Happy Anniversary of an Unhappy Date

I've had some great years in health, I've had some okay years in health, I've had some bad years in health, and I've had some scary-ass painful years in health. This past year was on of them. I wrote this to celebrate the one year anniversary of finding out I had a scary ass health condition after I thought I was through the gates.
So it was a year ago today. After everything. I am here. 
Here is a journal page I wrote that night. I am so grateful to all Ellopals for the amazing support. It really has been a year. I am grateful. 
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Today sucked. Just sucked. I am really, really in trouble. Today sucked.
Fucked up Friday.
I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do?
I feel so selfish. I want to focus on my sadness that Dr. Towler passed away.
All of my father figures have officially gone home.
But all I can do is think about what another doctor told me today.
Today sucked. That is all. As Scarlett said, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”
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3 am. A clack and thud at the door.
I was actually relaxed and ready for a deep sleep. It was onset. It was deserved.
Someone was actually stupid enough to try to break in.
Adrenaline counteracted my exhaustion as I lunged out of bed.
Any other time I would be afraid.
My only thought as I grabbed onto make-shift guard rails, lugging my busted leg down the hallway-
*You better have every intent on killing me mother-fucker, because when I open this door, I have every intent on killing you. I am going to fuck you up so bad- your own crack whore of a mother won’t be able to identify you*
Which was a very mean thought. Because if his mother was a crack whore, she probably couldn’t identify him anyway. Also, why was I being sexist? Maybe it's a woman. Lot’s of women would want to kill me too. Probably a line outside.
I swung the door open. Ready to ‘meat’ whatever trouble was out there.
It was the trash pick up.
The waste can was what knocked on my door as the bag was removed, catching on the plastic lid.
I felt my cheeks flushed from anger swirl into an embarrassed blush.
I closed the door as quietly as I could. Hoping the guys didn’t see me. Their job is tough enough without being tubby-terrorized.
Went back to bed. Took a moment to write this down.
Side effect of anxiety-chem-trails was a clearer head and time to write something.
So I did.