It's been a year since the troubles really escalated. The days when I went to teach for two hours, and then came home to sleep on the couch. The pain, the fog, the newness of it all. Chasing doctors. Getting new meds. Waking up in the middle of the night only to realize that I just hadn't been really asleep for many months. Explaining to my colleagues, my friends, my family. Reading anything I could get my hands on about this. Coming on here, creeping posts for a while, then registering for an account and participating. Disappearing. Massages, physical therapy, keeping up with exercise when I could and feeling miserable when I couldn't. Honoring bed time, only to feel better and stay up too late the following week. Eating well, eating supplements, eating crappy when I was too tired. Feeling too sleepy to get through the day, feeling too wired to get to sleep at night. Seeing my colleagues see the changes in me. Looking more gaunt, more tired, more miserable. Investigating every option for feeling better, be it a lotion, or meditation, or epsom salt baths... and then feeling like a failure when inevitably I could no longer bring myself to do them. Feeling pain or unbearably ticklish when touched. Feeling guilty, or like an imposter, or like a lazy git whenever I couldn't bring myself to work.