When nobody believes what you have to say

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.

Please.

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.

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Author: brokenbrilliant

I am a long-term multiple (mild) Traumatic Brain Injury (mTBI or TBI) survivor who experienced assaults, falls, car accidents, sports-related injuries in the 1960s, '70s, '80s, and '90s. My last mild TBI was in 2004, but it was definitely the worst of the lot. I never received medical treatment for my injuries, some of which were sports injuries (and you have to get back in the game!), but I have been living very successfully with cognitive/behavioral (social, emotional, functional) symptoms and complications since I was a young kid. I’ve done it so well, in fact, that virtually nobody knows that I sustained those injuries… and the folks who do know, haven’t fully realized just how it’s impacted my life. It has impacted my life, however. In serious and debilitating ways. I’m coming out from behind the shields I’ve put up, in hopes of successfully addressing my own (invisible) challenges and helping others to see that sustaining a TBI is not the end of the world, and they can, in fact, live happy, fulfilled, productive lives in spite of it all.

2 thoughts on “When nobody believes what you have to say”

  1. I always get distracted and don’t get around to bringing up some of the issues I’m having, so they don’t get addressed.

    Then the next time, I make a list, only I forget and leave it at home.

    Then the next time I make the list on my phone so I know I’ll have it with me, but I get caught up in the doctor talking and forget to show them.

    I get out the door and feel like Ralphie in “A Christmas Story”, when he’s so overwhelmed by the store Santa, doesn’t ask for his Red Ryder BB gun, then clings for dear life to the slide on the way down, yelling what he REALLY wants. I want to rush back in and yell “Wait! I know you’ve finished talking and moved on, but I’m not done!”

    Only I don’t. I sit in my car and mentally kick myself for the distractability that is exactly the thing I can’t ever focus enough to tell them about. And then I go home.

    Like

  2. Ah, ha – so we’re definitely not alone in that. There are at least two of us on the planet who share this experience.

    I used to get so upset with myself for forgetting to mention things. I still do, somewhat, but it’s a lot less intense than it used to be. I’ve kind of settled into a resignation around it — I half expect it.

    The other piece of things is that sometimes I’ll show up wanting to talk about something, but it doesn’t seem to interest my doc, or even register. That is especially frustrating.

    So, I just “take it offline” as they say, and I work on things separately. Sometimes it’s actually better that way. Sometimes it takes so looong to explain myself, and even then I don’t feel like I’m really getting through.

    Well, I’m still here, still learning. And that’s a great analogy to the Christmas Story scene — it’s perfect.

    Like

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