Over and over again I’m made to feel guilty for being happy. Being happy shouldn’t be something you’re scared of. I’m selfish, you say, but making someone else pay for the decision you made years ago is not exactly selfless. I know doing the things that make me happy means you have more responsibilities that you wish you didn’t have, but they are things you agreed to take on, not me. You lived your life; if you regret the choices you made, I’m sorry but I’m growing up and I don’t know what life is. I know nothing but the four walls of my home. and believe it or not it gets to the point where emptiness is so much more welcoming than the comfort of friends.