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a passionate repentance

I'm starting to understand why people do it. It isn't that there's…

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may God stand
I'm starting to understand why people do it. It isn't that there's always a big overwhelming wave of disaster. Just a slow dark seep. People leave. Other people don't want to know. They just don't want to hear it. There's nowhere to go. So you go, and you go. You do your best to keep it all shovelled into one spot, and keep it moving.

I don't want to see him like that. His hands swinging like skill-cranes operated by blind men. Picking at the covers. He makes no sense. He cared so *much* for learning. For speaking well. He taught himself a thousand things, and they're all gone now.

The depression is like a flood, that slips under doors, and through the walls. You don't think it's there, but it's always advancing. Making the ground you stand on smaller and smaller.

The only time I feel normal is when I sleep.
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