The Daydreamer

By Tiffany Webb

As I walked to the stage from the bleachers, the crowd applauded me with whoops and hollers.  It almost brought me to tears, that every person in this group supported people like me, with Epilepsy.  I reached the front of the stage to receive my award for being one of the top fundraisers for the Epilepsy 5k Walk, thankfully without tripping!  I was proud to be a member of the human race, and proud of myself for being a part of a group of progressive minds.  A flash from the past flickered in my mind, as I reflected on how far I had come.

“What are you looking at?  Hello?”  The young girl waved her hand in front of my face as I awoke from my dazed ‘blanking out’ spell.  That’s what my family called it.  I would stop everything, mid-sentence or walking across the room – just to stare off into space.  It felt as if I were sleeping, without dreaming.  It could last from 2-10 seconds, but it happened at least thirty times a day.  I wasn’t sure what to say at school when it happened, so my parents told me to tell everyone I was daydreaming when it happened.

“Oh, I was just daydreaming,” said my innocent voice, sounding foreign to me.  I didn’t like to lie, but as an outcast at the age of 11, with wild hair, old wrinkled hand-me-downs, and oversized bosoms – it had become pure instinct.  It had become survival, in fact.  If I was to ever fit in, I knew I would have to be agreeable for anyone to accept the “daydreamer”.

The flashback was not just one unfortunate occurrence – it happened daily for five years – with a dash of insults and bushels of frustration.  Not only was it embarrassing at school, my brothers also joined in the fun.  I was miserable.

My journal was my best friend and confidant; it never judged me when I cried about not being able to ride my favorite rides at the fair, or about not having enough freedom to cross the street all by myself. I could expose bursts of violent emotion without shaking any ground, as I furiously wrote, fighting to tread the waters of reality.  I passed a few hurdles, crossing the street alone after becoming diagnosed with Epilepsy at the age of 12, and hiding my insecurities well enough to be liked by a few.  The journal only sufficed until my senior year in high school, though. 

As I sat back down next to my husband and friend, they hugged me.  It was still emotional for me to confront my past experiences, since I am a fresh face in the field of Epilepsy advocacy.  I watched others received awards and say a few words, and let my mind drift into the past again.

I had my second tonic clonic seizure at the age of 18.  My best friend drove us to school as usual, even though I had several “blanking out spells” (also called absence seizures) that morning.  In the past, I had went to school while having them, and they cleared up enough to function after a few hours.  Why would they be any different today? 

As I stepped out of Nicole’s red Honda Civic, I managed to exhaust a few words out before everything went black. 

“Nicole, I don’t feel so good…”

My eyes opened uncertainly as I slowly recognized a crowd of people staring at me.  My eyes frantically darted around seeking the familiarity that refused me.  Audibility slowly collected its blurry elements to form distinguishable sounds.  Words came together.

“What happened?”  My mouth felt dry and my voice was hoarse.  Most faces looked at me with fear, antagonizing my own, as one compassionate face stood out from the rest. Who were these people?  What the hell is going on?

“You had a seizure, can you tell me what your name is?”  The southern accent carried a hint of familiarity, but it didn’t concern me.  The fact that I couldn’t remember my name did concern me, however.  I looked around as my surroundings slowly created a picture of the present for me.  Nicole was crying, standing back as if she was afraid to touch me.  She held notebooks that I knew were mine, since they were drenched in fresh blood.  I reached up to touch the bandage on my chin with weak arms, as the paramedic repeated the question.  The puzzle pieces of reality came together at last.  After another moment’s hesitance, I answered confidently, with tears.

“It’ll be okay, Tiffany – you’re okay,” my principal reassured me.  I believed him, as he rode with me in the ambulance to the hospital.

Snapping back to reality, the top fundraiser of the walk grabbed my attention, raising $13,000!  With a standing ovation, he was asked to give a speech, although he preferred not to.  Personally, I would have smothered the mic and had it taken away for talking too long.

“I d-did it for my d-daughter,” he stammered out, fighting tears.  “That’s what this is all about. Thank you all so much.”  He refused to say more, as he teared up.  I understood, as my eyes filled up as well.  I had many emotional times in my life because of Epilepsy, too…

At the hospital, all of my shame, frustration, embarrassment, and loneliness came to the surface at once.  I was ashamed, because everything about my life was so different from everyone else’s reality.  While my classmates worried about fashion and popularity, I was struggling to breathe.  I felt shame for not understanding how to control my seizures, and because the crowd looked scared of me.  I was embarrassed, because of the small town rumors that would ensue to increase my frustration.  All these feelings lingered for a few days, but one of my classmates put an end to my pity party.

When I returned to school, one of my classmates had me appalled at her accusation.  It wasn’t an inquiry, as Sheree disguised it.  It was disguised with malice and ridicule, especially considering the fact that we never considered each other as friends.

“Don’t drugs cause seizures?”  She gave a sly, smirk-y smile as she waited for my response. 

“Yes, but that’s not why I had one.”  Daydreamer survival mode kicked into high gear, as I tried to sweep everything under the rug and provide a quick explanation to steer attention away from me.  I pretended to do my class work so the questions would stop.  Thirty minutes of interrogation was enough.  I scribbled disturbing pictures of bleeding hearts wrapped in thorns, but the journal effect had succumbed to inescapable despair. My dramatic senior year carried many complications.  Although I considered Sheree’s accusations of drug use as rude and inappropriate, I had experimented with a few drugs and a lot of alcohol, about six months before the seizure.  It was a brief time of guilt and anger, possibly an indirect factor to the reoccurrence of seizures.  Many drugs alter the brain’s normal electrical activity – some excite the neurotransmitters, increasing the risk of seizures.  Stress acts in the same manner, so it wasn’t quite so easy to discern the cause.

The varied responses from classmates, friends, and my principal confused me.  I realized that I did nothing wrong to bring all the negative attention on myself, even if my summer experimentation had gone awry.  Some whispered, Principal Payne and friends were supportive…  Eventually, the mixed feelings began to piece themselves together like the familiarity of reality came after a seizure.  Why am I insecure? 

The walk was over, and my stomach was growling.

“Texas Roadhouse!” I held up one of the gift cards that I received during the awards ceremony, and Matt and Melissa echoed the notion. A serious tone had settled over our conversations, instead of the light air about us just thirty minutes earlier.  We were inspired, and I assumed Melissa was also reflecting on her experience with Epilepsy, also.

“It’s such a great feeling to have that many people around you, all working hard together to contribute to your well-being,” Matt said.  I nodded tearfully.  Things weren’t always this way for me, as reflections of the past arose uncontrollably.

After graduating high school, the next few years were speculative, as I finally realized that there was more ‘Mr. Payne’s’ in the world than there were ‘Sheree’s’.  By discovering that some people want to help, I learned that I wanted to as well.  Until the age of 25, actually, the only life I knew was of internal battles and storms of emotion.  Self-esteem slowly seeped in, as I became a spiritual body, determined to seek truth. 

Although the path took awhile, God blessed this broken path of preparation.  I slowly cast each worry and burden on Him, my new journal of faith.  I found more strength each day, becoming firm and happy. 

Then, a disciple named Matthew, from this world and time, loved me with the Lord’s love.  He taught me how to truly love unconditionally, and how to forgive.  Meeting him made me feel innocent and foreign to myself once again, and I accepted my encounters with God and His Spirit as reality.  The walls came down, as I gave up trying to make sense of this world.  No longer of this reality, I made sense of His.  Once I learned how it could help me, my path changed once again – how could I help others? The moment this question joined my journey, I married him for helping me to discover God’s plan for me. 

I looked at him with adoration, and reached over to squeeze his hand.  There was nothing I could do to make him realize how deeply he impacted my life, so I settled for the next best thing. I became passionate about loving others, and revealing God and His strength to others.  I decided that Matt would understand how God was working through us, if I could help others as God called me to do.  Therefore, my heart fought all worries that had accompanied me, and went out to others that had felt helpless as I did growing up.

On Easter of this year, to reaffirm these commitments to the Lord, I joined the most important love of my life by baptism.  In this rebirth, I have been dedicated to using my struggles to relate to others in need.  I am now an advocate for human rights.  I advocate for people with intellectual and physical disabilities, particularly creating awareness and education for others affected by Epilepsy.  I do what I can to help others know that they are not alone, and I am open about why I am no longer helpless. 

Perhaps I am the ‘daydreamer’.  I dream of a world that is filled with peace, love, compassion and understanding.  I have dreams as big as the sky, and I thank God for blessing me with them.  I’ve been asked to explain myself many times in my life, and I’ve never been sure how to do so.  I’ve just always been the daydreamer.

Ask me now.  When you do, you’ll find out that my journey to educate and create awareness is not of my doings.  God is my reason for everything, and I have nothing to do with it.