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We'll beat this thing mon ami. We'll beat this thing togheter.
Thinking about the past is like digging up graves.
Reading is a bit like hallucinating.
Some memories refuse to be locked in time or place, they are always present.
Mental illness turns people inwards. That's what I reckon. It keeps us forever trapped by the pain of our own minds, in the same way that the pain of a broken leg or a cut thumb will grab your attention, holding it so tightly that your good leg or your good thumb seem to cease to exist.