A year ago, I came to believe that I've had Lyme disease, Babesiosis, and Bartonella since a tick bite in May 2009. I believed that the strange and excruciating symptoms would vanish with one month of treatment—maybe two. I believed that harsh medications would cure me, but then I could not tolerate them physically. I believed in Epsom salt baths, ibuprofen, mindfulness meditation, narcotics. I believed that fistfuls of naturopathic supplements enabled me to tolerate the harsh medications. I believed that I was feeling so much better. One night, I believed I was experiencing a heart attack. I believed the doctor who said, "Get off those medications, they're causing cardiac arrhythmia." I believed that my parents were saints for buying me an infrared sauna in order to sizzle the nefarious organisms dead. I believed in a special diet. I decided to believe that a new medication regimen would help, but it hasn't yet. I believed that, when I prayed, God would hear me eventually. I believed in psychic prophecy. I believed in the power of crystals. I believed I was the only one hearing my prayers. I believed that my husband mended all the gaps that I ripped open in our lives, every day. I believed in crystals harder. I secretly believed my husband could do better than someone like me. I still believe I can never repay his sweetness and generosity. I've written very little this year—but this one, I wrote for you.
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