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I thought I escaped the melancholy along time ago.
Where I would no longer feel like I was not worth the time put into me.
Where there was no clear purpose of reason my eyes would open each day.
I think living by oneself breeds this negativity.
Akin to a beginner's chinese passage I have started to use entitled "兔子美 " to kickstart my progress in learning chinese, "我觉得自己太丑了。"

I have lived apart from family for seven years. No family members or family friends' in near proximity. I have never been very good at truly opening myself up to others; and the lengthened time with myself only serves to let myself breed on my own insecurities. My diary is my only refuge, where once my thoughts flow onto written paper, my heart is freed from an intangible burden weighed upon it.

I am not at all saying that the friends' I have made here are not significant, it's just that I find that there is a depth to a relationship with family that is substantially different …

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