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Self-doubt is a frequent flyer through the passages of my mind. I don't think it's paranoia. I don't suspect people of dark designs or think I deserve things I'm not getting. The terrorist lives inside me. She is an implacable, sometimes cruel, autocrat that never allows me to feel satisfaction for doing a good thing. That's expected. But she's all over me if I foul up. She can get me so twisted around that I can't judge a mountain from a molehill. Do You Know What I Mean? Does That Make Sense?