...to learn that everything you ever knew about yourself you hated. I mean, I already know that I hate myself. But just imagine when the pampered person learns that not everything is good in the world. Or maybe even vice versa. But it's just weird, because this happened to another person in a book, and I hate myself, so it must happen to others. (Consideration of Universe #347: If it happens to you and it happens in a book, it happens everywhere) He was in denial. I think I went through a bout of depression. But now I'm sort of fine with hating myself. And when I tell other people they try to make me feel better. But...I don't know. I just don't know. And I suppose that's the point.
~another musing of the ill-informed~
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