My body was a coffin after the onset of Psychogenic Non-epileptic Seizures*, a mental condition, in 2010. It was a living breathing container for a dead person walking.
Consciousness came with unending electric pain zapping through my limbs, back, head and left me exhausted and unable to do the basics of life — like get out of bed. All attempts at self-care needed the help of another person to support, carry or protect my head if I hit the ground to shake, rattle and roll. A slight breeze on my skin would be enough to trigger the hell.
At this point, time had zero meaning and amnesia masked my memories — including the birth of my daughter. She was 18-months-old when I triggered. I’m told I was in bed for the majority of two years and lost a lot of hair. Because my condition was…
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