Regrets in counting

In reality, where did it begin? I no longer remember. Did anything positive emerge from it, or is everything significant in any way? I'm not sure anymore.

Just to be clear, I am the one who is at blame. I can state that, despite the challenges of your work, you are quite fortunate because you have been blessed and have a well-organized life. It's not really possible to compare my situation to yours. It's still difficult, but I did manage to finish something.

All I can do is blame myself. I have run out of explanations and justifications. I want to stop doing everything. I go outside every day, but nothing comes home. No matter how hard I work, I just get very little crumbs. No matter how conscientious I am in my acts, my efforts are for nothing if they don't make a difference.

I don't know; I'm not extravagant. Everything I have, I don't keep for myself because I'm happy when I give everything to them. If only I had known that the outcome of my efforts wouldn't be good, I wouldn't have done it. So now, I bear the burden of the problem, even though the result should have been beautiful.

I have no idea; I'm not luxurious. I offer everything I have to them because it makes me happy to give it all to them. Had I known that my efforts would not yield positive results, I would not have taken action. I now have to deal with the issue, even if the outcome ought to have been stunning.

Ten years ago, I cried because, at last, I had accomplished something that I could call my own and we had a respectable place to stay. However, it turns out that things aren't always pleasant and joyful; maybe fate actually split the ten years between happy and unhappy times.

It's beneficial that writing allows me to express everything. I'm sure I'll read this eventually. I hope it's not too late for everything, but it can act as a guide to help me avoid making the same mistakes twice.