So, this is a delicate subject- it's hard for me to expound on so much unexpected and unexplained pain and still imagine myself as someone who is credible & worth your devoting precious time to reading.
In short, I feel strangled when imagining content for this writing because so much of these are memories that I'd rather not rekindle.
However, here is one moment- a moment that was only seconds long, but the seconds contained a pain so stark (in my mind'�) that I cannot forget them; the only recourse I can offer is to laugh at them- otherwise, the memory of them might drive me to tears'�
This happened years ago (in my college years). My mother had recently died and then I was diagnosed with MS (a diagnosis with MS generally follows a traumatic, stressful event such as this'� yet another clue as to this scourge's cause).
I went to class as usual- the class itself was an in depth study of Modern British Poetry. I sat alert in class, listening to the professor (he was British himself, I do not recall his name'� however, his accent alone made his voice seem a treat to listen to), trying to take notes (my handwriting was already nearly illegible due to my tremor) and listening to other students read the poetry of Phillip Levine.
However, I was constantly dreading the moment when he'd call my name and ask me to read. He required all of his students to read aloud at least once during the semester'� and I just knew that today would be, for me, that day.
Today was that day.
I cannot remember the particular poem that I was called upon to read. We were required to purchase a rather lengthy volume of Mr. Levine's poetry and it was any one of many of his 'best,' according to various scholars, works that I was faced with reading.
A simple reading. That's all.
I do remember that I liked the particular poem because it contained profanity; to me, that was one of the true signs of poetry (that it can contain what some people consider 'profane' words, and still be considered a beautiful work of art, amazes me to this day).
He called my name; he told me the page number of the poem and waited silently (as did the students). I sighed as I turned through the pages.
This would not be an entire audience that I'd 'disappoint,'� as I had years previously, this was only a class of thirty or so students.
I began to read, but immediately I recognized the slow spreading of what I'd called a 'seizure'� beginning in my chest and spreading to my extremities.
I need you to understand that moment- those three seconds of knowing that soon, you will feel as if you are somewhat 'less'� of a human.
Then it grabs you- and like the very air you breathe, you cannot 'run'� from it; because what you become in those few seconds is a part of you- a part of you that you hate, fear & despise, but you cannot escape from it.
Then, the moment before it pins you down- you wonder if you would want to 'escape' anyway'� asking, 'Do I really hate myself that much? Would I run if I could?'�
Then, your entire body's numb. You're not sure if you're going to die right then or not'�
You're unsure if this is heaven or hell; it's certainly unlike anything you've ever known- and, you are afraid of it. But, It's not going to let you go'�
You're pretty sure that you're still breathing (but, you don't know for certain'�); is your heart still beating?
You stop reading the poem because every word you say will undoubtedly be harshly slurred and unintelligible.
Your eyes jump from point to point (is that voluntary?) and you see that people are quietly staring at you'� teacher & classmates, the reaction is the same- they are impatient and expecting you to speak.
But, you cannot.
A mere twenty seconds later, you were finally able to finish reading this beautiful poem by Levine.
You apologize for yourself to your classmates afterwards'� because you know that others do not understand why you fucked up this very simple thing.
But, there isn't much you can say to the other students.
Your neurologists (note that neurologists is plural'�) cannot completely understand these 'seizures' or even offer some explanation of them.
What are you supposed to say about them? How do you describe them, when even neurologists can't tell you what the hell these 'seizures' are?
And that is the reason that you feel inhuman- the reason that you feel as if you are on an ocean of humanity, an ocean of crystalline & pure love- but you've not a drop to drink.

And, for nearly five months, I had a 'seizure' like that precisely every seven minutes.

Chapter Five: A Circus That I Call My Head

During those times, times when I'd imagine that I was some other creature, maybe a bear or perhaps a possum- I want to clearly state that I knew who I was; I knew that I must be a human- after all, my mother & father were/are, respectively, human.
Although comforting to me, this thought makes these lesser disassociations not seem as such'� perhaps, they were just flights of fancy; fantasies that seemed to distance me from the grim realities that I faced daily and thereby relieved any worries created by my disease.
No matter my difficulty, I could always think: It's ok. I'm not really human anyway'� not a human with a disability, I'm unsure of what I am, but I'm not really human.
However, is that really any sort of a 'comfort' at all?
It obviously isn't'�
Currently, I am seeing a psychologist to help abandon these notions. Though, it is hard to imagine that I will ever completely forget how I felt'�
It is hard to discern whether these thoughts were completely fantasy'� or perhaps a part of my own healing process?
Is it good to completely forget them, then?
If they were part of a helpful process, shouldn't I learn from them while I grow above them?
I think so, certainly.
While I believe that a certain amount of disassociation is helpful to some extent, I also realize its potential as being disastrous to one's mental health. Actually believing that you aren't human or simply believing that you are anything/anyone other than yourself could lead one down any number of self destructive paths.
I would also like to state that by using a metaphor that applied animalistic qualities to myself, I do not mean that individuals with MS are animals, quite the contrary; patients of MS can come from any walk of life, have any number or variety of symptoms (and thus face any number of difficulties).
Patients can be of any nationality or of any sex.
However, as diverse as patients of this disease can be, all too often we approach Multiple Sclerosis with the same attitude; an attitude of defeat, anger and defiance.
Rather than simple adaptation, many patients want to 'combat'� MS and engage in a theoretical 'warfare'� with it.
Ahem, a bit of news to you who would do this; Warfare never ends exactly happily.
A much more wise thing to do is to accept Multiple Sclerosis as being another simple danger of being alive.
Just as tomorrow might bring unwelcome weather (or any number of unexpected happenings'�) you might end up 'getting'� MS.
Which brings me to another point, how does one 'get'� MS?
No one knows'� the answer's that simple.
Wait just a moment, that's another bad thing about MS, isn't it?
Perhaps, the best we can do for now is to pay attention to our body AND our mind- thereby we would be paying attention to the entire ocean of love that flows between us all.
Maybe, noticing warning signs and relying on preemptive medicines is the most that we can do?
Such as, in my case- when I was young, my optometrist noticed a strange appearance deep within my eyes- pseudotumor cerebri, which is a swelling of the optic nerve.
Today, one of my symptoms of MS is optic neuritis, which is also swelling of the optic nerve'� is there a connection? I'm unsure, but methinks so.
I never mentioned to anyone that at a young age I'd noticed unexplained & uncontrollable fits of shaking'� very similar to my incessant tremor today'�
I am told by my relatives that while I was only an infant, my eyes would occasionally 'shake'� or 'jump around'- unable to focus on any one thing at a time. I am told that today, this happens sometimes yet again.
At all times, I've felt somewhat clumsy and had frequent dizzy spells- today'� you get the picture.
On the more mental side of things, I've always exhibited somewhat obsessive & compulsive behavior, I suffer from a relatively weak anxiety disorder.
I've consistently experienced unexplained feelings of guilt, depression, mood swings- and all manner of seemingly unnecessary mental worry.
All of these somewhat 'weak' mental adversaries combine to form a rather ridiculous mental circus. A circus that I call my head. I hope that the elephants & tigers do not escape'�
So, in closing, I say only 'I hope you've enjoyed the show.'�

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