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Forty-eight

Sometimes, we are not proud of what we did, other times we are ashamed, of the scars we carry. Each scar resembles pain. Each scar has a story behind it. The fact that wounds healed and scars were left behind reminds us of everything. It reminds us of how short we have fallen. How short we have fallen on everything. How unworthy we have become.

Deep down I felt bad, I felt hurt. Nobody liked me, I was sick in the head. Sick everywhere, socially sick, emotionally sick. I wasn’t even angry at anything; I was in pain. The pai n was too much and it felt like my heart had been plastered over. Like a hole had been drilled in my heart and it was bleeding.

At this point, I didn’t even want to die, I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to stop feeling lost, stop feeling damaged, stop feeling screwed up. Stop feeling unworthy, stop feeling so down in the dumps. It felt like I was in another planet and I was an alien. A radioactive material that people kept trying to get rid of, but wouldn’t
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