A House in a House, in a House

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What if the most inconvenient things were uncovered? I consider myself useless whenever I see the traces of my loathful father on me. The house of my home is not a space for rest, but one for sense of guilt. In there, I put myself into the swamp of self-hatred. The hatred for my father grows bigger when the object of my hatred is directed back to myself. Why should I struggle so hard to be understood by my father, the most useless existence to my understanding? Can I ever run away from myself who finds me through my father?