This is my own story. At the age of twenty-one, I left the world. It is ugly and glaringly true.
I hate everything in the past, but I remember it very clearly, I look at it very clearly, and I can only accept it.
Ps: I haven't thought about the title yet. After all, when writing a book for yourself, you still have to be careful and decide when to revise it.
Purpose: Talk about the real growth experience of an ordinary 21-year-old girl.