Until a few days ago, I was certain I wouldn’t return to college this semester. Between my crippling depression, incapacitating executive function and concentration issues, and my physical weakness from POTS, living independently in less than two months while taking senior-level classes seemed like an impossibility.

Indeed, I’ve been so depressed lately that I’ve not wanted to do anything at all—my days have consisted of unnecessary amounts of sleep, wasted time playing mindless iPhone games to use up the hours, obsessing over calories, and too much exercise. I’ve barely been able to will myself to get dressed and showered each day, so how could I possibly keep up with college, too?

But one day this week, I woke up and realized there was also no way I could keep living like that at home, away from school, for five more months. I love my family, but I want some independence. The more I thought about my friends and the opportunities I had at college last semester, the more it hurt to think of being gone for so long. It’s too painful to imagine POTS and PANS continuing to take that life from me this fall. Perhaps staying home would be easier on my physical health, but not being at school would surely crush my spirit.

Nevertheless, sometimes, you’re simply too sick to do what you want, no matter how much you want it. It doesn’t matter how unfair this is—bad things just happen sometimes. Why should I think I’m an exception? Perhaps this time, the only way to deal with the grief of losing so much to PANS is to let myself feel it, then pick up the pieces and try to move forward on a new path.

But what if this chapter has been no more than a detour?

The other day, when my parents discovered I was still restricting and losing weight, they contacted my neurologist, and she put me on a one-month steroid taper. I really didn’t think it would work. In fact, I didn’t even want it to work—I just wanted to give up.

But lo and behold, my improvement has been dramatic. The steroids have helped me regain my will to live and to fight. For the last few days, although concentrating on anything for too long has still been like paddling a canoe upstream with a spatula, my depression has gone. For the first time in weeks, I’ve been able to open my textbooks, do the readings, and write short assignments on the material. It may take five hours, whereas a similar assignment in April took one hour, but hey—I’m doing them!

So I’ve decided that, if before the fall semester, I can finish these summer courses for which I had to take Incomplete grades, then I can handle a part-time load in the fall. And I’ve decided to make it happen somehow, because I’m tired of not living, and I’m tired of watching myself slip away. Even if I can’t do everything I want, perhaps I can do some. I must regain all that PANS has stolen from me.

I’ve decided to go back to school.

There may be a time to rest and let your debilitating illness temporarily steer you away from your dreams, but then there’s a time to throw up your hands and say, “#&@% this! I’m living my life now!”

For almost ten years, I’ve suffered under PANS. I’ve lost more time, opportunities, and friendships than I’d care to remember. In the two years following my diagnosis, I fought bravely and was sure I’d finally won the war, but PANS has recently been trying to take me away again.  I’ve had enough of this disease. I’m throwing up my hands, getting back in the fight, and returning to school to live my life.