You don’t know me.  And I’m not saying that in my gangsta “You don’t knooow me” tone. I’m just saying you don’t know me. Even if you’ve known me your whole life, you don’t know me. I don’t know me.  Since turning 40, I have quit my job as Inpatient Director, took my “dream job” as Director of Nursing at a Residential Treatment Center for teens, got divorced (again), quit the dream job and spiraled down to an anxiety ridden, depressed, suicidal at times, mess.  A sobbing, panic attacking, bed ridden mess.