Sunday, January 8, 2012


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.

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