the act of writing
I find it so difficult. Confrontation, self-awareness, transparency. These secret anxieties. I have hit a wall. Even therapy scares me. Living terrifies me. Growing older makes me panic.
Not seeing my daughter for weeks at a time has put out a light in me. I try to make sense of it, but there is no fight left. He has taken from me the best of my accomplishments at the best time in my life and create the worst of all possible outcomes.
Losing her has made my heart cold.
I feel nothing.