It was much more embarrassing to me when I didn’t know what was happening to me. I’m lucky (or maybe cursed) to have primarily myoclonic seizures, so I got the nickname Twitchy from my parents and my mom thought I was making up my seizures either as an excuse to get out of things or I was just being a spaz. I developed epilepsy in high school and I’d have random limb jerking that tosses things across the room and whatnot, freaking everyone out around me (in my attempt to seem “normal” I’d just shrug it off or give finger guns, which is now my auto response to anyone seeing me seize which is super embarrassing because I don’t realize I’ve pulled ye ol’ fingies out until they’re pointing). My first full body seizure wasn’t recognized as a seizure so I was just “the person who woke people up with an ambulance ride at 8am” in my dorms freshman year. Looking back I had massive auras for the twenty or so minutes leading up to it and I really should’ve just sat down but whoops. Second (known) gran mal is when I finally learned I had been suffering seizures for years. My doctor is…not great. Didn’t do anything for me other than write me a prescription and send me to a sleep clinic (which he only did because I suffer extreme tiredness all the time, been five years and he just doesn’t seem to care about figuring it out anymore). He called it random young adult female seizures to me out loud, but it wasn’t until I saw him reading a note to himself about me that read “epilepsy” that I finally got confirmation that I’m an epileptic. Could grow out of it, might not, point is my doctor isn’t very helpful. Nowadays my mom is in denial that I’m an epileptic and still seems to think I can control when my seizures happen (although at least she accepts that they are something real and not gaslighting them away). People still tiptoe around me and my partner gets noticeably anxious and doe-eyed when I’m having a bad spell, but at least I can say “it’s just a seizure, I’m good.” I’m not ashamed of the seizures themselves anymore, but I am ashamed of the things that I sometimes do during them. Accidentally jerked my hand repeatedly on some random guy’s stomach at a con (funny in one way, horrifying to have lived it), dropped half a bucket of popcorn on a stranger in an IMAX (my anxiety and my subconscious morbid sense of humor only let me say “a gift” to him before I fled the scene), and since they’re mostly in my arms I look like I’m DJing a turn table sometimes so I’ll do a real bad record scratch impression afterward to lighten the terror. I’m thankful that my friends and partner have always been there to help if I need them and quick to help me clean up.