Epilepsy and Time…

It’s been a while since I’ve written. Truthfully, my mind has been battling epilepsy in more ways than one and my ever-present tendency to depression has been growing stronger as we head toward the festive season….

I still don’t understand the letter from the consultant. I asked for clarification and was told that, yes, my brain is “shedding excess electricity virtually all the time”. My questions surrounding the link with sleep were studiously ignored and my plea for help in understanding pretty much dismissed out of hand. In the 10 months since the last major cluster of fits, I’ve not really moved forward at all. Time. The great healer?

Nah. The passage of time, for me, has concentrated the feelings. The more time has passed, the more frustration has built up, the more fear has squeezed at my heart and the more blackness has wrapped itself around my soul. Time maybe is a healer, if you are able to forget or accept. I can’t. I need reasons, I need understanding, I need to be able to rationalise out what I’m feeling.

The fear I work so hard to combat every day is winning. It’s clutching at my throat and slashing through my mind. I can’t trace any thought path without coming up against a rip of fear through my mind. Scared to do something and terrified to do nothing. I never envisaged that my life would be so filled with fear. 43 years of age and terrified of the “what-ifs”. Epilepsy. Why me?

I hate that expression. “Why me?”. It’s so whiny and moany and self-pitying. Yet, it’s prodding it’s bony fingers into my grey matter and tapping out the “why me?” beat. I have no real reason to feel sorry for myself, so why am I pointing myself down that path? I don’t know. I’ve done the tests and asked the questions and no-one is giving me answers to the new set of questions. I’m telling them I’m tired all the time and asking for the link with my epilepsy to be investigated, understood, hell even just acknowledged and getting nowhere.

So, I find myself at the “what’s the point?” stage. Time is marching on, keeping religiously to its mission, and I’m out of step with the beat. I can’t keep up with it. I want to yell at it to just stop for just a few beats so I can catch my breath, recalibrate my mind and give myself a chance to think. Time doesn’t work like that though. Time actually doesn’t exist if you think about it. Time is something that man created as a measure. No-one mentions 24 hours or says “I’ll be there in an hour” in the bible or the Koran or in Buddhist texts do they? A day was the passage of light to dark to light and it changed with the seasons. Right now, I need that lack of time. I need to be able to live with what nature has been doing since the big-bang or the creation or whatever it is that you believe. But before I know it, the alarm clock will be screeching at me, because it has been decreed that I must be at work by a certain man-made time. I must eat lunch between a certain man-made time of day, I must finish a task by a certain time, I must pay a bill by a certain day. Oh yes, I know, anarchy would reign supreme if we didn’t measure time, but if you stop to really think about it…, if we hadn’t began to measure time the way we do, would anarchy reign or would we just live in mute acceptance at the passage of light, dark and season the way we live with unthinking acceptance of markers of time?

Right now, I need a reset button. I need some days or maybe a whole season to get to know me again. Not depressed-Kirsty, not epileptic-Kirsty, not worker drone-Kirsty. Just Kirsty. Time has made me forget what it’s like to be me.

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