F E A R. It can absolutely paralyze you. It has paralyzed me.

I know we should not fear. I know Jesus teaches us to live by faith. Everyone tells me not to be afraid. But it is so easy to tell someone not to be afraid. I’m afraid that a brief moment of confusion is an oncoming seizure. I’m afraid that the loud echo of a stereo is actually an oncoming seizure. I’m afraid that the persistent beeping of registers in a store is actually a sound being created in my head indicating a seizure. I’m afraid that if something catches my eye, there might not be anything there and my world is about to shake violently. I’m afraid that when things suddenly slow down they are about to speed up very quickly. I’m afraid of another concussion. I’m afraid that people will be afraid to be around me because they will fear I will have a seizure in front of them. I’m afraid of having a seizure in public. I’m afraid parents won’t want their kids to come play with my children because they fear I can’t adequately supervise them.  I’m afraid that maybe I can’t adequately supervise them. I’m afraid the seizures will never stop. I’m afraid of going to sleep one night and being taken by epilepsy.

I am trying so hard. I know I am fortunate. I know it could be so much worse. I know there are so many other people dealing with far worse situations. I know I should be focusing on the things that are good and not the things to fear. I know what Jesus has taught us to have faith and not to fear. I hear what each of you are telling me. I’m trying, I really am. But this F E A R, right now it is just paralyzing.

© Copyright Gatewood Campbell, February 2014