With all the abuses, I lived.
With all the bullyings, I lived.
With all the hatred, I lived.
With all the insults, I lived.
I isolated myself.
I was alone.
I was lonely.
I was bullied.
But I kept living.
People looked down on me.
My so-called friends... Were they really my friends or were they just showing me pity?
People made fun of my appearance.
People made fun of my failures.
But nobody ever tried to understand me.
And as I lived on, I started wondering if there was anything worth living for.
I started to think about the purpose of my existence.
What I really desired.
What I really wanted.
I realized that I wanted people to understand me.
I realized that I wanted people to acknowledge me.
I realized that I wanted to prove my worth to them.
But did I really want these things or was it something else entirely?
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