I guess it’s time to move forward. I haven’t wanted to in the past few weeks, but I’ve had to, and quickly. I’ve been doing everything I’ve had to do since I woke up on Wednesday morning, the day after it happened.

I’m not there yet. I’m not really there when I do things. I’m just going through the motions. Going to class, practice, work, and then doing everything all over again.

I still haven’t been able to sit on the couch where it happened. I can barely sleep behind a closed door. For a while, I was dragging my mattress into my living room and asking my roommate to leave her door open just in case something happens. The guilt that she had to see it is still there. I don’t want to ever have to put that burden on anyone. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to have to be in that situation, especially when it’s someone you love.

I had a nightmare the other night that it happened all over again. I was on the same couch, alone in the apartment in the pitch black. It felt so real. It was the exact same way I felt when I woke up all the other times. It was the same panic, the same dizziness, the same stomach drop.

I keep telling myself that I need to move on, but it still seems impossible. This time is the worst of them all, but I’m hoping that if I keep going through the motions, I’ll start to really get back into things. Right now, everything just feels like a blur.

I’m not sure how people move on from things like this. The other times I had seizures, I chalked it up to being my own fault, because there were reasons. The possibility of this happening againing paralyzes me.

I don’t know if it’s too soon to force myself to move on from it, or I should just let myself feel everything and process. At the end of the day, I still don’t know how to process anything, because I don’t think I ever truly did.

I guess it’s just another week of having nothing inspiring to say. I haven’t learned any lessons yet. The ones I learned when this all started just don’t make sense anymore. Moving forward is the best course of action I can think of. Pushing through until I feel like I’m back to myself again.

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