A year ago, my mother and I seemed to have no room for anything other than quarreling. My father's indifference and my brother's judgmental attitude made my only ideal that I consider "noble" push me to where I am today - living in infinite fear and cowardice. To put it more bluntly, it is spiritual inferiority...
I never thought that I would use a pen to write down these flaws in my soul. Maybe I am a little scared now, or depressed. I looked at my fingers, these two friends who have given me hope in the past twenty years, and I thought that maybe I could do something else. Whether I can solve my inner problems and confusion through this way of self-comfort, I don't know, but I think being able to have a good talk with myself can at least give me some relief from complex interpersonal interactions. I don't know if there will be another person who can see my inner confession, but for me, it seems like I can see my heart when I say it, opening an opening for the dam that holds the blood in my heart, and getting self-comfort.