After dating Shannon for several months, I needed to say something to her, but I couldn’t. It’s not that I was nervous or unsure of the phrasing. It’s that I couldn’t speak. My lungs and larynx couldn’t create the air pressure and vibrations needed to say the words floating around my mind.

This is our reality. I can’t talk to Shannon about anything — not the weather or her day or how beautiful she is. Worst of all, I can’t tell her I love her.

This was never a problem in my previous relationships with women I thought I loved or perhaps didn’t love at all. These women knew my voice; they heard it every day. But they never knew what I was actually thinking.

They never knew how miserable my body felt because, back then, I was able to function at a relatively normal level and hide my illness well enough to seem healthy. I could go on dates, talk on the phone and even drive to my girlfriend’s house to spend the night.