I had a professor in medical school who told me, in front of a group of folks, that there is no stigma attached to epilepsy. She then went on to tell me (in the same conversation, in front of the same people) that being a doctor was a high stress position and that she wouldn’t recommend it to me. This conversation took place at the end of my 2nd year.
I can’t say her name without a string of expletives following it.
The other day I told a friend that it was amazing the grades that she gets and even more amazing how down to earth she is about them. The conversation went on from there, but in the end she told me that I shouldn’t worry about my lack of A’s, since after all, I have seizures.
There’s some truth to all this. Seizures suck. They suck the energy out of you, and after a half dozen seizures, the idea of doing anything but sleeping seems impossible. Until I think of the stigma.
God, I hate the stigma. Worse than the stigma is pity. And worse than the pity is the admiration. I’m a middling human being, as far as my successes in life go. I’m not terribly hard working. Really. Its terrible, but I’d much rather socialize than study.I shoot high with my ambitions, but none seem worth giving up lazing about and strengthening connections with people I adore.
I treasure my languor. And so when it’s excused away as some by product of misfiring neurons, it really pisses me off. And when my half-assed attempts at life are described as splendid, I want to spit!
So that’s what gets me out of bed in the morning, stigma.