Had a seizure Monday morning. Still piecing together everything. Yesterday I wasn’t sure. I knew I felt like I might have a seizure, I just wasn’t sure if I actually had one. I talked to people at work today (I stayed home, Tuesday), and turns out I did.
I believe it was fairly small, based on the amount of aches I have. Which is small. Bit my bottom lip (right side) but not my tongue, which is nice.
I had one last year at this time, almost exactly. The few small tremors I’ve had in between … I don’t know. I need to go see a specialist again, I suppose. One big one a year is hardly a BAD thing, but with all the small ones in between. I wonder if I should adjust my medication again.
Which leads to all sorts of crap, like how I’m already on 150/morning 150/night, and my hospital seems to only carry 50mg tabs. I’m already getting six boxes of pills a month. It’s annoying enough being epileptic, can we make the pills a little less troublesome?
I thought I would cry. Medicated, fooded, slept… and yet a seizure… Perhaps it’s because I’m on my period and it’s been particularly heavy this month (TMI? Too fucking bad!). But that too, I thought I would cry. But I didn’t. I had hoped to make it over a year, I didn’t, and I thought I would cry.
But I didn’t. And I’m not sure what to make of that, really. Is it because I’m jaded? I cry at the drop of the hat in the lamest of movies, but breaking once again doesn’t call up tears. Is it because I never really expected to make my goal?
And if that’s true, if I was just playing a waiting game with myself … I was. I know I was doing that, but I thought I was existing with some sort of hope. But if I was living on hope, and hope died, well then I would cry. No question. I’m emotional like that. Some might say weak like that. It’s okay, I understand that about myself and accept it.
But if I was lying to myself about that hope. Does that mean I helped bring it on? Was I self destructive? Plenty of days in this past year when my sleep has been bad. I’ve missed doses before. I’ve gone days without eating. But on one of the days I do everything right, my brain gives me the shaft.
Fuck you, my brain tells me, and whatever hope you have of being healthy. Free.
Well. Fuck you, too, Brain. I never believed your shit anyway.