On January 24th 2018, I was taken to hospital. 5 epileptic seizures later, i'm in resus, being intubated because my body is done. One minute i'm breathing by myself and next thing, game over. At that level of seizures your brain gives up, your respiratory system gives up, your heart gives up. To put it nicely, i'm VERY lucky to be here. 
 
My business, not that anyone was thinking about that at the time, was dead. Because I wasn't there to do anything. I was in hospital for 3 days and due to the way the brain is damaged my memory was kaput! Usually after my seizures i'm back to work the next day but this was a whole different world of f*cked up. This took months to get over, I have little to zero recollection of conversations and memories around the event. Thankfully my friends and family are patient and they had the same conversations with me again and again so I could gain some sort of understanding. 
 
Can you imagine sitting outside resus and waiting for the news that your family member is not coming back? My family had to go through that and I have to stop myself from feeling guilty. Every day. Guilt for something I have little control over. They had to witness people die around them. I was then transferred to the ERU. That's the Elderly Receiving Unit. Just in case you don't know, that's where they put the old people... you get the gist. 
 
The pain after coming round from something like that is immense. The pain is probably the only thing I remember. 
 
My mum, family and friends who have known me for years have said that i've not been the same since. 
 
Truth is, they're right. 
 
Truth is, i'm f*cking scared. A year on and the girl who laughs off her epilepsy, and has done for over 30 years, is sitting writing this blog in tears. Tears because of what she went through. Tears for what she put her loved ones through. Tears because she is terrified of the up and coming anniversary. 
 
My brain doesn't work the way it used too. Likelihood is, after all this time, it never will again. I look at pictures of me and I don't remember being there or doing the things. 
 
I was speaking to a friend about a month ago. We've been friends over 20 years and have always had nicknames for each other. He reminded me and it was like a snow storm of memories came back. I have hope. After all this time, I have a small glimmer of hope. 
 
2018 was a bastard of a year for me. For every good thing there were 2 horrid things. I tried so long to hold my shit together and eventually it all came tumbling down around me. I fought with everything I could to hold on to anything positive. Every day was a struggle. I had the bruises where i'd beat myself in the face. I had the blood, marks and scars where i'd rip and slice at my skin. But a little voice somewhere in my head kept me moving forward. I moved away from toxic people, friends who I have known for nearly 30 years. I'm not saying they were bad people, they were just toxic to me. I reassessed everything. I purged everything. I found new paths to walk. 
 
Last couple of months i've found myself, i've discovered me, i've discovered my happy. I'm not ready to share that part of the story yet but I'm ready to share the rest so anyone out there going through shit can hopefully see there is hope. There is always hope. 
 
A year on and i've just closed my business. Kidding. I've just closed my business to new clients. I've hit my maximum threshold so will not be taking on any new clients for at least a month. I'm very conscious about stress these days and where it can lead. I've very cautious about pushing myself too hard and I have finally (almost) found my perfect work/life balance. I am a work in progress.  
 
There will be more to come. You'll be seeing a lot more from me (#SorryNotSorry), and you will see me shine. Just look how far i've come in a year. 2018 was my winter. 2019 will be my spring. I will grown, I will rise, I will bloom. 
Until next time, 
 
Dee x 
PS, Haven't even bothered spell checking this blog. Keeping it real, keeping it raw. xx 
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