A Day In The Life Of

I open my eyes each morning disappointed at the sunrise. “Another day I hoped I wouldn’t have to bear with you!”. A sigh will let out and the first thing that crosses my mind is to distract my thoughts by being busy. “What’s in the books today, what labour must I fulfil this righteous morning?” Messages, emails, social media updates? Constantly avoiding my thoughts because who wants to face them these days, when you can distract yourself binge-watching Netflix shows or boosting your confidence with a completed task, am I right? So what is a day like in the life of an epilepsy suffer? I want to say that it’s awful, and you are constantly nervous about any slight discomfort, dreading any form of anxious thought as this could trigger an “episode” - which are no fun. Well I guess I said it! I want to be raw with you. I really do. It’s difficult. It’s like being physically paralysed but your soul doesn’t believe it so it fights you to keep moving, it struggles to understand that maybe, you aren’t able to do all the things you want to do because, well, you’re limited. I want to be honest, it is incredibly disappointing to not have control over your nerves and central nervous system, actually, it’s embarrassing because you just never know when you can find yourself vulnerable. But with medical aid and artificial hormones, one can be subdued to “basic” health. A living and walking chemical reaction. Almost as if you aren’t a human, but rather synthetic pieces of cells, glued together to mold...you. Your happy pills work overtime to help you get through the day and then when your alone, you wonder, “when can I be me again?” Sometimes they work so well that your convinced your back to your beloved self. Ultimately, it’s a vicious cycle of disappointment and self assurance, which are two things that don’t really go together if you think about it. 

Then you have the darker hours, where you find yourself completely helpless, like a child. You’re brain dead or half alive? The seizures, the loss of state and familiarity of surrounding, the speech impairment, your heart pumping so much blood to your brain to bring you back to remembrance. “Can you hear my voice? Do you know where you are? Do you know what date today is?” Your tongue and jaw doesn’t compute these phrases, your brain is buffering so you know you can’t even ask it to help you. When push comes to shove, your eyelids are your best form of communication, “blink twice if you can hear me”, this I always found strange because you have muscles in your eyes yet they’re the only ones that can move! 

You stare at your environment. Everyone and everything looks blurry, the world stops around you. Your brain is slowing restoring its factory settings, and for that one moment, you’re so scared. Terrified. 

You wish you could step out of your body and look at yourself. But what good would that achieve? Then the tears form because in that exact moment you wished...you hoped, for once, “I would like to be like everyone else...normal”. 

Then you come back round again. You smile to reassure yourself and others around you. Everything is fine as long as I pretend well enough. You become so good at pretending, it’s second nature. You dust your clothes, and laugh internally, “Gosh, that was awkward! Silly me!” Miraculously, your body has updated itself and all functions are in place. The sun sets as the day comes to an end. You chug another pill. 

So it begins...another day.

Laura Writes

Jasmine N Cannon-Ikurusi