And then, suddenly, I have a rush of blood to the head and I stop as I see a flash of me in the mirror. I look at myself. From the outside.
And then I look again, and realise it’s all me – with my scaredy-cat innards, bedecked with razor-wire. I cannot fight who I am, but I can fight for me. With my imaginary chain-mail and sword, my head filled with dragons (it’s so much easier to give problems beautiful, scaled skins and fire-breathing mouths), I can be brave, I think, I can push through this wanting to abandon this blog. Can’t I?