I had to look up ACT. I'm not sure I want to accept my issues, I really want rid of them but that may be an unrealistic goal.
And yes; not a day passes that I don't think of her in some way, or hear the little things she had her own way of saying. Most days I feel like I am inside a large concrete room, about thirty feet in every dimension. Otherwise empty, it is lit by a solitary pygmy bulb at the top; the type of bulb you get in a fridge. The room has no doors or windows, and it is cold and damp. It has air though and I am fed somehow. Sometimes, the roof of the room slides open a bit and the sun comes in, driving out the cold and the damp. But then the roof snaps shut again.