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?