Have you ever had a seizure, alone, in public?
“Moron!” you — the internet — say (except with racial slurs wrapped in as many curse words as possible). “You can’t be alone AND in public!”
Cut your shit, internet. You know what I mean.
I spend a good amount of time alone, here. A lot of time walking while alone. I get scared sometimes. Not of being followed or a stray motorbike knocking me down. No, I’m scared of the same thing I’m always scared of: My Epilepsy. I’m scared that I’ll have a seizure somewhere, walking, alone.
It is a fear with cause. It’s happened before.
My first year here, not even six months in, I had a small seizure on the road to my home. I didn’t even realize that was what happened until two days later, when I took the time to consider the memories around the event. The expressions on the faces of the few people I walked away from. The general pain. The lethargy. The headaches.
I didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to consider it, but I knew it was true.
I was lucky. It was the middle of the day. Fairly trafficked area. Walking through a stalled construction area that was nothing but dirt.
How often can one person be so lucky?
Today, coming back from my Sunday eating Indian food and re-watching Captain America: Winter Soldier, I felt it, in the muscle between my shoulder blades. I could feel it coming. I could feel it hanging over me. Dread. Doom.
It didn’t happen. I made it home. I’m safe. As safe as I can be in a place where I’ve had numerous solo-seizures.
Today…Today, I kinda hate myself. And I hate that about myself.