The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
I talk to God but the sky is empty.
Now I know what loneliness is, I think. Momentary loneliness, anyway. It comes from a vague core of the self - - like a disease of the blood, dispersed throughout the body so that one cannot locate the matrix, the spot of contagion.
I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
I need more than anything right now what is, of course, most impossible, someone to love me, to be with me at night when I wake up in shuddering horror and fear of the cement tunnels leading down to the shock room, to comfort me with an assurance that no psychiatrist can quite manage to convey.
Talking about my fears to others feeds it.
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