"Even the stars tremble with hope and with love."
Puccini
I was almost happy when the pollen from the pine trees claimed me as their victim. My head felt like it was going to explode on the plane back from New York. It was a relief to know I could go to bed, and no one expected anything of me.
My doctor prescribed me antibiotics, and the infection began to improve but I didn't. I stayed in bed and didn't care if I ever moved again. It wasn't until I was clutching my shower door in terror that I realized the depth of my problem.
I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I understood that things had to change. I couldn't continue with the charade, but I didn't know how to end it. I wished I had one friend that I could call, but my problems seemed so trite and shallow, even to me.
What
