Dear doctor, please help me...i'm damaged.
Being forced to recognize your fallibility at twenty-two is a bitter pill to swallow.
They say it better.
About Me
- things.
- "She lay quietly for a minute looking reverently at her notebook and then opened it. She had had an unreasonable fear that it would be empty, but there was her handwriting, reassuring if not beautiful. She grabbed up the pen and felt the mercy of her thoughts coming quickly, zooming through her head out the pen onto the paper. What a relief, she thought to herself; for a moment I thought I had dried up. She wrote a lot about what she felt, relishing the joy of her fingers gliding across the page, the sheer relief of communication. After a while she sat back and began to think hard. Then she wrote again: Something is definitely happening to me. I am changing. I don't feel like me at all."
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