It had been a
high-wire act, keeping her balance during that internal storm. To endure the
strangling terror, she’d held on to an India ink pen and focused on moving
it over the paper, wrangling her fear, trying to capture it in one form after
another as it shape-shifted. A pen seemed such a little weapon to defend
oneself with against a giant tidal wave of terror. But it wasn’t. Her pen and
book and drawings had given her the beginning of a sense of control, al-
lowing her to see the inside of her head and to hope.
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