Bad Bad Bad Bad Bad
So I'm doing a thousand things on my email trying to distract myself from the barbaric depression that is at the gates and I see this quote on the top of my gmail page "Whoever is happy will make others happy too." So I give it the finger because I've spent most of the day in tears hating myself, my disability, the nurse who called about my lyme test results but DIDN"T TELL ME THE RESULTS, my mother who would do anything for her bf but can't be bothered to hold my hand through a blood test, etc. This whole vacation has made me farther away from people. I thought the disability was something I could overcome, I thought I could use the shared range of human emotion to bridge it, no more. I don't write not because I have nothing to say but because I think I have no one to say it to, no one who understands, or if they did they wouldn't want to admit it.

As I get older no children, no husband, no ability to walk upstairs, no bestselling novel-and apparently no ability to connect to all you healthy folk who walk around without thinking about it, wiggle your toes, feel the sand under your feet, run up flights of stairs, have kids, relationships, people who want to live with you.

So I gave the finger to this optomistic saying and then I realize it's Anne Frank. Yep I gave the finger to Anne Frank.

I'm the one who needs to go, not her.

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