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It's okay really. I fucking hate myself with an unhealthy passion for the things I did even just yesterday, and I've grown to realize that the only one who actually gives a shit about the tiny things I still beat myself over from years ago, is myself. And besides, we're basically a brand new person every 7 years.
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Does that mean that murdering all those children was okay because it was 7 years ago? That's relieving.