I want to write endlessly about how unfair it is that my perfect, lovely child has a chronic disease that could one day kill her or severely damage her brain. That’s all I think about, really. It’s taking over my life. I find it hard to be nice to people. I am growing a big chip on my shoulder. I am unwell. I think I might have a mental disorder that has been dislodged by this disease called epilepsy that my child has. No one seems to understand, and even if they try, I am sure they don’t really know. But most people don’t really even try to understand. This blog post by one of my favorite authors really encapsulates what I’m feeling right now. (Well, the part about “Fuck, this is hard” does anyway.)This negative obsession of mine is affecting everything I do. I’m fixated, you could say. I can’t move on. That last seizure, during Swine Flu Suck Fest 2009, has put me over the edge. For the last year and a half, I’ve been living under the illusion that epilepsy isn’t really that bad. At least not ours. We have a mild case of it. The bad kinds, the intractable seizures, those are happening to other families. Those poor other families. Go here to read some of these sad stories. (Reading these “faces of epilepsy” is one way that I flagellate myself.) I’ve come to realize that any day now, that could be us. And I don’t know how I’ll handle it. I am not a strong person. This frightens me the most–that I won’t be the strong mother that Annabella would need in that situation. That I would just hop in my car and run far, far away, never to be heard from again. So, yeah, I’m in therapy.