One of them was about what Hubby thinks of me writing about the other lovers in my life. Well, he doesn't read my blog. He isn't stupid. I'm sure he knows when I'm seeing someone, but as long as I am a happy camper, so is he. He has specifically said he doesn't want me to change.
I'm not going to lie. Sometimes I wish I wasn't me. That I didn't fall for people. That I didn't draw people in. That I could love just one person. That I could believe that there is someone out there who could be that ONE PERSON. It seems to be possible. For a lot of people. Why not for me?
The other thing that came up was, and this was a bit shocking, several comments that what I've written about Horsham, my breakdown, my time inside, my battle with this illness, could become a book. That I could write a book. Little ol' me.
That threw me for a loop. I write it out so that perhaps someone benefits from my experience. So that I can get it out. So that I am open and honest about my life. So that it's out of my head.
Like Anna Nalick writes:
"If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me, Threatening the life it belongs to"
So that's what I do. I write it out. But a book? I just don't know. I don't know if I can put the effort in. I don't know if it would really help anyone or just be drivel.
It takes a lot to believe that I could really do something as amazing as a book. Have I got something like that inside me?