I tried to be rational once, when I was twelve. I refused to ward off the evil eye by sewing salt into the hem of my dress. And my hair caught fire. So can you blame me for thinking magically?
It's over a week since my last seizure so I'm in high heels. Because if I believe I'll never fall again, maybe the universe will give me back my equilibrium. But just in case the universe sees the heels less as an act of faith and more as a stupid risk, I'm getting lots of sleep and eating my greens. And I'm counting magpies, avoiding ladders and carrying salt. I'm really on top of this not-falling thing. I'm in control.
Seizures are so random, so chaotic that I can completely see why, if I was medieval, I'd believe I was possessed; I feel so out-of-control that it’s almost like I'm being controlled. And I hate that so, to create the illusion of control, well I've got heels, I've got greens, I've got magpies.
Only schizophrenics see cause in every coincidence. But a bit of thinking magically can make you more creative and more confident—and non-magical thinking is linked to anhedonia. So maybe it's not so bad.
Usually when I'm not falling I don't tell anyone, in case that jinxes it...