Within my own mind.

Within my own mind, everything and nothing is happening. Storms, sunshine, natural disasters, doubts, assurances, questions, answers, strangers, friends, the faces of people I know I can never permit my eyes to see again, dreams, paradoxes, love, hate, entrapments I have brought upon myself, revelations, dim and vivid memories, desires, the time I've wasted, mistakes, decisions. Everything.
This is how my mind is, I can't deny it.
I cannot change it, nor do I feel the desire to change it. I cannot flourish without the pleasure of detangling complications. I must have projects, things to work out.
Happiness is relative. That in itself, is relative.
I cannot say that I'm a simple person, I know that I am not. Others' perception of me is always deceiving. Everything is questionable.
Would you call it torture, to know that my understanding of the decisions I've made in the past are far from clear?