I remember the kicking and the screaming I did so long ago.
Why me? What did I do wrong? It’s not fair! I was a repeating record.
Now, I sit here almost three years later, massaging the small dip in my skull.
I know now that I could have had it much, much worse.
An occasional strong, spiking headache is what’s left of my seizure disorder.
The empty bottles I won’t have to refill anymore lay abandoned in my night stand.
Almost a decade ago, the kiddy tantrums felt necessary, and I did get more that just bumps and bruises from those futile scenes. I learned something, too.
Instead of being angry at the entire world, I learned that my energy was put to better use in fighting my battle against epilepsy. After all, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, and throwing a fit wouldn’t solve anything.
Looking back, I know I could have had it so much worse.
I could have had over 100 seizures a day. I could have been unable to finish college and find a job.
I could have gone through those painful months of recovery just to find out surgery didn’t work.
I could have, but I didn’t. I survived.
So I sit here hoping that this electrifying storm passes by soon, but if it doesn’t that’s okay.
It’s okay because my epilepsy battle is coming to an end, and I’m going to come out so much stronger.