For days on end, the bed was my landscape. It stretched around me like the plains. My mind was occupied with waiting until the pain and discomfort passed. I understood certain aspects of madness better, the nearly rote repetitions that come when meaning has faltered on the inside. Any outing—to teach my classes, mainly—meant days of recovery afterward. I got more blood work, more IV vitamin drips, and followed Dr. C’s protocols. I took steroids in case they might help with hidden autoimmune issues. I only got sicker. “Can’t this be over?” I whispered to my computer screen.
