First, let me say, I really like my therapist. They are insightful, patient, kind, and they let me just say what I need to say, without getting alarmed.
But they don’t know about brain injury, and there are some things I wish they understood.
Like the fact that my brain doesn’t work like other people’s brains, and the assumptions they make about the source of my problems may not be accurate.
Specifically, I was talking last week about a relationship that’s very close to me, and they started talking about me being “codependent” with this person. Okay, first off, I’m brain-injured. That means I need to depend on others for things that regularly functioning people don’t have to. I do not necessarily have the capacity to be fully independent in all things. I’ve tried it in the past, and it didn’t work. Even when I thought I was being independent, I was doing a piss-poor job of it.
Take, for example, the six months or so that I lived all alone, back in 1990. I’d broken up from a long-term relationship that wasn’t working, in February 1990, and then I got into another relationship with someone who was a pretty good caretaker, then got into drug and alcohol abuse, and I had to leave them, too. From about June until November, 1990 (when I met the person I’ve lived with pretty much ever since) I was on my own, taking care of myself and my apartment, going about my regular business. I was making art, drawing, sculpting, making pottery, writing, living my life… you name it. Things were pretty good, and I was doing a passable job of taking care of myself.
On the surface I was, anyway.
What most people couldn’t see, was that i wasn’t taking care of myself properly. I didn’t keep my place very neat, I didn’t eat right — I ate mostly rice and beans and steamed carrots and peas. I rarely ate a balanced meal. I didn’t go out much at all, but stayed inside and wrote and drew and listened to the radio. I had a very limited range of motion, and I wasn’t able to cultivate many friendships. I was employed for a while, then I had to leave my job and start temping because of physical issues that arose from me not taking care of myself. I was smoking a pack of cigarettes a day, and I was living in a constant fog and daze, unaware of what was going on around me, going through the motions without realizing that was what I was doing.
When I think back, I’m amazed I did as well as I did.
Then I met the person I’ve been with since then, and things started to turn around — here was someone that was able to interact with the rest of the world, whom I could “cue” off… I could follow their lead and watch what they did, and imitate their manners and get by. This person was so lively and social and so popular and in-demand with everyone them. They knew how to make people feel safe and valued and secure and happy… they were exactly the kind of person I wanted to be like. And when I followed their lead and behaved like they behaved, then I could experience life like they did, which was a much brighter and more vibrant way of living than my own. And I could buy myself time to figure out what was going on around me, by following their example and satisfying basic social requirements that others expected me to fulfill.
Writing this for others to read, it might sound like I’m just a shell of a person who just runs around and imitates others to get by. And in a way, it’s true. Left to my own devices, my range of motion in the world is so dramatically limited — I don’t feel comfortable out in public, because it’s so overwhelming for my senses. Given a choice between doing something productive and sitting motionless for hours, my brain will choose the latter. Given the choice between interacting with others and writing 100 pages of repetitive “insights” about an hour of my day, I’ll go with the writing. Given the choice (at the end of the day) between eating a full meal that takes an hour to prepare, and snacking on crackers and goat cheese, I’ll choose the snack.
It’s not that I don’t value myself. It’s not that I’m sucked into a relationship that’s compromised by codependence. It’s that I’m in a relationship that makes room for my dependence.
Calling me “codependent” makes me feel deficient. It makes me feel ashamed. I need more help than other people to do the kinds of things most people just take for granted. Given the choice between the normal thing that takes a lot of effort for me, and the irregular thing that my brain can handle without undue stress and strain, I’ll opt for the latter — and I’ll never realize there is anything wrong with it. That doesn’t make me bad, it doesn’t make me flawed. It doesn’t make me a basket case. It means I’m dealing with the limitations of a brain injury — a hidden disability that others have no idea is there, and they have no idea about the extent to which it affects me. Even I don’t fully realize it, most of the time. And people who jump to conclusions about me being psychologically compromised because of behavior that is brain-injury related really need to study up on anosognosia, before they start judging me and my life choices.
I’m realizing more and more each day, that I’m having a lot of trouble with the terminology that’s being used with me by my therapist — codependent… denial… shame… trauma… It feels to me like things that go hand-in-hand with brain injuries, are being interpreted as psychological/emotional issues…. and they get interpreted as things that I can change at will. As things that a little self-awareness and psychotherapy will solve. My question is, if an issue has neurological roots, how can a brain that’s been impacted be expected to fully grasp and deal with what’s going on with it?
It could be that I am never fully independent. I never have been, as much as I’ve wanted to be, and I may never turn out that way. But I don’t see why I need to be judged for it, or urged to be something I’m really not.