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I became a complicated teen, isolating on one hand and bullying and domineering on the other. She didn't want to investigate: In her eyes, no matter how complicated, I'd still be delivered to the promised land on a fluffy cloud of impeccable grades. Predictably, I became unglued, doing the unthinkable by dropping out of school in a whirlwind of anxiety and depression. She still didn't delve any deeper, just went to bed every night believing I'd magically cure myself. I didn't, just got slightly better, then slightly worse, then slightly better: never enough to commit suicide, never enough to truly live.
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