Reading “The Woman Who Changed Her Brain”, I have been thinking a lot about how I’ve managed to bounce back in my own life and rebuild / rewire my own brain. Life after TBI is absolutely strange. I haven’t recognized myself for years, and I thought for sure I was gone for good.
But I’m not. I’m still here. And I’m feeling more “back” than I thought I ever would or could.
So, where does that happen? How does it happen? I’ve gotten some great help from a neuropsych over the past 5 years or so, but to be honest, for all the progress they’ve seen me make, they probably don’t have a clue about what all goes on inside my head. How could they? When we talk, I feel so incredibly slow, and half the time, I can’t seem to get the words out that I want to say.
It. Is. So. Frustrating.
It’s maddening. But they don’t seem to understand that the things I want to say, aren’t getting through.
And then I become so frustrated with myself, so fed up and overwhelmed… that I just say what sounds good at the moment and keeps the pace moving. I sound quite confident, because I know how to project that. But inside, I feel like I’m dying.
Good grief. It’s really bad, some days, but I don’t have the heart (or the energy) to slow things down and make it clear that I am not really following, that I haven’t understood a word they said, and I’m sitting there nodding and looking all “with it” — without a clue about what we’re supposed to be talking about.
For someone who has always considered themself quick and sharp, this is pretty dispiriting. I mean, I’ve always had trouble understanding people, but I’ve never felt this slow before. I could always engage in witty banter, during my teen and adult years, before my TBI in 2004. After that, nothing was funny, and I couldn’t muster the quickness to parlay and banter about.
It just feels so slow. And I don’t know how to describe or explain it to my neuropsych. It bothers me so much, I want to cry. But I can’t cry with my neuropsych, because when I break down, I feel terrible and I have a hard time functioning. I get overwhelmed, and that’s no good, when my neuropsych is located 25 miles from my home. I have to be able to drive home.
I just don’t know what to do. Maybe I need to write them a letter and explain the situation. I’m not sure that will help. I’m not sure they’ll believe me. But something tells me I need to at least try. Draw them a picture. Something. I just need someone to witness in person the stuff I’m going through and understand … even if I don’t look like I’m struggling. Even if I’m covering it all up really well.
The thing is, I am recovering in so many ways, and that has really happened here – on this blog – where I can “speak” my mind and not worry about repercussions. Writing is so much easier for me than talking. Talking gets me turned around, and it’s hard for me to pay attention. I hate discussing things and “working them through” with people. So much gets lost in the translation. So much wasted. So much missed. I just give up after a while and let them think they’ve “won”. I can’t seem to keep up with the flow of conversation. I need a better way to communicate — at least with my neuropsych.
Eh… I’ll figure it out.
Or I won’t. And I’ll keep blogging, keep writing, and keep on with my recovery. Whether or not my neuropsych “gets it”.