I wasn't sure where to put this. But, I am terribly sad, over the loss of my aunt who was more of a mother to me than my own mother. And also because of things I learned that were done to me when I was very little. Things I knew had happened but couldn't remember or place who or where. Not knowing can drive you crazy. But, knowing finally after all these years that you're NOT crazy, and then having to face those truths and all the feelings that go with it, can sometimes be almost just as hard. I really don't know how I ever managed to survive my childhood. I really don't. And the times I've been hard on myself about things I've done, I think maybe I need to let myself off the hook, for. I made mistakes, sure. But most of them were done out of a sense of sheer desperation. And, a need to escape the horror I knew. But, there was nowhere to run. And, nowhere to hide, from it all. The fact that I am not crazy as a loon (depending on who you ask, of course), is truly remarkable. I am a survivor. And yet, I feel so shattered, inside. Like broken glass. I have long felt like humpty dumpty, in a million pieces with no way to put me back together again. Having a lot of the missing pieces of the puzzle now, helps a lot. But, sometimes life just really sucks. I'm not suicidal. I have soooo much to be thankful for, and I know it. I'm just really sad, and hurting something fierce. Thanks for listening.