Pills, Tests, and Demons.

“You’re not a writer. Writers write. Have you published or posted anything lately?” My heart sank with failure and defeat. After all, the claim was right… Right? I didn’t bother to contest the statement. I couldn’t. Not then.

I watched as a bystander. My pride was garroted with its own necktie- by a simple statement from someone that I will spend the rest of my life and much of the hereafter trying to prove my worth to.

Two methods of response to the reality of failure came to mind. - Fight, knowing it wouldn’t solve anything.

Or Flight, remain silent, wait for the waters to change. Pray for calmer seas to sail on.

I didn’t reply.

My first attempt at a book crashed and burned. I signed on with a *Sarcastic Cough* Marketing Firm, to boost sales… Of course, the company turned out to be a scam, and I lost even more money. Since that loss, putting my thoughts out onto the world wide web seemed like a waste of time. I walked away from the internet.

I was offline, but I never stopped typing. I’d written quite a bit since I ceased sharing words on the web. Pages and pages, chapters, starts to new books, Pilots, story lines.

As time went on, I felt a weight that made every keystroke weaker than the one preceding. My words grew darker, everything revolved around death, loss, unhappy things, subject matter that would be less than uplifting. I started to notice changes in my writing.

One work of fiction destined for the trashcan was built around an epileptic person who wanted a way out. The story opened in a hotel room. Kurt was successful in ending his life. Every detail from the food delivery order arriving at the open door with enough elapsed time for the exit bag to work properly, to the family being on vacation- too far away to arrive before Kurt’s body was tidied up and taken by the coroner, waiting in the morgue to be claimed. When I had the epiphany that I was writing about myself, I realized something wasn’t right.

If I was planning out a character’s suicide with enough lucidity to totally understand why they chose that option, something was wrong with me.

Enter- Pharmaceutical Wonderland!

The Pills-

Keppra,

Is one of only two AEDs (Anti-Epileptic Drugs) that have made any significant dent in my Epilepsy. Among the possible side-effects are drowsiness, headache, nervousness, aggressive behavior, agitation, anxiety, apathy, depersonalization, depression, fatigue, hostility.

Max Adult dose: 3000mg/day. I’m on 3750.

Vimpat,

is another wonder drug supposedly helping me. But has introduced Being forgetful, discouragement, feeling sad or empty, irritability, poor vision, itching skin, lack of appetite, loss of balance control, loss of interest or pleasure, mood or mental changes.

Max. Adult dose: 400mg/day. I’m on that 400mg/day.

*Bonus Medication— The combination of Keppra and Vimpat isn’t quite enough. For the breakthrough seizures, there’s always good ole’ Ativan to knock me out. Though, I can’t recall the dose or read the bottle without my glasses.

Fortune shined on me, and a light went on in my drowsy head. My skin doesn’t itch. I have yet to spoil an appetite in my 27 years. But everything else described in the side-effects was tailor-fit to what was going on in my mind and body.

The tests-

Several tests, imaging sessions, stays in the hospital, have tentatively cleared me for further surgical intervention, and possibly an implant to control my seizures.

Maybe, just maybe… if I acknowledge what is impeding me, I can figure out who and what I am. I desire more than anything to attack the untrue claim that I am not a writer. To extinguish the feeling that I am not a father, a husband, or a human being. I must injure my ego in the short term to take pride myself. It’s worth making the asseveration that I am a human being; I am a Person. A Husband. A Father.

I want my words to help people who are like me. I want to help people who have loved ones in my situation. When I am dead, if the world hasn’t found a cure for this monster by then, I want to look down from heaven or up from Hell, (after all, the seizure prone were possessed by ‘demons’ not so long ago…) -- and hear

“Oh, he had epilepsy too?”