It’s weird for me to think I have a story to tell. Honestly, for so long I’ve just been living my life as if I was normal, when I know I’m not. I wake up every day with a body that hates me. It curses my every move, my every waking moment. I live to serve a vessel that I have come to despise. Yet ironically, I have become dependent upon the very nature of all that I am. There are days in which I feel like no one will ever understand me, despite the fact that I am surrounded by awesome friends and family. There are days when all I want to do is cry and hide from the world. But I do just the opposite. Even as glaring eyes watch my every uncontrollable and shaky move, I smile and keep my head up, and pretend I’m fine. Yet the truth is I’m NOT fine. As I type these very words, I can’t help but shed a tear. And I know what you’re thinking right now…damn, this girl is depressed! But I’m not. It took me a long time to realize that it’s not a bad thing to say you’re sad. And newsflash to anyone that is already getting semi-judgmental…having no control over your brainwaves is slightly depressing so if someone wants to be upset now and again…I think they’re entitled.
When you have lived with epilepsy for as long as I have, you become two people, and I don’t mean that in the “Sybil” kind of way. On one hand, I’m kind of a real-life Wonder Woman. My body and mind defy all odds and medical reasoning. There are moments that I am just astounded at the things I can do I do with a time bomb inside my head. For the most part, I don’t think about the reality of my situation. Perhaps this is why I can overcome all that I stands before me…but it hasn’t always been like that. There have been many moments when I’ve felt more like a crippled Superman bound by a rope made of Kryptonite as I’ve fallen down helpless by circumstances that I feel I am to blame for. But we’ll get to those stories later. You see there are days…oh so many more days…that I am brought back to reality and reminded of my own mortality. There are days in which I feel so weak that I dare whisper the words of how I feel even to myself. I’m even afraid to cry because I know that means I would be admitting defeat.
I want you to know my life wasn’t always this way. I wasn’t always “different.” There was a time when I was truly “normal.” It’s hard for me to think about those days because, in some ways, I feel like the “normal” me died when the “different” me was born. I mourned over my death twenty some odd years ago. That was one of the hardest times in my life. It’s hard for me to talk about it because, in some ways, I’ve honestly tried my best not to remember my past life. It was so long ago, and so many things have changed…I’ve changed. But I do miss what I remember of my old life. I was so happily innocent. I really didn’t have a care in the world. I never worried about going to a doctor (except for the occasional bumps and bruises), and I was never restricted to any type of routine. The world really was my oyster (as the saying goes).
The irony of it all is I probably wouldn’t change my life even if I had the chance to. You see, I was a spoiled brat when I was younger. I didn’t appreciate life or people or much of anything. The journey of my life has not only humbled me but blessed me in ways that I’m not sure I would have had as a “normal” person. The pain and struggling I have and continue to experience doesn’t make me bitter. It makes me kinder. I am about to tell you ALL of my story. Things that I have never shared with anyone. I don’t do this to warrant pity or sympathy. I do this because I am hoping that maybe I can help at least one person. There was a time in my life, long ago, when I wished someone would have told me that everything I was feeling was okay. There was a time when I was afraid to tell people I had epilepsy. I would pretend I didn’t have a disability and ignore that disclosure section of a job application. There was a time when all I wanted to be was “normal” again. Oh, there was a time…