So that she never forgets this pain, she takes some pics of herself crying, looking as sick and inflamed as possible so her future self would never be able to betray her by denying she was once this wretched. That is, assuming things would improve ever again. My life’s been stuffed into this tiny suffocating margin, she thinks. If something is going to knock her so far off-course, it should at least be entertaining or make her seem worldly, like a drug addiction or a stalker.
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