I hate epilepsy. I do. I fucking hate it and everything about it. I hate that my little kid might have to deal with this the rest of her life. I hate the doctors who I have to talk to about her symptoms. I hate the drugs she takes to keep her seizures at bay. I hate having to tell babysitters “oh, by the way, in case she has a seizure, here’s the special medicine you have to put up her butt.” I hate having to be the spokesmom for epilepsy, to try to destigmatize this stupid disease. I hate that life is unfair. I hate the world. I hate that there are famous people out there with this disease (Chief Justice Roberts!) who won’t talk about it and keep the stigma going. I just hate absolutely everything about it and I wish I could cut off my right arm to make it go away. I hate that I am reduced to tears even thinking about it. I hate the people who think they have problems but they really don’t. They don’t know problems until they confront a horrible disease that is affecting their child. I hate not having control over my life–that epilepsy is the one in control and it doesn’t give a fuck what’s going on in my life or my family’s life–it’s here and it’s going to stay and I just have to get used to it. And I hate that.