It all goes grey.
Everything, all at once, grey, like the color filter's been removed from the world. Monochrome, greyscale. Muffled. I barely have enough time to look up, to register that something has gone wrong; barely enough to catch his eye, and I am falling...
I fall forever.
I am not aware. I am not myself. I know nothing save that something is wrong.
And that I am alone, here in the grey.
When I am aware of my body, it shifts. Arms lengthen. Hands grow and shrink. I cannot feel.
I used to have a body, didn't I? And thoughts?
It is so quiet in here.
Still, still, still falling.
I try to fight, to get back to the before that must have been.
The fighting is forever.
The falling is forever.
This will never end.
Crash of noise and color and I am out, and he's crouched down beside me holding my hand, and my brain is too tired to think, and my body is too tired to move, electrical cascade firing everything at once...
I slip away again, into normal sleep. Helpless.
Happy Rabbit Hole Day.
For a whole day, experience some other life, perhaps in some other place or time, or perhaps as some other person. Alice chased a white rabbit down a hole and found herself in a world where none of the rules could be relied on; why not do the same?
Generally, one writes fiction for Rabbit Hole Day. This year, in tribute to Lewis Carroll, I wrote nonfiction.
You see, Carroll and I have something in common - temporal lobe epilepsy, complex partial seizures. And it's been theorized that Alice was his way of fictionalizing a temporal lobe seizure. All of the points fit. I could have made this very long indeed had I had a chance to re-read the book with this in mind recently. But the falling, the unreliability of one's own body from one second to the next, the near-hallucinogenic state, micropsia/macropsia...
That's all there. Common TLE seizure markers, scattered through Alice.
And through me.
The grey is my own. I usually don't have a seizure aura (precursor, warning), but when I do, it is the grey - world stripped of color, muffled, and then I am falling forever, sometimes drifting, sometimes fighting when I can remember that there is a life outside the grey to fight for. My complex partial seizures last 3-5 minutes in subjective time (simple partials can be mere seconds); they last hours in subjective time, hours in my head when I'm aware of them, when I don't just blink out and blink back in disoriented and afraid and exhausted.
The Carroll connections will be in Seizure Lass, and I'm working up a calendar to get work done on that.