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            <title><![CDATA[Struggling to Survive My Life Until I Die

]]></title>
            <link>https://paragraph.com/@error404/struggling-to-survive-my-life-until-i-die</link>
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            <pubDate>Sun, 13 Jul 2025 12:53:17 GMT</pubDate>
            <description><![CDATA[Living is slowly torturing me to death. Driven by hope for a brighter tomorrow, a better life, I keep going. That one small word — Hope… The driving force behind it all. But hope is deceptive. Maybe even cruel. They say, “Just keep hoping and you’ll achieve anything.” So I hoped. Naive and full of belief, I tried. Again and again. At first, it was for the dream — the status, the freedom, the promise of “more.” But after every try became another failure… I did it just to survive. And the more ...]]></description>
            <content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Living is slowly torturing me to death.</p><p>Driven by hope for a brighter tomorrow, a better life, I keep going.</p><p>That one small word — <em>Hope…</em> The driving force behind it all.</p><p>But hope is deceptive. Maybe even cruel.</p><p>They say, <em>“Just keep hoping and you’ll achieve anything.”</em></p><p>So I hoped.</p><p>Naive and full of belief, I tried. Again and again.</p><p>At first, it was for the dream — the status, the freedom, the promise of “more.”</p><p>But after every try became another failure… I did it just to survive.</p><p>And the more I failed, the more that hope — once my fuel —<strong>burned my worth to ashes.</strong></p><p>It shattered my belief in myself. It turned my purpose into dust.</p><p>My whole existence became <em>survival.</em></p><p>I kept trying and kept failing.</p><p>Until the hope that once gave me fire… turned into rage, regret, and hate.</p><p>I hated that I still hoped. Because hoping meant I kept trying. And trying meant I kept showing up. And I believed — <em>deep down</em> — that something would change.</p><p>And eventually, something did.</p><p><strong>I changed.</strong></p><p>I became bitter. Angry. Every failure cracked me open further, but I kept moving,</p><p>I was shattered… held together by hope that refused to die.</p><p>Some days I feel nothing at all. Empty. And I think the fire has gone out.</p><p>But then somehow, hope rises from the ashes and sets me on fire again.</p><p>And then — another failure. Another hit. Another wave of rage.</p><p>And so the vicious cycle continues.</p><p>The torture goes on.</p><p>Days blur into months. Seasons change. My struggle stays.</p><p>And the fire?</p><p>It still burns.</p><p>Sometimes with rage so strong it paralyzes me. Sometimes, with flickers of hope.</p><p>But today, I’m publishing this on the blockchain.</p><p>Not for attention. Not for pity.But because maybe — just maybe — someone out there knows what it feels like to be <strong>buried alive inside your own story.</strong></p><p>If this post finds you — and if you <em>feel</em> it — mint it. Not as charity.</p><p>But as <strong>proof that I existed. That I fought. That I <em>tried.</em></strong></p><p>This is my lifeline. This is my final match.</p><p><strong>The blockchain is my witness.</strong></p><p>If I burn — let this post be the smoke signal.</p><p>— Just another soul, struggling to survive her life until she dies.</p>]]></content:encoded>
            <author>error404@newsletter.paragraph.com (Error404)</author>
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