This has been a really hard epilepsy week. Last evening marked the third in a row with a tonic-clonic seizure, which I usually have relatively rarely. The result was a restless night due to muscle pain and nausea, and since I was still under the weather this morning, I had to cancel plans, activating my already-heightened FOMO.

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Staring at my duvet cover while trying not to puke.

This sucks. It’s frustrating. I just want to be able to lead a “normal” life. (Yes, I’m whining, and no, I’m not proud of myself for it.)

As I normally do when my brain is acting up in such a dramatic manner, I find myself trying to figure out why my neurons hate me. While there’s often no rhyme or reason to variations in my seizure pattern, the fact that I’ve been really, really anxious lately is undoubtedly a major contributing factor in this case. Anxious about what? You name it. It’s hard to know whether my anxiety is making my seizures worse or if my seizures are causing my anxiety to spike—my hunch is that there’s some kind of feedback loop going on—but there’s definitely a connection between my constant worrying about everything and this increase in seizures. I’m therefore working as hard as I can to control both.

Time to obnoxiously look for a silver lining or two!

I woke up seizure-sick in two senses: a pretty literal one (mmmmm, vomit) and also more metaphorically (I hate you, epilepsy). I did, however, manage to salvage part of my day. Although I couldn’t go to the support group that I ordinarily attend on Wednesdays, the person I was going to see afterwards met me in my neighbourhood rather than downtown, which allowed me to socialize in a more manageable way (and was a reminder of how supportive and flexible my friends are). Now, having had the opportunity to rest and recover, I’m no longer seizure-sick: seizure-annoyed, sure, but that’s a pretty big upgrade.



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