I had my first (and only!) existential crisis when i was about 11 years old and read this book called it happened to nancy, which were supposedly the true diaries of a young girl who had sex once (tw: rape) and got AIDS and died. That something like that could happen to a young person turned my world on an axis, and for weeks I became despondent to the idea of life, that if it could end so unjustly, it had no meaning. Turns out, the book was made up.
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