So, this is interesting. The neuropsych that I’ve been seeing for over six years has finally — finally — gotten it through their head that I have more issues than they realized, or wanted to acknowledge. For years, we’ve been working on my attitude, getting my outlook out of the muck and mire of my crappy moods, and focusing on getting me to realize that I’m not that bad of a person, after all.
That’s all very well and good, and it’s important work for me to do. But I’m not sure they ever realized the extent to which TBIs have screwed up my general functioning. Things like my piss-poor memory, my impulse control issues, and behavior that just is NOT like me or how I want to be… Yeah, it’s been extremely disorienting, and discouraging.
But I haven’t been able to articulate that out loud to another person, especially my neuropsych.
I’ve been trying for years to articulate it, but every time I try, I get stuck and I can’t get the words together properly. Part of the problem is that the conversations we have move too damn’ fast for me to keep up with. When I’m writing things down and able to process them, or I’m coming up with ideas myself, it’s one thing. But when someone is sitting across a desk from me, engaging me in a conversation, and they say something I’m not really sure about — or that I didn’t even hear properly — responding appropriately is a huge challenge.
And a lot of times it doesn’t happen.
So, I just respond. I settle for whatever comes to mind, and I put that out there. And it passes for a response.
Or I just nod and smile, “Yeah, okay,” and it sounds like I’m agreeing. But I haven’t had the chance to really think it through and come up with a genuine response based on what I think and feel.
And in the process, I guess people get the idea that I:
A) agree with them and/or
B) “get” what they’re saying
When nothing of the kind is happening.
But stopping the conversation in mid-stream is so demoralizing, and I feel so stupid and slow, like everything is sludge moving through my brain, I just can’t bring myself to admit that I’m lost. Or that I have to give what they’re talking about some more thought before I respond.
And then there’s the whole background business, where my head is working in Dolby 5.1 and Technicolor and 3D, but my mouth can only come up with some lame little idea blurted out, because I can’t think of anything else to say, and it’s just too demoralizing to ask for more time.
Hell, even if I get more time, there’s no guarantee I’m going to be able to say what I’m thinking. Because I think in pictures and in surround sound, but spoken words only go so far.
So, anyway, it’s actually less of a problem for me, than it is for my neuropsych. I hate to break it to them, but a ton of my recovery has happened here on this blog and in my life, and a lot of it has happened not because of their help, but in spite of it. They’ve said some seriously screwed-up things to me, which I paid no attention to. Things like, “Don’t keep lists of everything. You’re much higher functioning than that.” Ha! Right. Or, “Make sure you get at least 8 hours of sleep a night, minimum.” As though that will ever happen predictably.
In many ways, they have helped me a great deal — especially because they have been a regular presence in my life on a weekly basis for quite some time. But they’re not nearly as effective as they seem to think they are, and watching them get so uncomfortable over not being The One (And Only One) who got my head screwed on straight, is interesting.
Anyway, I feel kind of badly for them. They really try. But there’s a sh*t-ton of stuff they don’t know about me, because A) they haven’t looked for it, and B) even when I told them about it, they didn’t hear or believe me.
Oh, well. So it goes with TBI. When you’re brain-injured, people are either all Woo-Hoo-We-Believe-In-You, bending over backwards to show how accepting and supportive they are, or they freak out and flatly deny that you’ve got issues and treat you like you’re making it all up to get attention.
Hidden away from plain sight, our issues continue on. Some days are better than others. The best days are when the opinions of others matter less than not-at-all.