Part Two: Keppra and the Unraveling of Myself

Keppra, in ways I’m still struggling to fully articulate, changed me. 

It didn’t just alter my brain chemistry; it altered my being. 

This transformation was profound; a slow and insidious erosion of the person I once knew, replaced by a stranger I barely recognized.

When I started Keppra, I was given no choice, the decision was presented as a clear path forward, the only viable option to manage seizures and hopefully, return to a semblance of a "normal" life. My treatment staff assured me it would help, that it was a necessary step, a bridge back to a life unburdened by the unpredictable terror of seizures. 

I clung to that hope, believing with every fiber of my being that this medication would be my liberation. What no one, not even the most well-intentioned doctors, truly prepared me for was the subtle, yet devastating, way it began to reshape my personality, my very essence

It wasn't a sudden, dramatic shift that could not be easily identified and addressed, but a gradual erosion, like sand slipping through my fingers, each grain representing a piece of my former self. It was stuck in a trance, watching the sand slip through my fingers as I became a stranger, not just to those around me who had known me intimately for years, but profoundly, terrifyingly, to myself…..and there was nothing I could do about it. 

The vibrant, empathetic, and joyful parts of me seemed to dim, overshadowed and eventually replaced by a pervasive irritability, a quickness to anger I’d never possessed before. Little things, once easily dismissed with a shrug or a laugh, would now ignite a furious blaze within me, leaving me bewildered and ashamed by my own disproportionate reactions.

My thoughts felt perpetually muddy, as though a constant, oppressive fog had descended upon my mind, making clarity an almost unattainable dream. It was like trying to navigate a dense forest without a compass or flashlight, every decision, every thought, an agonizing struggle. 

My emotions became a wild, unpredictable rollercoaster I couldn’t control, swinging wildly from a desperate, crushing sadness that bordered on despair, to a simmering, uncontrollable rage, all without a discernible or rational cause. 

The hardest, most agonizing part was watching the devastating ripple effect on my relationships, the very bonds that had once defined my world.

Family and friends, the people who knew me best, who had seen me through countless challenges and celebrated countless joys, started to pull away. I could see the confusion, the hurt, and the palpable fear in their eyes. Their expressions mirrored my own internal chaos, a silent testament to the person I had become. They didn’t know who I was anymore. And truthfully, neither did I. I felt like I was screaming from the inside begging for help as the chains of confusion, depression and anxiety started to wrap around my body.

The person staring back in the mirror wasn't the Jaycee they knew, or even the Jaycee I remembered. A disconnect so profound that even looking in the mirror became impossible. I was imprisoned within a reflection that was no longer my own and I fucking hated it.

I felt like an unbearable burden, a heavy, suffocating weight on the shoulders of everyone who cared about me. I perceived myself as a relentless source of constant stress and profound disappointment, a disruptive force to the peace and harmony of those around me; when I thought I was a source of joy and laughter. 

Every bad thing that happened, every tense moment, every raised voice, I instinctively attributed to this new, unrecognizable, and deeply flawed version of myself. I felt like I had single-handedly put the lives of everyone around me in a terrible, untenable position, simply by existing in this changed, unstable state. The guilt gnawed at me with a relentless persistence, a constant, agonizing companion and I justed wanted to slip away.

The self-loathing was intense, a relentless, churning tide that threatened to drown me in its bitter depths. I hated the person I had become, despised the stranger that looked back at me from every single reflective surface, a chilling reminder of my lost identity. 

I hated the situation I felt I had created for everyone I loved, the palpable tension I sensed whenever I entered a room, as if my very presence sucked the air out of it.  The exhaustion was profound, not just physical, a deep weariness in my bones, but an emotional and spiritual fatigue that settled deep in my soul. I was so tired of what I perceived as letting everyone down, of constantly failing to be the person they, and I, remembered and longed for.

It got to the point where the thought of continuing to navigate this unbearable existence, feeling like a perpetual disappointment, with people no longer knowing who I was and myself completely losing touch with my own identity, became utterly unbearable. The cumulative weight of it all was crushing, pressing down on me until I felt I couldn't breathe.

It was easier to wish I wasn't here anymore, to simply cease to exist, to disappear without a trace, than to stick around with the relentless stress and the constant, agonizing feeling of being a stranger in my own skin, imprisoned within a self I no longer recognized and utterly despised. The desire for escape, for an end to the internal torment, became a persistent whisper, growing louder with each passing day.

As I revisit some of my blog posts now, with the benefit of some distance and perspective, I realize they are more than just words on a page. They are a raw and honest reflection of my desperate struggle with the new, unrecognizable person I had become, and how intensely I despised being in my own skin. 

Each title, each paragraph, each raw emotion etched into the digital canvas of these posts, is a powerful testament to the internal battle I faced, a battle that was as much about reclaiming my lost identity as it was about simply surviving each painful day. 

It was a fight to hold onto the dwindling essence of who I was, even as it seemed to slip further and further away with each passing moment.

This period was a dark and profoundly self-isolating time, a stark and painful testament to how profoundly medication can impact not just our physical bodies and their functions, but the very core of our sense of self, our personality, and our emotional landscape. 

An unforgettable lesson in the complexities of medical treatment, the profound and often unpredictable individuality of reactions to medication, and the desperate, urgent need for open and honest communication, coupled with unwavering self-advocacy, even when the person advocating feels utterly lost, incapable of articulating their own immense suffering, and disconnected from their own reality. 

It underscored, with brutal clarity, the crucial importance of truly listening to one's body, its subtle whispers and its desperate cries, even when the voice of that body feels muffled, distorted, and almost unrecognizable by external influences and the crushing weight of the medication's effects.

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If you or someone you know is currently experiencing a difficult period, struggling with mental health challenges, or contemplating self-harm, confidential and immediate support is available.

You can connect with compassionate and trained professionals by dialing 988. This national hotline provides a vital lifeline, offering guidance, resources, and a safe space to talk through distressing emotions.

Remember, reaching out is a sign of strength, and help is readily accessible.

If the situation is an immediate crisis, where there is a clear and present danger to life or limb, please do not hesitate to call 911.