I used to write. I used to sing. I used to call friends and talk for hours, laughing until my stomach hurt.

I used to take pills every day to manage the anxiety.

I don't do any of those things now.

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I up-rooted my life a year ago, the first real choice I'd made about moving to another state since I married my ex-husband in 1998. I chose to move home, back to where I'd grown up. I went almost broke paying for Cobra insurance and attempting to stay medicated, though I'll admit that I quit taking the SSRI cold turkey even when I still had insurance.

My health is passable, but not great. The auto-immune disease is acting like it wants to flare up again and I'm terrified of what will happen if it does. I have no insurance and I can't afford the $600/month for the pills I should be taking to keep it in remission.

I need to see a shrink. I can't imagine that I can afford to pay for one, I'm barely covering my monthly expenses as it is.

I am putting myself and the boyfriend through unbelievable amounts of Hell - the slightest little thing can and will set it off and then I'm hyperventilating, my mind is racing, and I cry uncontrollably. I don't know what he sees in me that I can't see in myself. I guess that's always been my problem with relationships, romantic and otherwise.

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I used to be okay. I used to be fun and confident and care-free. I don't know what happened to that girl but I miss her.