This morning, to my surprise, I cried in the presence of my doctor. He was very understanding. Once I started to talk about: the headaches, the loss of memory, concentration and the exhaustion; the loss of identity ("what do you do?"), the social isolation and loneliness of endless nights awake, alone - well, it unpopped an emotional cork.Nearly three years, and still no end in sight. No plaster casts to show my disability. "It's all in the mind," says the amateur psychologist ( see article, for a reply to this misunderstanding: ). "I saw him walking his dog the other day!" Yes, I can still walk, but you don't know how I feel; you don't know what it takes for me to appear normal. You don't see me in the dead of early morning, or know the sticky-eyed befuddlement which I see through, sometimes. Do I feel sorry for myself? Yes, a bit - sometimes...
When will it end?
