I hate the way you take over my daughter’s tiny body without warning.
You wreak havoc on her.
I hate the way you slow her breathing down to a terrifyingly slow rhythm and how you make her muscles convulse to the point of total exhaustion.
I am dismayed watching her have no control, while you render her powerless.
I despise how time stands still and five minutes feels like an eternity when you are here.
I hate the heartbreak and helplessness that I feel while I’m forced to watch her go through this, and trying to keep myself calm.
I hate that her big brother has to help me get the oxygen tank to her, and that a twelve year old has to bear such worry for his little sister.
I loathe the terror that floods my thoughts as I beg you to leave her alone and give her back to me.
I can’t stand the fear and anxiety that rise up, making me fear the absolute worst. Every single time.
I hate that every time you strike, I curse at the universe. I am furious.
There is never any rhyme nor reason to your presence. I am mad and I wonder “why her?”
Each time you arrive, I want to scream from the rooftops how life is completely unfair.
She should not have to go through any of this. She didn’t ask for this.
You bring us great sadness, as we wish we could go through this in her place, and spare her from you.
I resent that you make us worry throughout the night for her safety. You rob us of sleep.
You take away our serenity and our ability to ever fully relax. You steal our family’s freedom.
After being confident and complacent for so long, we are now afraid to go anywhere far from home.
We know it will be a long time until we’re comfortable enough to leave her in someone else’s care again.
For all these reasons, I sincerely hate you.
I wish we never had made your acquaintance.
As a parent of a child with Epilepsy, I will fight this fight with my child against you.
We hold onto hope that someday a cure for you will exist, as we long to banish you from our daughter’s life.