I tried to get out of bed, and the room seemed to spin around me. I felt as though the ceiling was coming towards me, and my head felt as though it were made out of a block of cement.
I was scared, I didnt know what was wrong with me. Only yesterday I had been perfectly strong and healthy, and now I was  completely incapacitated. Somehow I got the kids off to school and I was left just with the baby. My husband realized that I couldnt be left alone, so he stayed home from his job, and made me a doctors appointment.

I spent six months traipsing from doctor to doctor. I had my heart checked, and my ears. I went for eye tests, blood tests and MRI's on my brain. Every single test came out negative. 

Every doctor I went to pronounced me perfectly  healthy. It was astounding! I could not walk without assistance, sounds had become intolerable- I could no longer multi-task, it seemed as though my brain was in slow motion. I felt as though I was watching the world through a filter, or a video screen. My head felt so heavy I could barely hold it up to walk. My life as I knew it, slowly ground to a halt.

After 6 months of searching for answers, I almost wished I had a brain tumor just so that I would know what was wrong with me. Fear of the unknown was too much for me to bear. I lived in fear that I was going to drop dead at any moment. 

The last doctor we visited was a neurologist in a well known city hospital. 
He took one look at me, checked the MRI of my brain and told me to find a therapist.

My husband and I almost laughed out loud. A therapist? We didnt even know what therapy was. I did know that the idea was ludicrous. I had some life threatening illness and this dr tells me to go to therapy!!

In the end I had nothing to lose. I wasnt getting better, and there were no more tests to be had. I found a therapist and went for my first appointment. When she asked me what I needed from her, I told her that my neurologist had sent me to her, but I had no idea why.

I began therapy and with the therapy my nightmares began.
Within two months of sessions I began to feel suicidal. I recall the day when I became aware that my mother was less than adequate and that my childhood was not what I had thought it was.

The shock of awareness caused me to become extremely depressed and anxious. 
I was beginning to become aware of the tragedy and enormity of my childhood, and the knowledge was too overwhelming. 

As I progressed in therapy, my physical symptoms began to diminish. 
I became more functional physically, but emotionally I was a wreck.