Sitting at my desk, calmness washes over me. My shoulders drop. My mind clears. It’s just me and the page. Nothing in the way of doing what I want with my life. Even if it’s no more than keeping a record.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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