For a while after it happened, people have been asking if I’m okay, and at first I wasn’t. The days didn’t seem to get better. A few weeks later, it started to get better, so slightly. I still feel that way, a month later, trying to take one step at a time. Trying to sit back down on my couch where it happened, accepting the fact that I’m still at risk, when I thought I wasn’t for so long. When asked how I was, I really didn’t know what to say. I’m not a fan of saying “I’m good” when I’m not, because I don’t want people to think epilepsy is easy. It’s invisible, but still exists.
I tried to explain to the people close to me that I was doing my best. Because I was. I was and am still trying to get stronger and start all over again trying to get over the fear.
One day, it started getting better. Little by little. There’s some days when I can walk into the dining hall where I had my aura, and others I walk in and get overwhelmed. I ask my roommate to come with me, sometimes, and she’s willing. It comes and goes.
Before the third episode, I was able to forget for a little while. I would take my medication in the morning, and feel normal for the day. I’d forget until nighttime, when I had to take the medication again, and mostly, that was the extent of my thoughts on the subject. There were a lot of days like that.
I’m building it back up to that… slowly but surely. But every day is only a little bit. It’s only a little bit better.
I guess that’s what they say. Rome wasn’t built in a day. This one was the hardest and most shocking. It’s going to take a while. A lot of days, that will go quickly, and add up to a lot of time. I’ll look back on this time, once again, and use the experience to get over the next heartbreak.
Maybe I’ve been going on too long about this, but I want to write about what I’m doing and what I’m thinking, so this is it.