The fear of ...

Anxiety threatened to consume me in the past few days. It gnawed at me like an evil demon, not letting go, coloring everything until I felt like I was literally going to die.

I should have listened to my doctor. He said I needed Zyprexa. I said, no, and secretly, inside, I said no because I feared it would make me gain weight.

It all came crashing down on me in the last few days, until my husband took me on a 2-hour, fear-filled drive to the hospital, where I was admitted for a few days.

I couldn't read. I couldn't write. I couldn't think, and I literally thought I would die. I begged everyone to help me, please just make it go away; finally, the drip of an IV and some Ativan did beat back the demon.

I am calmer now, functional, the residual anxiety just nipping at me. I dread the thought of that black hole consuming me again. At least I can breathe again. Never again will I take for granted the simple feeling of being me, being whole, being able to move my limbs and perform simple functions without the fear that any movement, any wrong action, could cause - what? I don't know.