Sometimes I wish that I could trade in my mental health issues for physical ones. At least then I could talk about them without fear of stigma or shame or just plain making other people uncomfortable and airing my dirty laundry in public. Hell, people might even pull for me. They might ask if they could help and I might not feel too proud and/or
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(Obviously, I'm terribly sorry to hear that you're so unhappy right now and I hope that your mom helps. I would suggest imbibing some rum-type-bevarage to take your mind off your problems, but that's a pretty drastic form of self-harm right there.)
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The other 5%? A mosquito bit me on my eyelid. And I'm allergic to those buggers!
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If it helps *at all*, I know we barely met, and ages ago, but I always thought you seemed like a really cool person.
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