man who had never felt the embrace of love, the ability to cherish, the passion and pain of a woman, he had paralyzed legs, no woman had ever loved him. Booooooo-hoo your costume got wet. You've never even tried to see anothers suffering.
Perspective. What is torture to me, may seem idiotic to another, and vice versa. Selfishness.