I try to keep from myself the truth of my decreasing physical condition. The difficulties with my walking are getting worse daily. It’s not only the pain in my hip, it’s equally my left foot getting stiffer, it’s a feeling like being tied up. It’s a long time ago when I complained in this diary because it couldn’t be helpful, it would only destroy my optimism, my general mood. And that would hinder my English competence from pushing forward.
Now, I’m feel that such writing drives me into a negative spiral without a chance of getting out.
This text above should be the last text I corrected it with ChatGPT, now I wanna stay to my texts, to my mistakes, to my insufficiencies. It’s my text, nobody has to correct it besides myself.