Epilogue thing

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I wish I could tell you that i'm normal, but i'm not. I may have Borderline personalities disorder, or there is something else wrong that makes me abnormal. What is normal anyway? If you look at the social norm of which I have been expected to see that having your head up someone's ass is normal, where talking to yourself hints at insanity, where if you have no curves your perfect and if you are sad you are suddenly emo, then I guess i'm far from normal. But of course I never really did follow the social norm. Genevieve the prodigy, the brilliant, the academic sweetie, the girl who can make everyone smile, the girl no one knew was so broken, she was lost in her own mind.

I never understood why we separated each other into categories, and then blame the people who decided it was okay to kill those in a specific group as people who committed genocide. But of course Mao's actions were genocide, and yet Christopher Columbus' weren't. Nor were Abraham Lincoln's during the civil war, granted though it was about race it wasn't one distinct race, but still. We created groups and falsified one another as different. Hell I'm bisexual and people treat me poorly. We refuse to accept one another as we are, and that is why there is war, that is why teens that have something different about them cut and kill themselves.

This is my story of how all of that created me as I am today. Now, like many people, I have made mistakes, but remember, I am only human. So, before you choose to judge me, read my whole story. This is me, saying yes, I am a fuck up, and you can tell me that, as long as you read everything I have to say.

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