When you have partial onset seizures, your body might jerk, your vision might blur, or you might feel a strange rising sensation in your stomach. But what no one talks about until it’s too late is how these seizures quietly eat away at your mind. The fear before a seizure. The shame after one. The loneliness when friends stop asking if you’re okay. This isn’t just about brain waves-it’s about your emotional life unraveling, one episode at a time.

The Hidden Link Between Seizures and Mood

Partial onset seizures start in one part of the brain, often the temporal lobe. That’s the same area that controls emotions, memory, and how you process fear. When a seizure fires off there, it doesn’t just disrupt your muscles or senses-it stirs up your feelings. People with these seizures are three times more likely to develop depression than the general population. Anxiety isn’t rare either. In fact, nearly half of those diagnosed report constant worry about when the next seizure will strike.

It’s not just the seizures themselves. The brain changes that cause seizures can also make you more sensitive to stress. Your amygdala, the fear center, becomes hyperactive. Your hippocampus, which helps regulate mood, shrinks slightly over time. These aren’t theoretical changes. Brain scans show them clearly in people who’ve had seizures for more than five years. You’re not imagining your sadness. It’s wired into your biology.

Living in the Shadow of the Next Episode

Imagine driving to work, and suddenly you feel that familiar buzz in your chest-the aura. You know what’s coming. You pull over, but you’re still terrified someone will see you. You’ve had this happen three times this month. You stopped telling your coworkers you have seizures because they started looking at you differently. Your boss noticed you were late twice last week. You didn’t say why. You just said you weren’t feeling well.

This is the daily cost of partial onset seizures. It’s not the seizure that hurts the most-it’s the anticipation. The hypervigilance. The way you cancel plans last minute because you ‘don’t feel up to it.’ The way you avoid crowded places, public transit, even showers alone. You start measuring your life in seizure-free days. And when you have one? The guilt hits harder than the convulsion. You feel like a burden. A liability. Like your brain betrayed you.

Depression Isn’t Just ‘Feeling Down’

Depression in people with partial onset seizures looks different than textbook depression. It’s not always crying or sleeping too much. Sometimes it’s numbness. You stop caring about things you used to love. Cooking, reading, hiking-you still do them, but there’s no joy. No spark. Just obligation.

Studies from the Canadian Epilepsy Alliance show that 60% of patients with drug-resistant partial seizures report depressive symptoms severe enough to interfere with daily life. But only 22% are ever screened for it. Why? Because doctors focus on stopping the seizures. They forget to ask: ‘How are you feeling?’

Medications can make it worse. Some antiseizure drugs, like topiramate and phenobarbital, are linked to lower mood. But stopping them isn’t an option. So you’re stuck between two bad choices: seizures or sadness. No wonder so many people feel trapped.

Anxiety: The Constant Companion

Anxiety isn’t just nervousness. For someone with partial onset seizures, it’s a survival mode that never turns off. You check your phone every five minutes for a text from someone who knows your schedule. You avoid elevators, stairs, even swimming pools. You don’t sleep well because you’re afraid you’ll seize in your sleep and no one will find you.

Some people develop a condition called anticipatory anxiety-where the fear of having a seizure becomes worse than the seizure itself. One woman I spoke with in Calgary told me she stopped leaving her house for six months. Not because she was having seizures every day. But because the thought of one outside her home made her feel like she was going to collapse.

And then there’s the stigma. People still think seizures mean you’re ‘crazy’ or ‘unstable.’ You hear whispers at the grocery store. You see the look when you explain you can’t drive. You start lying. ‘I’m just tired.’ ‘I had a migraine.’ You become an expert at hiding.

What Helps-And What Doesn’t

Medication alone won’t fix this. Antiseizure drugs reduce the number of seizures, but they don’t touch the emotional toll. Therapy does. Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), specifically adapted for epilepsy, has been shown to cut anxiety and depression symptoms by nearly 50% in clinical trials. It teaches you to challenge thoughts like, ‘I’m broken,’ or ‘No one will ever understand me.’

Support groups matter too. Sitting in a room with others who know exactly what you mean-without having to explain-is powerful. You realize you’re not alone. You’re not weak. You’re just living with a brain that works differently.

Exercise helps. Not because it ‘cures’ anything, but because it gives you back control. Walking every morning. Yoga on weekends. Even dancing alone in your kitchen. Movement tells your brain: ‘You’re still here. You’re still you.’

What doesn’t help? Ignoring it. Telling yourself to ‘just be positive.’ Bottling it up. Waiting for someone else to notice you’re struggling. That’s when things spiral.

When to Ask for Help

You don’t have to wait until you’re in crisis. If you’ve felt hopeless for more than two weeks. If you’ve lost interest in things you used to enjoy. If you’re avoiding people because you’re afraid they’ll judge you. If you’re having thoughts like, ‘I wish I didn’t wake up.’-those aren’t signs of weakness. They’re red flags.

Ask your neurologist for a referral to a psychologist who works with epilepsy patients. Bring a friend to your appointment if you’re nervous. Write down your feelings ahead of time. You don’t need to be ‘broken’ to deserve help. You just need to be human.

You Are More Than Your Seizures

It’s easy to forget, but your identity isn’t defined by your diagnosis. You’re still the person who laughs too loud at bad jokes. The one who remembers everyone’s birthday. The cook who makes the best chili. The dreamer who still wants to travel. The seizures are a part of your life, not the whole story.

Healing doesn’t mean never having another seizure. It means learning to live with them without losing yourself. It means finding people who see you-not your brain’s misfires. It means giving yourself permission to feel sad, angry, scared-and still choose to keep going.

Your brain may have seizures. But your heart? It’s still beating. And that’s where your strength lives.