What does normal mean?

Normality is something that people try their utmost to have. Some people misinterpret normality with perfection.

Perfection is a cruel thing. It’s something people so desperately want in their lives in order for them to be happy. People usually associate being perfect with extravagance, flash cars, lavish homes and infinite beauty. What would happen if you actually had all that? Would you genuinely be happy? Honestly?

Everyone is insecure about something or has a gripe about someone. You usually find the main worries are financial, emotional or physical. Sometimes people get into a position where they are constantly reinventing themselves to be someone they’re not. Why can’t we just be happy with our lot? What I mean by this is why can’t we be content with the life we lead? Is it a necessity to constantly be looking for something that isn’t there?

People may wonder why I ask these very questions. The reason why I do this is because throughout my life I have had the struggle of not accepting what I see in the mirror not necessarily with my appearance but my actual persona. The blame has always lay with my condition and I have hid behind it for so long. There was always that niggle subconsciously that I have allowed to take over and prevent me from living life to the fullest. All I wanted was for my shakes to be manageable and controlled the way my fits were.

Epilepsy in my eyes had become tolerable because I had lived with it for so long however my condition was a burden. I was never afraid to talk to others about my condition however the reaction to telling someone “I have epilepsy” wasn’t always the best one and that would occasionally worry me.

Although I was in a routine with the medication taking it was becoming a chore and the second guessing was getting on my nerves. As a teenager you battle with your hormones and are constantly on the go. Whether it be making friends, studying or socialising there is never enough hours in the day to achieve what you want in that timeframe. Your twenties are somewhat different. Usually and I emphasise on the word usually you have a little more knowledge. The foundation is in place for you to be financially independent, move into your first home (money permitting) and potentially have children. For whatever reason although I could see all of this it was never enough as the worry conquered my personality.

Why couldn’t I accept that I was epileptic?

Following the shaky bouts I didn’t know whether I wanted to go down the path that society had laid out for me or whether I was going to choose my own path. To hell with everyone else why can’t I just be me?

Times were changing as was my body.

I was constantly worrying and the anxiety at times would overwhelm me. On my quest to understand my condition I have spoken to fellow epileptics who think about epilepsy from the moment they wake up till the last thing at night before they go to sleep. I have found that with my condition that my emotions were either extremely high or extremely low. There is no happy medium with me and until recently I never knew why.

I have always questioned whether my actions were as a result of my condition or whether it was me changing my personality to adapt to it.

My shaky bouts were at a stage where I had literally had no control. The panic turned into fear as I was fearful they one bad shake could turn into a full blown seizure.

Going to work was extremely hard because all I was doing was praying that I didn’t have that seizure that made my colleagues feel so uncomfortable that they didn’t want to be around me. I assumed that out of fear that should the worst happen they would have to “sort me out” if I was unwell and I didn’t want to jeopardise losing acquaintances in the process. In the next breath I had to go to work to earn the cash that would give me the independence I was craving.

One morning I woke up after a long night of shaking and decided to write a diary while it was fresh in my mind.

What I wrote ranged from analysing my thought pattern, to what my grievances were and what I wanted to achieve/change. It was only when I read it back to myself that I picked up the courage to contact my GP and demanded to see him immediately. I wanted a second opinion.

My neurologist didn’t give me the customer satisfaction I needed therefore in order to move forward I would either have to return to neurology and ask for the second opinion or to take my grandmother up on the offer and go private. Either way I couldn’t go on living like this. I was in my twenties and I wanted to run so desperately.

So I called my GP. It was that telephone call that would change the way I handled my condition and the way normality would make an appearance in my life.


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