Last year on this date I made a toast to myself and all introverts, the depressed, to any facing anxiety, to the outcasts, misunderstood and any dealing with mental illness. The time passes again and we live another year.

A new year almost begs me to look back onto the year before it. What have I done, what have I not? Who am I this year, who was I before? How many times has my heart broken and how long have I spent repairing it? How long can I keep moving on like this.

Still I keep on living, there must be meaning in that. Living is not something people do out of some stubbornness. I want to live, I want to keep moving forward, I want to see how this story ends. So I will struggle for another year, then I will struggle through the year after that. Despite the gravity of sadness, time will always move forward.

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