The Burden

     I'm almost okay. Most people who meet me meet me straight on, from the front, and never see the weight behind me. If you met me right now, you would probably never see it. The sometimes visible, always audible weight that chose to attach itself to my head two years ago. It has scared off some of the few people that have seen it and they haven't talked to me since. That's the thing with my seizures. They are forever my burden, forever there, attached to my brain like a Siamese twin, attached at the hip with the rattle of pills in my bag as I take each step. My front row seat to humiliation- before I even get the chance to explain what it is and what it's there for. I look at people so free, so independent- people who can walk, run, swim, and dance without this sometimes visible, always audible burden attached to their heads.

     I would ask my burden, "Why do you have to show people how vulnerable I can be? Why do you force me to cry in front of strangers? Why do I have to live my life AROUND you? You are not a person, you are not my pet, and you definitely do NOT define my life. I disown you," I would say. "I'm kicking you out." Only it's not that easy. I've tried that before. It's not enough. You see, taking advantage of those little rattling pills inside my bag beside my hip doesn't remove my burden- it keeps it from getting mad at me and yelling strange noises at me in my ear. It keeps my burden from tackling me to the floor and tossing me from side to side. From trying to smother me, literally taking my breath away. So in one respect, I am grateful for those little pills. I am grateful they keep my burden at bay. But I can still see it, even when nobody else can. And I can certainly feel it, some days more than others.

     So I have a plan. I made this plan with myself and God, not with anyone else. My plan is to free myself, to separate my burden from my head forever. I finally decided in order to do this I needed to tell someone else about it, so I did. We planned a day for me to come in, talk with him and lie on a table and allow everything to change. This relieves me, but there is a problem with that too. I don't know how to live life without my burden. It has told me what to do all day long, every day for two whole years. How am I suddenly supposed to drop the daily schedule it has given me for two whole years and live on my own? I've thought about this for a while now, weighing my options. I don't know if it's better to get my burden removed and brave the wild, scary world on my own itinerary, or to live a cautiously predictable life along with my burden beside me. Despite my inner battle, though, I still go talk to the tall bald man with the white coat who says he'll eliminate my burden for me. He tells me about long procedures with fancy names and strange origins- things that scare me but ignite my heart with the spark of potential freedom. I say yes to all his jumble of questions and words. I'm going to do it. The next month I am on the hard white bed with a rush of doctors and nurses around me. I look up at the bright light above my head. Here I go.