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I question

When I spend a lot of time working on my book, it happens.


I start questioning my sanity.


I sit there, paralyzed...panicking.


Wanting to rip open my chest to make the pain stop.


I question who I am.


If I'm a good person.


If I'm well-intentioned.


What if I'm evil?


What if I'm hated?


What if nobody likes me?


What if I'm completely wrong about everything?


What if my version of reality isn't accurate?


Am I stable?


Can I be a mom someday?


Can I be a wife? A girlfriend?


Am I crazy?


If anyone knew what I went through, why would they trust me?

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