I take a small white pill every other day with a swig of water. The pill with the green line around the capsule is a reminder to me that November 18, 2014, happened. There are just days that show up on the calendar as an unassuming weekday and then change everything about your life.

 

The first half of November 18 was pretty normal. I went to work at my office space in Atlanta. I sat in a meeting. I filmed a short video for a company. I worked at my desk, trying to focus on my writing, but my mind wouldn’t sit still. I walked into the conference room where my friend Kim was working and asked her to pray for me.

 

“My mind doesn’t do well when I don’t have a lot on my plate,” I told her. “I really don’t like asking for prayer, but I feel like I can’t keep this to myself today.”

 

Kim began praying. I sat across from her, fidgeting with my hands and trying to listen and believe the words coming out of her mouth. When she says amen, my head lifts. She starts talking about something, though I can’t really remember what, because all I can recall in that moment is a sharp pain. This sharp, physical pain that began at the top of my head and cascaded down across my body. It felt like a power outage, like all the systems were going down, and all of a sudden, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. There was a mental snap inside my brain, and suddenly I was helpless. My mind was paranoid and darting back and forth. I felt sick. I got up from the chair and told Kim I didn’t feel well. I needed to go home.

 

I drove home. It was 4 p.m. I curled up in my bed and wrote in my journal, “What is happening?” I still don’t have adequate words to describe what it felt like. The best I can say is that I felt completely paralyzed by fear.

 

There was sharp paranoia. I felt like my brain was being attacked. I didn’t leave my bed that day. I kept praying to God that this feeling would subside soon. Maybe it was the food I ate. I prayed it was just a bad reaction to gluten or something. I fell asleep shaking somewhere around 8 p.m. The notebook lay open beside me with the words, “What is wrong with me?” scribbled in Sharpie across the page.

 

The next morning, I woke up unable to get out of bed. A thick and heavy paralysis sat on top of me like an extra layer of blankets.

 

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