Until I was fourteen, most of what I knew about myself was just a side effect of medication.
For many years I struggled with my identity and mind, even as they were heavily influenced by medication. I was ill and I had to be treated. Getting better always has a price, though for me, the cost of long term treatment was almost more than I could afford: I paid with my entire being. However, since then, I’ve come to realize in order to accept who I am, I must understand the struggles I overcame to get here.
I remember being 6-years-old and experiencing it for the first time. At first, I felt flutters in my heart, but within months I was experiencing full-blown seizures. I was aware, but I couldn't talk; I could only make incoherent sounds. After many tests, the doctors finally had a diagnosis—epilepsy—and prescribed Trileptal to treat it. The side effects were “mental slowness, problems with speech, drowsiness, and double vision,” among others. No one told me what to expect, though I probably would have benefited from knowing the side effects of the medication I was taking; perhaps I would have understood that these things didn’t happen because there was something wrong with me. Unfortunately, this was never explained and my six-year-old self could never distinguish the line between “I” and “side effect”.
I became that awkward kid who wouldn’t speak—in fear that I would stutter and be unable to finish my sentence. I was quiet, and withdrawn. I had few friends, and lived in my books. But I have grown to understand more. Eight years later, I was able to stop taking medication and within months, I noticed I was different. My brain worked again, I remembered without trying, speaking became natural. I had friends, I could laugh, and I learned to enjoy life.
In retrospect, growing up with a neurological disorder was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. From my epilepsy years, I acquired a quiet strength, a belief in myself that I still have to this day. I am often the only one who will stand and defend what I believe to a room of my peers. I know I have the power to express myself; I know I have the voice to be heard. Sometimes you don’t realize that power until you’ve lived a few years without it. Many people have mentioned that I don’t seem to get frustrated, that I am more determined than most. And again I owe that to the lessons I learned early in life. Getting frustrated and giving up never got me anywhere. I’m sure many people have noticed something intangibly different about me but few have asked. To those who have, I tell this story.
Growing up with epilepsy fundamentally changed who I am. Though most see it as a disadvantage, I know it’s something to be grateful for. While I try not to think about it too much, I've always wondered who I would have been without this "experience". I can't say it was terrible; I learned so many things at such a young age, but at the same time I can't say I'd be willing to do it over again. I was different and I knew it. The secret I had haunted me for many years. My closest friends knew the basics but never any details. Today I look back and I know that regardless of how much I struggled, I gained something priceless: I learned exactly how lucky I am; I learned that no matter how hard life seems sometimes, that it can get better ... and I learned to stand up for myself ... even when no one else will, because that's the only way to live life: by remembering that I am strong. That I have the power to achieve, and to succeed.
