The mind-body dualism: A Cartesian approach to epilepsy

Warning: this may be boring to some viewers.

Epilepsy is frustrating in that it both a mental and physical disability, yet at the same time, it is neither. Consequently, it carries with it the social stigma associated with mental disorders and the limitations of a physical one. A physical episode is scary to witness and often mimicked. The perceived "mental" manifestations (slurred speech,  confusion, and absence) are often mistaken for stupidity or intoxication. But it is unique in that, for me at least, it manifests in episodes. You wouldn't know from looking at me that I have epilepsy. Yet I am gripped, seized, by the physical manifestation of the disorder and consequently cannot drive. Accompanying that is the mental confusion, the occasional bout of total incomprehension, and mental medicinal side effects. So is this disorder physical or mental? One could argue that everything is mental. Everything is compiled in the brain for analyzation and reaction. But there is still a distinct social division between the mental and physical. A broken limb is treated topically, soothed with flowers and get-well cards. A disorganized, I hesitate to say broken, mind is treated with expensive medications, compounded by ostracism. This may sound a little melodramatic, but I believe it is true. So where does this complex, poorly-understood disorder belong? In Grey's Anatomy or the DSM?

You could argue that all physical ailments are mental; that a broken limb is the result of the mind's inability to produce enough substance to strengthen the bone and thus resist breakage. You could also argue that all mental illnesses are solely the result of physical chemical imbalances. But I find that, true to human nature, we want to categorize disabilities.

I choose to discard this Cartesian approach to mind-body dualism and instead argue for a more fluid definition. The mind is not separate from the body, the body is not disconnected from the mind. It follows that the two need not be semantically differentiated; the body is the mind and the mind is the body. We could argue the specifics of this stance forever, but for me, this is the truth. My neurological disorder affects my physical being, and my physical relationship with the external world affects my neurological state.

We could, of course, add a spiritual element to this. In the past, and even now, epileptic fits have been attributed to everything from demonic possession to manifestations of divine personhood. As a not-so-spiritual person, I hesitate to expand on this, but I beleive it carries a degree of merit. There is something about missing time, memory loss, and complete loss of physical control that makes me feel like something else inhabits my body for a while. I know, scientifically, what is happening. And I'm sure we've all had moments where we "weren't ourself". Feeling like someone or something else is driving your body is probably the hardest thing to explain about epilepsy, but it's there. And it's the most frustrating, kinda cool, thing ever. Maybe I'll just change my name to John Malkovich.