10-3-15 - It always amazes me when people start talking about the actions of
people with brain injuries. Like, they
think they can somehow understand the loss of control, the loneliness, the
isolation, the anger, the frustration….amazing, really.
They think they understand the motivations and actions of someone who was one person one day and the next, woke up with a fucked up brain that differed greatly from the one they grew up with. Literally, you wake up one day and suddenly you process everything differently. Language, sound, texture, light, noise, speech, thought, color, pattern, function….all of it - ALL of it - is suddenly completely foreign. And the normies sit there like they have a clue. Like they have any idea what it's like. And they judge you. They think they understand who you ARE, when the reality is, they (and you!) only understand who you WERE, and they use those outmoded constructs to try to interpret who and what you are post-injury. It's unreal. You wake up in a new body, a new mind and you're expected to continue to follow the plot, stay in the lines.
No one can fathom that today you woke up and you no longer understand your own neurology. Your speech, your thoughts, your actions, your emotions are no longer your own - they are new and foreign and that is sad. The isolation is, at times, so isolating as to feel like being physically locked in a box. Remember that movie from the 1970s, the one with John Travolta - Bubble Boy? He was immunodeficient or something (long before anyone knew WTF AIDS was, or was going to become) and had to live in a plastic bubble. So, boo hoo wah, he couldn't touch anyone, hug anyone, etc. (Yeah, the "boo hoo wah" shit is just me doing my usual shitty job of deflecting, as the shrinks call it. Shut up, and put your feelings in a box like I have done with mine. Feelings are icky and gross and bitch, if I let MINE out, you will see some major Pandora's Box shit happen up in here. And they will attack and you don't want that (cue that song from the late 80s or early 90s "I've got the Power" - I totally forget the title and the artist, but I'm confident that iTunes can hook a lady up with some info. I'll get back to you on that).
Peace out, home slices.
They think they understand the motivations and actions of someone who was one person one day and the next, woke up with a fucked up brain that differed greatly from the one they grew up with. Literally, you wake up one day and suddenly you process everything differently. Language, sound, texture, light, noise, speech, thought, color, pattern, function….all of it - ALL of it - is suddenly completely foreign. And the normies sit there like they have a clue. Like they have any idea what it's like. And they judge you. They think they understand who you ARE, when the reality is, they (and you!) only understand who you WERE, and they use those outmoded constructs to try to interpret who and what you are post-injury. It's unreal. You wake up in a new body, a new mind and you're expected to continue to follow the plot, stay in the lines.
No one can fathom that today you woke up and you no longer understand your own neurology. Your speech, your thoughts, your actions, your emotions are no longer your own - they are new and foreign and that is sad. The isolation is, at times, so isolating as to feel like being physically locked in a box. Remember that movie from the 1970s, the one with John Travolta - Bubble Boy? He was immunodeficient or something (long before anyone knew WTF AIDS was, or was going to become) and had to live in a plastic bubble. So, boo hoo wah, he couldn't touch anyone, hug anyone, etc. (Yeah, the "boo hoo wah" shit is just me doing my usual shitty job of deflecting, as the shrinks call it. Shut up, and put your feelings in a box like I have done with mine. Feelings are icky and gross and bitch, if I let MINE out, you will see some major Pandora's Box shit happen up in here. And they will attack and you don't want that (cue that song from the late 80s or early 90s "I've got the Power" - I totally forget the title and the artist, but I'm confident that iTunes can hook a lady up with some info. I'll get back to you on that).
Peace out, home slices.
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