One should learn from me the art of breaking oneself to pieces shamelessly and mercilessly. Of convincing oneself that it's all worth it, while not at all convinced what it's worth. If only the shame I feel right now could be converted into anger, I would've been happy and proud of myself but all it does is becoming a simmering desperation. I marvel at this self of mine, how I could allow anyone to make me come to this shape. This cannot be me.
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