I don’t feel oppressed — not nearly so much as I feel angry and rage. That’s clearly a symptom of PTSD. I speak it, too, even through my long illness, and post-transplant. I’m angry now at stupid assholes who flaunt the rules of survival in the pandemic, and make it more possible for the rest of us (and as a transplant recipient, I’m at high risk — no immune system) to get sick and die. I’m very noisy about my anger. I learned very well how to advocate for myself during all my hospitalizations and ER visits while I was sick. I had to. And thank God, it’s a habit now. Oh, I read romance novels to keep my spirits up — you know, the Happily Ever After endings. They give me breaks here and there. I read serious things and books, too. Take care, Georgia!