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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There's one that survived a cult. She still emails other survivors. The ones who have lost themselves or others. She works with the police. She documents what happens and works on her book. She does t

I spiral. I feel like I did when David told me he had cheated. I feel like I did when Michael said goodbye in the parking lot of San Jose. Or when he left me in the elevator. I feel it rush in my body

I buy kayaks. Bake brownies. Reupholster my chairs. I make spreadsheets and book hotels. I write out grocery lists and buy new clothes. I want everything to be right and ready. That's who I am.