So I guess I'm not out of the woods yet. I was close, so close, but one more mystery of the body has me feeling right back where I just came from.

But it can't be that bad, right? I can talk about it, analyze it; I can laugh and feel something; I don't really cry..

But when I do, it is panicked and deep and full of concern for myself and I look at my husband and think or say, I don't know what to do, I don't know how to stop this.

It can't be all that bad, right? But now I take comfort -- actual disgusting comfort -- in thoughts I've never allowed myself to have before.

It's colder than Mars out here. It would be so easy.. but if I were found out, my life insurance won't cover it. Not for two years. And I couldn't.. leave him with nothing.. At least something..

Listen, these are not real thoughts. This is all a phantom, a trick of awful mirrors. I don't know why. But I have to put it out somewhere in the hopes it will leave me alone.

I don't want to be this. And it doesn't make any sense.