As the panic started to ebb away I just felt and still feel drained but the memories of how hard panic attacks used to hit me came, how I'd be covered in scratches and completely jewellery-less. It was hard enough to focus on anything during it tonight but these things used to affect me worse, I'd have to hide away not just sit quietly in the same room as others. They used to last for hours, sometimes days and I couldn't help but cry, for that poor girl. It's the second night in a row where I've been reminded of things past and it's made me emotional, devastated for that child, that person who was in so much pain.
I've started writing another book, this one isn't a romance, horror or lgbt novel, this is the story of my life. Even if it doesn't feel like I'm that same person, she deserves to have her story told and the girl is talking to me.
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