Every November heralds a period of depression for me. Like clockwork, I plunge into the unhealthy cycle of I-wish-I-had, and if-only-I.
It seems weird to anyone that I dare confess that I might still be grieving hard 7 years later. I should be facing this with the stoic hardness of being Kenyan and having faced enough life to know that crap happens and life moves on.
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