I couldn’t sleep until 4AM last night. The only way I could rest my soul was to think about going to trucking school. I prayed about it intently and deeply, and asked that it might be a turning point.  I had a conversation with my mother last night about them supplementing/supporting me (and two of my siblings). Understandably, they can’t do it anymore. The problem is, I cannot do life in Portland, I just cannot. I am incapacitatingly depressed and lonely there.  I cannot get myself to sleep at night. I feel guilty about all of this – others have harder lives — I pray and care about them; but knowing others have harder lives doesn’t make my struggles easier. Society would throw me away as weak, or tell me I must do what I cannot do. My parents have modeled unconditional love better than I could deserve. I struggle with the guilt of “I should” be able to do, or make myself do. But I have tried so hard and cannot. And to try and try is the very most I can do. I cannot support myself in Portland, four hours from my parents. Trucking seems my best option to be self-sufficient. I have begged and prayed and wrestled myself through years of trying to determine what occupational life road to attempt. My Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder has been a 10 year cancer to me almost every step of that road. It ultimately stole my ability to function in life. Today, I have recaptured most of that daily functional territory. As far as supporting myself, if it were possible to think and yearn and will my way there, I would have progressed to somewhere better by now. My prayer is this: my parents cannot help support me anymore. I cannot will myself to be self-supporting. Please let trucking be the progress which will allow me to begin self-support. It’s only one of two things – nothing else is possible. Portland is over. It must be over.  I’ve tried my best – not “The Best” – but really and truly my best. It’s either trucking or it’s moving back home with my parents at 35yrs old, to a small, rural community with no economy. I’ll genuinely take either one.  I’m emotionally broken, fragile, tattered, strung-out. Finished. I think morbid thoughts most nights I go to bed. I have endured and endured – in my spirit, in my mind, in my heart. Throughout this pain, I have always had heat, always had food, always a roof over my head – and I have been and am ever grateful for these gifts. I have never counted them as insignificant; but my parents can no longer help supply them as they have been, and I am unable to provide them for myself. I need change. I need my miracle