Solice in Forgetting

The best thing about amnesia is that I forget details. Things like that backhanded f*cked up comment my neighbor made about how I screwed up my mom’s life by needing her to give me a place to live, and her laughing and agreeing. How it screwed up her office space and how she had to move it (her office) into her house instead of this loft I’m now living in.

Ya, I heard the beginning of that conversation at our neighbor’s get together, until they saw me glare over and everything turned to whispers and giggling.

I’m glad I don’t recall the exact words and phrases they used, because it would spin angrily through my thoughts at every moment of every day that has passed since then. I would get eaten alive by those words.

I’m glad they hushed themselves so I couldn’t hear the snide remarks or the fact that my own mother didn’t stuck up for me against her friend’s and neighbor’s ignorance and cruelty. Way to be y’all. Way to f*cking be. Is that what “compassion” has become? A way to be cruel? No thanks!

I wish I didn’t need this much help. I wish I could live on my own with all of this brain injury crap. I wish I wasn’t thought of as an inconvenience,  unworthy of factual justification or to be stood up for against bully-type ignorance.

I don’t care that she didn’t stick up for me or my situation (that I cannot control.. if I could, I most definitely would!) I don’t care that she’s not angry that I haven’t gotten the rehabilitation and cognitive therapies I require in order to live a more independent life — or that I’ve been neglected by professionals. I don’t care that she doesn’t care.

All that apathy does is make me want to get the f*ck out of here all the quicker. It makes me want to beat the impossible. It makes me want to do what shouldn’t be able to be accomplished with my kinds of problems after a major TBI.

Hell, that’s what pushed me away as a teenager (age 16) to grow up too fast in the first place… apathy. Maybe it’ll work again now. We’ll see. All I do know is, the hell with half-asses. The hell with people being so damned full of themselves that they lose dignity and humanity at the same time. I don’t subscribe to or belong to that tribe of fools, and I NEVER will.

I’m glad I cannot remember why to hate people, because I detest hatred – but I’m very well aware that I could hate if I so chose to. I’d have plenty of reasons why and nobody would fault me for them. Not if they heard why.

___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

I know everyone is struggling with something, but Brain Injuries seem to be the least understood. There are a lot of false stigmas about it. Many people think that the symptoms are not genuine and that people who have brain injuries are not genuinely suffering. This is not the case. We’re not lazy, or faking it, or acting. We’d rather not be living this way. If we could control it we’d go back to normal and live productive and fulfilling lives. We can’t. Brain healing takes decades if not a life time.

Even with as much healing as the brain can manage, nothing comes back 100%. Our lives never return to a level we can truly manage without help. This seems rather dismal, but it is the truth. There is no cure. There are only so many and certain amounts of treatments that affect any change. After all is said and done, we’re stuck with the life altering, life long effects.

Until next time.. Thanks for reading.

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2 thoughts on “Solice in Forgetting

  1. I have to admit, my mom does care. She’s going through her own nightmares and she isn’t as apathetic as my angry rant makes her seem. What I’m truly still hurt by are the doctors who not only neglected me but lied to me as well. What I’m angry about are the countless people’s lives they touch, and that they can dictate our quality of life without caring that they could do more to improve it. They took oaths. They made promises to their fields of expertise before ever seeing a first patient. They have power over lives. Perhaps they don’t realize how much. Perhaps they aren’t able to care as deeply as their profession requires. Maybe they used to, but have too many patients to even make those kinds of differences anymore. My doctor (the current one) promised me personally to do all he could to help me improve the quality of my life. He’s also lied, denied, and neglected my basic needs. I’m torn. I don’t want to lose faith in an entire profession, but the medical care system seems to be broken beyond repair or pittance. . . I don’t know what to have faith in anymore other than my own resolve. I cannot force my doctor to do (at the very least) his basic job duties.

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  2. For the record, I wasn’t writing (or feeling) about hating my mom or our neighbors/friends. I was feeling intense anger about how little is understood about what I’m going through, not only to those closest to me, but from my Doctor and other medical professions I sought help from since my accident. That’s the “hating people” I was referring to. My Mom is actually been a saint. She’s provided me with a safe place to live. With clothing, extra food when I need it, with emotional and loving support, and does all she can to help me feel safe and comfortable (along with my Dad.) I’m trying not to hate the situation or myself, either. I’m doing my best not to allow resentment, malice, or any other menacing emotions to invade and poison my mind and heart. With as much injustice as I’ve gone through, it’s hard not to harbor those invasive and negative emotions. Every bit of my might, resolution, constitution and dignity/humility stops me from becoming monstrously angry and hateful, vengeful even. It scares me how angry and hurt I can be. I do my very best to keep cool, keep logical, and to see the bigger picture, which is a TALL order with memory loss. I feel I have to constantly reassess my surroundings and my recent history. It’s like reliving nightmares while awake, every day/week/month. It’s tiring, and weighs heavily on me. Even still, I do my best.

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