“Watch where you’re going…

You’re clumsy…

You’re depressed…

Stop feeling sorry for yourself…

You sleep too much…

You should study more…

No. You don’t need any doctor…”

Two years later, my father took me to a neurologist.

There was nothing wrong with me. Except I had epilepsy.

My step-father who was a surgeon, described it as uneven brain waves.

My step-mother who was a psychologist, treated me like a pariah.

My mother never, ever said the “E” word.

For her it was like admitting defeat.

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