At seventeen years old, I got sick. It started on my first morning back to high school. It was a bright and warm September day, but when I entered the air-conditioned school, everything suddenly appeared murky and grey.
I was experiencing a feeling that I couldn’t touch or name yet but which many others have characterized with clichés and worn-out metaphors: the black dog, a rain cloud, a shadow passing across the sun. Headaches, stomachaches, irritable bowel syndrome, insomnia, panic attacks: all these physical symptoms crept into my life one at a time. My initial blue feelings turned into anxious thoughts and eventually became daily panic attacks. I couldn’t get on buses or trains or go into any other place where I felt confined, because my panic revolved around feelings of nausea and a fear of vomiting.
