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sort of sat I am having a bit of PTSD about writing another story. I think it’s giving me a bit of a mental block. As well, I am a lot sicker now than I was then and it makes it hard for me to actually do much of anything. I feel like I am just existing at this point. My quality of life is zero. Crippling anxiety and a fear (of I don’t know what) has turned me into a recluse. Most days I can’t even go outside in my front yard to check the mail. Then I get angry at myself for being so ridiculous, but I can’t make my mind believe it.
There was a time not long ago where I locked myself in the bathroom and slept on the floor for days. Afraid to even go to the kitchen for a bottle of water.
I don’t wish this sickness on anyone even someone who I may have thought of as an enemy.
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