"24 Hours with My Cheek on the Pillow: The Mystery of My Annual System Crash."
For 30 years now, I’ve walked alongside a rare disease called OPLL (Ossification of the Posterior Longitudinal Ligament). I can’t say for sure if my current struggles are its lingering shadows or something entirely new. But ever since I hit the milestone of 50, a "mysterious bug" has begun to infect my system every year as February turns to March.
It arrives without warning. One morning, I wake up and my body feels like it’s been recast in solid lead. Moving a single finger feels like a Herculean task. This year’s "episode" started last week, and it’s been particularly stubborn. My appetite has vanished into thin air; even the aroma of food feels distant, like a memory that no longer belongs to me.
"Is this depression?" I ask myself. But it’s not quite that. It’s not a darkness of the soul—it’s an overwhelming, biological compulsion to sleep. "Bed rest" is too mild a term. I want to remain glued to the mattress 24/7, sinking into the depths of consciousness. It’s as if I’ve become a creature that must hibernate right before spring, having exhausted every drop of energy.
I want to be clear: this isn't about "laziness." Of course, I have days where I want to run away from my responsibilities—we all do. But I would never choose this. Why would I? I'm the one who loses out when I’m out of commission for two weeks. I know better than anyone that sabotaging my own life only hurts me in the end.
The strangest part is the ending. Once it passes, it vanishes so completely that I’m left wondering, "What on earth was all that suffering about?!" The weight simply lifts, leaving me bewildered.
Is it a medical condition? A whim of menopause? Or a sequel to my 30-year journey with OPLL? This two-week "void" remains the great mystery of my life. What exactly is my body trying to process beneath the surface while I sleep?
