“At home I lose track of how many days, weeks, maybe longer I have been unable—or simply unwilling—to get out of bed. I lie on my back, staring at the insides of my eyelids, some days paralyzed by crushing despair, others trying to survive the panic that threatens to engulf me. I swear I can hear it. The panic that comes to get me breathes. It has a pulse and teeth. I am sure one day soon it will eat me alive. And then the despair returns. God’s idea of a reprieve.”