Most mornings, I wake up with a start. I look around my room and remember where I am. And then I tell myself, “everything’s okay.” I know this isn’t normal. And I am undergoing treatment for my anxiety and nightmares. But it’s my reality after living for three years under what I can only describe as a personal hell. I think I’ve been frank about how hard living in Italy was, but I haven’t shared how it’s still affecting me. And mind you, it wasn’t just living overseas, with only a few other American families nearby. It was the constant “hello-goodbye” that was our ship’s movements. Constant worry about being…