One of the down sides to me being sick... like with a cold and not just the normal Fibromyalgia/ PTSD stuff... is that it gives me time to think too much.
Why wasn't I with my father when he died?
Why am I such an awful person that the people I love most can't stand to be with me?
Who am I?
Will I ever make a difference?
I don't like the answers to most of these questions. I don't like what they say about me. I want to make better answers.