The darkness started coming for me Monday. Much like the flu, it hit the base of my spine first. The slight, but undeniable tingling that just won’t go away. I have a chill to my bones that I cannot seem to shake, even though I take 2-3 hot baths a day to try and alleviate it. My patience is nil. My sense of humor, gone. My desire to go anywhere or do anything has left me. I throw myself into a flurry of activity, if I run hard and fast enough, maybe I can beat it this time. Sometimes that works. But not this time. By Wednesday, the darkness is in my dreams. I am hurt. I am alone. I am dead. By Thursday I start to shake. I know what is going to happen and I feel powerless to fight it. I read a book. Flip through a magazine. Flip channels on the television. Anything to take my mind off what I know is to come. The darkness waits for me and I can’t seem to escape. By Friday morning I have shut down. I am so far into myself that if I were to try to withdraw anymore, I would implode.

At work, I can’t seem to match the words coming out of my mouth with the voice in my head. People smile at me, look confused, and then walk away.

I am so tired. I don’t want to do this. I desperately try to think of errands I have to do before I go home. There aren’t any. Once I get home, I check the mail. Maybe there will be something inside that needs my immediate and undivided attention. Junk mail. As I walk in the door I pray for a phone message, any message, any note or urgent plea for my help. Anything to save me from the darkness to save me from myself. Usually there is at least one message. One voice saying, “please call me back.” But not today. Today, there is only the darkness, and it waits for me.