Growing up, I watched Disney movies on repeat where a mermaid gave up her voice for a man and was taught I should be a damsel in distress until my Prince Charming rescued me. But I was sheltered from movies like Bambi and Lion King where, for once, the evil character didn’t die, the loved parent did. After hours of therapy (alone at night thinking about death and staring into the pit of darkness that is my soul), I self-diagnosed my borderline unhealthy obsession with death to have occurred because I was never exposed to death. Death is something we…
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