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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