Last night (sorry again for being late) I had my first talk about my anxiety with my mum. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I don't think she understood or believed what I was saying. I can't blame her, I'd always run away during a panic attack and I never talk about my feelings, to anyone. She must've never really saw it coming. We've made some little plans of what we're going to do, I'll tell y'all about it soon.
I was cleaning out some boxes as well and I found so many precious memories including a non-finished, 2 page, 2 year old book about my life. I honestly couldn't believe the way I wrote. Other than making a terrible spelling mistake (with the word HONESTLY), my writing was poised, impressive and uniquely bold, which is definitely something I was proud seeing. Writing was always a massive part of my life, I've been writing from my very first days. I can't count all the books... Too much things to write into your life, write it in your book.
Love, GABBY
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