There are many things I am grateful for in my life. One of them is surviving. I say survivng because up until recently, I thought I had survived but I realized it’s not over yet. I don’t mean life, I just mean the countless complications that all stem from one event in my life that I can never take back and that only in my worst dreams I have ever imagined taking back.
On Vicodin every 6 hours. Supposed to be off work for 5 days. Supposed to rest. Not supposed to cry. May move Sunday. Have to talk to my grad school about getting services as a disabled person. Have to try not to get fired by my current position.
I feel incredibly lonely and lost. I talk to G-d. I thank him for the troubles and for the gifts, maybe those are interchangeable, but I’m not sure where I’m supposed to turn. I don’t want pity or sympathy or help. I want to be well. I want to be able to do my own dishes, clean my own home, type this blog without feeling my hands go numb and my face start to itch like it may hurt soon.
This is probably my last blog.
Memoirs of a Jewminicana 
I wouldn’t suppose you would be willing to mention what this significant event was.And, of course, my sympathy goes out to you.
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After I ran away from home, all the stress disorders started at about 18 years old. It was hard to differentiate between whether my home life was worst than all the stress that came after I ran away and still does. When I look at my sisters and how much they have accomplished because I ran away and I was able to take them in later on, the incredible physical pain and mental pain seems worth it.
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