“Angry people are not always wise,” or so wrote Jane Austen, with whom I am in wholehearted agreement, in Pride and Prejudice. She has a point. I’m probably—OK, unquestionably—not wise. I am, however, most definitely angry.
Really angry, about and at many, many things. Almost everything, really. Serious problems, minor annoyances. The clump of pedestrians that was blocking the sidewalk this afternoon with its two-miles-an-hour crawl. A broken bone. The fact that my husband finished my bottle of Fresca last night and told me that he would buy more today but didn’t, forcing me to drink my foe, plain and tasteless water.
I like to think of myself as a relatively positive person, at least on the outside, but for the next five minutes I’m going to indulge my inner pessimist and gloss over the good stuff that admittedly graces my life from time to time (or, you know, frequently); if I’m going to take an acutely antagonistic stance in this post, I might as well do a good job of it.
So here’s a basic breakdown of what’s making me want to punch someone or pulverize something or, at the very least, consume an entire jar of peanut butter :
- Most obviously, seizures. Partial complex, tonic clonic, whatever. I’m always confused when I’m urged to see the “bright side” of a seizure disorder (this happens more often than reasonable, even accounting for the ignorance/good intentions of the advice-giver), because let’s be honest… there are no benefits of brain abnormalities that leave you helpless on the floor, scared and confused, and/or temporarily partially blind.
- The rib I cracked on Sunday night. Stupid brittle bones. And related, jokes about prescription pain pills being awesome. They’re not.
- The sense of obligation that compels me to pretend that I’m happy and totally OK in social situations when really I wish I could explain to those unfortunate enough to be around me that I’m engulfed in a horrible cloud of pain, medication-induced nausea, and seizure fog.
- The stigma that epilepsy continues to carry.
- The vulnerability that comes with asking for help.
- The current lack of Reese’s Pieces in our apartment.
I guess I’ll stop, if only to go to the corner store to buy candy and pop. Might as well leave you with a delightful self-portrait capturing my mood du jour (and lack of makeup). I apologize in advance.