Sometimes I still hate me.
Sometimes I still want to cut.
Sometimes I still feel like I'm fundamentally flawed, too flawed and too damaged to ever be happy, to ever make anyone else happy.
Sometimes I still think the only way to redeem my existence is to destroy it, to burn myself out trying to make something better.
Sometimes I still hate the feel of my own heartbeat, hate the sense of space I occupy, wish I could tear off my skin and disappear.
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