There are certain people in this wide world that simply cannot be happy. I do not understand these people. I am not talking about people suffering from depression or some other mental illness. That I fully understand. I'm talking about people who I believe honestly choose to be unhappy.
Maybe they've been stuck in this cycle so long they no longer remember how to be happy. Maybe they truly think there's nothing to be happy about. But deep down, I think they're only happy when they're upset about something. They must have something to complain about. They must have a reason to gripe. They cannot simply enjoy what ever is happening. They cannot enjoy life just for the sake of enjoyment.
I wonder, was this group of people always this way? Were they unpleasant as children? Were they miserable teenagers? Have they ever simply been content? Has someone else rubbed off on them? Did this come naturally or is it the result of some unseen tragedy?
On many occasions people like this have infuriated me. To be honest, they still do. But from this point on I am resolving to hold them in a new regard. I shall pity them. I will look at them without anger (or at least I will try) and instead see them as very deprived individuals. How horrible it must be to never see the good in things, to find so little enjoyment in your surroundings.
"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
Please do not ask me to elaborate.