Tilting my head back a little, I gently place the pill on my tongue, not a second later, it was flushed down with half a glass of my water. The glass of water my mother had carried shakily towards me.
I'd had another attack.
This time it was so much worse.
Who would've thought that a day that started off as a normal but strangely exciting day was about to take a cap on it, and flaunt it?
I pushed the nylon containing my pills away from me, without a word or a glance at my parents, I got up, shakily at first, it was certainly a miracle to marvel at. I could now walk without assistance and talk like I always did.
Thankfully, my brain hadn't slowed. I was conscious throughout but the things that had happened made me question if life was all they told us it was.
Cause it certainly wasn't okay that I had fallen prey for such a daunting condition.
"Seizure disorder isn't the end of the world." Doctor Benjamin had said.
What did he know? He wasn't the one who had to deal with the voices or the headaches or even the bonewrenching fatigue.
"Is everything okay?" My mother asked again. Those words had become her favorite, it looked like it made her feel less anxious whenever I said I was fine. She gently rubbed her hand on back, it used to irk me before but she has done it so often I forget I was once starved of their physical touch.
She placed her hand soothingly on mine and guided me to the couch. The skin contrast was striking. I smile remembering when we used to be asked questions about our nationality and if we were related.
My skin color was a mixture of my dad and my grandfather's, sometimes I was mistaken for a Sudanese because of how dark it was.
Not a day in my life did I regret being born this way or into a family that strangely adored me, even when all I had put them through was pain.
"How do you feel?" My dad asked, sitting down on the couch beside me, there was little to no room left. I limply turned my head and immediately his arms embraced me.
I stayed there, not sure whether to wrap my slim arms around him or to just enjoy his warmth. Although I'd never say it, I enjoyed being hugged. It made me feel like I wasn't losing everything, cause some days, it gets pretty tough to hold on.
I blinked my eyes, trying to ignore the voice in my head that was telling me this was only the beginning of the end.
He finally released me and I placed my head gently on his shoulder. I couldn't imagine not having a father, I couldn't imagine what it felt like for people who didn't have one or even be able to point him out in a crowd of many because he was never around.
"You know you can talk to me baby." My father cooed, rubbing my shaved head.
It was one thing to have epilepsy and another completely different thing to have bipolar and when you join both together? You get me, Patricia Banjo, shaving my head at 2am in the morning, but would my father delight in hearing that?