12-03-2017, 03:58 PM
I don't know.
My first book editor, and my illustrator, both when they finished the project for my book they never spoke to me again.
My best friend thinks I'm irrational.
My mom thinks I'm incompetent.
Maybe I'm irrational because I want to believe that dreams are real and that anthros can be real too.
I've cried because others get their Christmas wish but I cannot.
I love others, but they don't seem to love me back.
My dog is all I have, and even he doesn't always like my attention.
I tend to smother my dog with affection.
I have a past that I'm afraid will get out if my book takes off.
I'm writing a 2nd book where I'm more vulnerable. It will definitely tell some of my secrets, but nothing bad.
But still, it may ruin my writing career. Do readers like honesty?
The publisher I'm using does not allow anything sexual in their books, so I'm not including that.
It's hard to feel aroused by another human. Only anthros really do anything for me. And they aren't physical in this dimension.
Am I a complicated person, or am I easy to understand?
When I see my therapist monthly, I do not usually remember what was said.
He pays attention because I pay him.
But he helps me out when I need his professionalism. Perhaps the most professional person I know who helps me.
My psychiatrist is cool too, but she doesn't spend much time with me. Definitely not an hour like my therapist.
At any moment I am about to break down psychologically. I probably won't do anything but well up inside and sob.
I feel like an overexposed photo.
Too much light and not enough love. Like my brain has been bleached.
When I wake up sometimes my back hurts.
I feel so alone here. My mom isn't much support. Everything she talks about is wrong to her. I can never do anything right.
I buy her food and she still gripes.
I know I'm not alone. But surprisingly I'm not depressed.
My first book editor, and my illustrator, both when they finished the project for my book they never spoke to me again.
My best friend thinks I'm irrational.
My mom thinks I'm incompetent.
Maybe I'm irrational because I want to believe that dreams are real and that anthros can be real too.
I've cried because others get their Christmas wish but I cannot.
I love others, but they don't seem to love me back.
My dog is all I have, and even he doesn't always like my attention.
I tend to smother my dog with affection.
I have a past that I'm afraid will get out if my book takes off.
I'm writing a 2nd book where I'm more vulnerable. It will definitely tell some of my secrets, but nothing bad.
But still, it may ruin my writing career. Do readers like honesty?
The publisher I'm using does not allow anything sexual in their books, so I'm not including that.
It's hard to feel aroused by another human. Only anthros really do anything for me. And they aren't physical in this dimension.
Am I a complicated person, or am I easy to understand?
When I see my therapist monthly, I do not usually remember what was said.
He pays attention because I pay him.
But he helps me out when I need his professionalism. Perhaps the most professional person I know who helps me.
My psychiatrist is cool too, but she doesn't spend much time with me. Definitely not an hour like my therapist.
At any moment I am about to break down psychologically. I probably won't do anything but well up inside and sob.
I feel like an overexposed photo.
Too much light and not enough love. Like my brain has been bleached.
When I wake up sometimes my back hurts.
I feel so alone here. My mom isn't much support. Everything she talks about is wrong to her. I can never do anything right.
I buy her food and she still gripes.
I know I'm not alone. But surprisingly I'm not depressed.