I WANT to tell you. I NEED to tell you, but I’m trying to gather the courage to do this. It’s not that I think you’re going to judge me. It’s just that it’s eating me alive. If I’m being honest it wouldn’t mean much to you. I would still give you my last lung. Yet it’s still pointless. What sort of difference would it even make? *sigh* This is something I struggle with. Constantly trying to fight with it hoping that it stays at bay. Yet it doesn’t. I hope you can’t read my mind or my body language. It would feel awkward.