I became my own worst enemy, my writing has turned me into a monster of my creation. When I started I wanted to give happiness by telling my stories and now all I talk about is my work, I don't chat about things concerning my friends happiness. When I originally went on line, I said I despised men who only chatted about one thing and made friends for the variety of my talk, now all I chat about is my books and I loathe the person I am changing into.
Was this trait of evilness already in me, but well hidden or did my writing create the trait which now consumes my days?
I am sorry to those I neglected or have offended, my guilt will punish me more than you cam imagine; to give you an example it took six months to get over Faye's death and the feelings I had let her down at the end and yet nobody blamed me, other than myself.
My intent was to try and help others and my writing was to be a part of that goal, like Lana took over the blog, my work took my persona and made me into this creature which I despise.