SEEKING ART FROM TBI SURVIVORS!!!
I am seeking artwork for my upcoming book — Who Am I, Now? Reflections on Recovery. This is a request for paintings, drawings, pictures of statues — any visual art on paper — created by Brain Injury survivors. I will select works that capture the tone of chapters in the book.
PLEASE NOTE — This is NOT a contest! I do not have the expertise or desire to “judge” the quality of any work — instead, I will select pieces that I feel best suit the mood of a chapter. If you are seeking themes or inspiration for your work, the early drafts of chapters are available on this blog.
I cannot offer any money for your work, but every submission will be displayed on the blog, and every person who submits any work will be gifted a FREE ebook copy of the published book (I intend it to be released in September/October of 2020). Furthermore, if your work is selected for the book and I am able to arrange a printing, you will also be gifted a FREE hardcopy of the book (with your art in it).
Please contact me if you would like to submit any artwork and I will send the appropriate information, or follow the steps and sign the form below.
Thank you! I look forward to seeing your art!
To submit —
— Email a picture/scan of your artwork to tbilethan@gmail.com in TIFF format
— Please use the highest pixel quality for the digital file you send
— In your email, include your name, date of injury, type of injury, and current location (city, state, country)
— Send back the form below with a scanned copy of your signature
Permisssion form as PDF file
Permission form as .docx file
******************************************************
PERMISSION FORM FOR USE OF ART
I understand that the art I have submitted will be displayed publicly on the blog — http://whoaminowreflections.blogspot.com — and may be selected for use in the book Who Am I Now? Reflections on Recovery by Lethan Candlish.
This artwork is created by me — I have not stolen any other person’s work or ideas in the work I am sharing.
I give Lethan Candlish permission to use this work — with
my name attached — at his discretion in his book and I will not seek
any moneys for its use.
PLEASE CHECK - _____ I have read and understand the above.
Signature
______________________________________________________
Printed Name:
____________________________________________________
Please note, the scenes appear in reverse order and may cause confusion. To get a clearer understanding of the story, please start with the early entries in the blog. Thanks - enjoy.
Saturday, November 9, 2019
Thursday, November 7, 2019
Scene 33 -- I am Lethan
****************Scene 33 - I am Lethan*******************
My mother tells me about one time when she and I were having a conversation,
soon after I had returned from the hospital.
And she remembers this because the fights were just starting to become more frequent, and it was hard to have just a serious conversation,
but we were having one then,
and she asked me if I ever felt like I was a different person after the accident,
with everything that had changed,
and I looked at her,
and I said
I am Lethan.
So there you have it. Who am I again?
I am Lethan.
****************Commentary***************************
This story starts with the question — a question that commonly puzzles survivors of traumatic brain injury — Who am I, again?
I remember questioning, “In an instant — an impact — so much changed. My abilities are different — my thoughts are different — people say my personality is different. If everything is different, can I be the same person?”
The story ends with an answer — “I am Lethan.” — and that is my answer.
Your answer should be something different, because —
— I am I and You are You —
For this storytelling work, a name is used to symbolize personal identity, but in truth a name is as meaningless as any characteristic — one’s name, talents, body form, gender — all are decorations, while the self is what remains after all else has been striped away.
But what is this “self”? What is this essence of what a person is?
One’ s story.
Over the past 42 blog entries in nearly 3 years, I have had the privilege of sharing my story and discovering parts of my thought process. I began this project with the goal of looking at my storytelling about my experience with brain injury from a new maturity and to discover what I could learn from this self-story examination. The results of this work have been rewarding, and has helped me to form a hypothesis about the benefits of storytelling as a tool of rehabilitation after brain injury — as follows:
First, I begin with the belief that it is a person’s story that defines personal identity — a variation on the psychological-continuity views of personal identity. My view states — a person derives personal identity because he or she can understand a story that accounts for who he or she was in the past, who is now, and who is expected to be in the future. Furthermore, there needs to be an understood cause and effect relationship between the events in the story so that the individual can accept changes in behavior and/or characteristics.
When severe traumatic brain injury happens, there is often a significant change in the physical and mental abilities of a survivor accompanied by a marked difference in behaviors. The majority of people can account for gradual changes in ability and behavior by following a personal storyline — but for survivors of brain injury, it can seem as if they just woke up and suddenly things were different — there is no clear cause for the current state, and this disruption of one’s cause/effect story can create personal identity confusion for a survivor. This confusion may be amplified by other people — family, friends, co-workers, etc… — supplying opinions about what the survivor “used to be like” or expressing confusion at changes in said survivor. Again, these “changes” do not have a cause/effect relationship that is understood by the survivor, and therefore can deepen the identity confusion. I remember feeling such confusion in my recovery experience — at times wondering if I had been “reborn” as a different person — and I have learned of similar experiences through research and personal encounters with fellow survivors.
Returning to my hypothesis — the process of recovery is a flurry of emotional extremes and half understood processes so that the survivor has great difficulty comprehending what is occurring as it is happening — and this can be even more confusing when looking back on the events of the injury and recovery. Again, in my experience — divorced form my storytelling — I remember explosions of jubilation and anger and discovery and loss and sadness and fear going off in rapid succession like a finale of fireworks launched with no explanation, and this collage of emotions covers everything about the memories early recovery and early rehabilitation. The grandiosity and incompleteness of the physical and emotional images accompanying each memory quickly becomes overwhelming, causing further confusion.
I propose that storytelling can help with this confusion.
To clarify this — by “storytelling”, I mean a single person narrative piece that is intended to be performed for an audience. For this purpose, the “storyteller” is also a survivor of traumatic brain injury.
Furthermore — by “performance”, I mean a time when the storyteller shares a prepared story about the recovery process with any audience — this could be on stage with a public audience, a private audience of friends and family, or even an audience of one close confidant. The important piece is that the piece is understood by someone other than the storyteller.
When creating a storytelling piece, the storyteller — person who composes and performs the piece— is required to form a narrative that can be understood and appreciated by an audience. For this storytelling piece to be fully comprehensible, there should be a cause and effect relationship between the events. In order to reach this requirement, the storyteller/survivor must research his or her injury and/or create a narrative that explains what has occurred and is occurring — create a cause for the changes that are happening (the effect). In other words, by forming a storytelling piece that can be comprehended by an audience, the survivor is forced to — in some way — sort out the jumble of emotions and confusions that exist in the head and arrange them in a comprehensible manner. I suggest that by doing this, a survivor is able to better understand his or her personal recovery process and comprehend the changes and events that are part of recovery. This better understanding allows a survivor to fill in the cause and effect gaps in one’s personal story, thus helping to deal with personal identity confusion.
That’s a lot to take in, so once more, real quick — in hyper-abbreviated form:
1. Personal identity comes form the one’s personal story.
2. Brain injury causes confusion in one’s personal storyline.
3. When a survivor shares his or her story of recovery as a storytelling, the survivor is forced to externalize the story and organize it in a way that is comprehensible by an audience.
4. Organizing a story in this manner helps a survivor to better understand his or her process of personality change, thus helping temper personal identity confusion.
It may be asked if the same effect can come from writing one’s story instead of speaking it in a performance setting. My instinct — granted, it is a storyteller’s instinct — suggests that writing one’s story will not be as helpful because when words are placed upon a page, they can more easily be divorced from the author’s experience. This is not to diminish the skills of any author or to suggest that many authors do not carry their words constantly, but to suggest that — for a lesser trained author — the words may leave the mind through the hand as they are written or typed upon a page, thus diminishing the effect of living with an understanding of one’s story. By speaking the story, especially repeatedly, the storyteller allows the words to pass through his or her consciousness with every speaking. For this reason, while I have no doubt that writing one’s story can have many benefits, I believe speaking the story as a storytelling — even if this is reading a composed piece out-loud — will have a greater rehabilitative effect
I came to the above hypothesis by looking at my personal experience with storytelling about my trauma and then exploring how this path might assist other survivors.
As we get into that, it is important to recognize that recovery from brain injury is never ending, and while the “optimal recovery time” is generally considered to be the first two years post injury, the healing will continue for all of a survivor’s life.
That stated, I began working with the story 9 years after my injury — so I was well outside of this “optimal recovery time” — but by working with the stories and studying brain injury, I was able to better understand just what had happened to me. This learning came in three ways:
By doing academic reading and research, I was able to learn about the patterns of behavior after brain injury and something about what what is known and unknown in modern medicine. While my reading was in no way comprehensive — nor was my understanding of what I did read — this allowed me to recognize the complexity of recovery from brain injury and appreciate the wonder of the brain’s ability to heal.
Through interviews with fellow survivors, I was intimately introduced to the wide variety of ways brain injury can affect a person, as well as the many attitudes people can choose when adapting to the new way of life after brain injury. Also as part of this, I discovered that — despite the wide variety of circumstances and attitudes — similar themes embedded in the stories of survivors, and how these themes were also present in my story of recovery.
When interviewing family and friends, I learned how brain injury affects everyone around the survivor — that brain injury is not just the survivor’s story, but every caregiver also has his or her personal story that about that recovery.
I do not claim that this learning provided any physical benefits to my extended rehabilitation, but by gaining a fuller understanding of the recovery I have able to anticipate social conflicts or personal tics that are a part of my post-injury life. I also gained a new appreciation for those who have been a part of my recovery and a greater acceptance of my current abilities. As I’ve mentioned in previous entries, there are still moments in my life when I wonder — “What if this brain injury never happened?” — but I am now quickly able to quiet such thoughts with an acceptance of what I have been privileged to experience.
Storytelling will not do magic — I cannot storytell all the problems of brain injury away — but storytelling is a tool that can help survivors continue to emotionally heal from their trauma. There is still much to be learned about this, and I intend to continue to study and explore this topic. These writings are an early step in this study, but I hope they inspire you to explore this topic with me. Keep checking the blog, following on Facebook, sending a message — I’m excited to begin on the next step of this project, so keep in touch to find out just what that will be! Thank you for reading and we’ll chat soon.
Leave a comment below, and please share with friends!
My mother tells me about one time when she and I were having a conversation,
soon after I had returned from the hospital.
And she remembers this because the fights were just starting to become more frequent, and it was hard to have just a serious conversation,
but we were having one then,
and she asked me if I ever felt like I was a different person after the accident,
with everything that had changed,
and I looked at her,
and I said
I am Lethan.
So there you have it. Who am I again?
I am Lethan.
****************Commentary***************************
This story starts with the question — a question that commonly puzzles survivors of traumatic brain injury — Who am I, again?
I remember questioning, “In an instant — an impact — so much changed. My abilities are different — my thoughts are different — people say my personality is different. If everything is different, can I be the same person?”
The story ends with an answer — “I am Lethan.” — and that is my answer.
Your answer should be something different, because —
— I am I and You are You —
For this storytelling work, a name is used to symbolize personal identity, but in truth a name is as meaningless as any characteristic — one’s name, talents, body form, gender — all are decorations, while the self is what remains after all else has been striped away.
But what is this “self”? What is this essence of what a person is?
One’ s story.
Over the past 42 blog entries in nearly 3 years, I have had the privilege of sharing my story and discovering parts of my thought process. I began this project with the goal of looking at my storytelling about my experience with brain injury from a new maturity and to discover what I could learn from this self-story examination. The results of this work have been rewarding, and has helped me to form a hypothesis about the benefits of storytelling as a tool of rehabilitation after brain injury — as follows:
First, I begin with the belief that it is a person’s story that defines personal identity — a variation on the psychological-continuity views of personal identity. My view states — a person derives personal identity because he or she can understand a story that accounts for who he or she was in the past, who is now, and who is expected to be in the future. Furthermore, there needs to be an understood cause and effect relationship between the events in the story so that the individual can accept changes in behavior and/or characteristics.
When severe traumatic brain injury happens, there is often a significant change in the physical and mental abilities of a survivor accompanied by a marked difference in behaviors. The majority of people can account for gradual changes in ability and behavior by following a personal storyline — but for survivors of brain injury, it can seem as if they just woke up and suddenly things were different — there is no clear cause for the current state, and this disruption of one’s cause/effect story can create personal identity confusion for a survivor. This confusion may be amplified by other people — family, friends, co-workers, etc… — supplying opinions about what the survivor “used to be like” or expressing confusion at changes in said survivor. Again, these “changes” do not have a cause/effect relationship that is understood by the survivor, and therefore can deepen the identity confusion. I remember feeling such confusion in my recovery experience — at times wondering if I had been “reborn” as a different person — and I have learned of similar experiences through research and personal encounters with fellow survivors.
Returning to my hypothesis — the process of recovery is a flurry of emotional extremes and half understood processes so that the survivor has great difficulty comprehending what is occurring as it is happening — and this can be even more confusing when looking back on the events of the injury and recovery. Again, in my experience — divorced form my storytelling — I remember explosions of jubilation and anger and discovery and loss and sadness and fear going off in rapid succession like a finale of fireworks launched with no explanation, and this collage of emotions covers everything about the memories early recovery and early rehabilitation. The grandiosity and incompleteness of the physical and emotional images accompanying each memory quickly becomes overwhelming, causing further confusion.
I propose that storytelling can help with this confusion.
To clarify this — by “storytelling”, I mean a single person narrative piece that is intended to be performed for an audience. For this purpose, the “storyteller” is also a survivor of traumatic brain injury.
Furthermore — by “performance”, I mean a time when the storyteller shares a prepared story about the recovery process with any audience — this could be on stage with a public audience, a private audience of friends and family, or even an audience of one close confidant. The important piece is that the piece is understood by someone other than the storyteller.
When creating a storytelling piece, the storyteller — person who composes and performs the piece— is required to form a narrative that can be understood and appreciated by an audience. For this storytelling piece to be fully comprehensible, there should be a cause and effect relationship between the events. In order to reach this requirement, the storyteller/survivor must research his or her injury and/or create a narrative that explains what has occurred and is occurring — create a cause for the changes that are happening (the effect). In other words, by forming a storytelling piece that can be comprehended by an audience, the survivor is forced to — in some way — sort out the jumble of emotions and confusions that exist in the head and arrange them in a comprehensible manner. I suggest that by doing this, a survivor is able to better understand his or her personal recovery process and comprehend the changes and events that are part of recovery. This better understanding allows a survivor to fill in the cause and effect gaps in one’s personal story, thus helping to deal with personal identity confusion.
That’s a lot to take in, so once more, real quick — in hyper-abbreviated form:
1. Personal identity comes form the one’s personal story.
2. Brain injury causes confusion in one’s personal storyline.
3. When a survivor shares his or her story of recovery as a storytelling, the survivor is forced to externalize the story and organize it in a way that is comprehensible by an audience.
4. Organizing a story in this manner helps a survivor to better understand his or her process of personality change, thus helping temper personal identity confusion.
It may be asked if the same effect can come from writing one’s story instead of speaking it in a performance setting. My instinct — granted, it is a storyteller’s instinct — suggests that writing one’s story will not be as helpful because when words are placed upon a page, they can more easily be divorced from the author’s experience. This is not to diminish the skills of any author or to suggest that many authors do not carry their words constantly, but to suggest that — for a lesser trained author — the words may leave the mind through the hand as they are written or typed upon a page, thus diminishing the effect of living with an understanding of one’s story. By speaking the story, especially repeatedly, the storyteller allows the words to pass through his or her consciousness with every speaking. For this reason, while I have no doubt that writing one’s story can have many benefits, I believe speaking the story as a storytelling — even if this is reading a composed piece out-loud — will have a greater rehabilitative effect
I came to the above hypothesis by looking at my personal experience with storytelling about my trauma and then exploring how this path might assist other survivors.
As we get into that, it is important to recognize that recovery from brain injury is never ending, and while the “optimal recovery time” is generally considered to be the first two years post injury, the healing will continue for all of a survivor’s life.
That stated, I began working with the story 9 years after my injury — so I was well outside of this “optimal recovery time” — but by working with the stories and studying brain injury, I was able to better understand just what had happened to me. This learning came in three ways:
By doing academic reading and research, I was able to learn about the patterns of behavior after brain injury and something about what what is known and unknown in modern medicine. While my reading was in no way comprehensive — nor was my understanding of what I did read — this allowed me to recognize the complexity of recovery from brain injury and appreciate the wonder of the brain’s ability to heal.
Through interviews with fellow survivors, I was intimately introduced to the wide variety of ways brain injury can affect a person, as well as the many attitudes people can choose when adapting to the new way of life after brain injury. Also as part of this, I discovered that — despite the wide variety of circumstances and attitudes — similar themes embedded in the stories of survivors, and how these themes were also present in my story of recovery.
When interviewing family and friends, I learned how brain injury affects everyone around the survivor — that brain injury is not just the survivor’s story, but every caregiver also has his or her personal story that about that recovery.
I do not claim that this learning provided any physical benefits to my extended rehabilitation, but by gaining a fuller understanding of the recovery I have able to anticipate social conflicts or personal tics that are a part of my post-injury life. I also gained a new appreciation for those who have been a part of my recovery and a greater acceptance of my current abilities. As I’ve mentioned in previous entries, there are still moments in my life when I wonder — “What if this brain injury never happened?” — but I am now quickly able to quiet such thoughts with an acceptance of what I have been privileged to experience.
Storytelling will not do magic — I cannot storytell all the problems of brain injury away — but storytelling is a tool that can help survivors continue to emotionally heal from their trauma. There is still much to be learned about this, and I intend to continue to study and explore this topic. These writings are an early step in this study, but I hope they inspire you to explore this topic with me. Keep checking the blog, following on Facebook, sending a message — I’m excited to begin on the next step of this project, so keep in touch to find out just what that will be! Thank you for reading and we’ll chat soon.
Leave a comment below, and please share with friends!
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Scene 32 - Any Wish at All
******Scene 32 - Any Wish at All***********
Larry tell me, that if he could have any wish in the world…
Any wish at all…well…I don’t know what I would wish for,
but one thing I wouldn’t wish,
I wouldn’t wish that my accident Didn’t happen.
I’m not saying I’m glad my accident happened,
that I think anyone should Want for it to happen,
I mean, its been hard,
Real hard…
but,
well, I met everyone I know now because of my accident,
my recovery and all that,
and I’ve done a lot of cool things, and…
well, my accident has kinda made me who I am today.
and I’m okay with that.
***********Commentary*******************
If I could have any wish — any wish at all…
It took me some time to get used to this story.
Prior to this interview, I had wished countless times that my accident never happened — that I could return to the way things were before the accident — or at least to see what would have happened if I had continued down that road. I liked to imagine that life would have been perfect — or at least a lot easier and more rewarding than it was.
So what would have happened?
I’m going to play a game and take a look at possible — even likely — consequences in just one part of my life had my accident not occurred. After this, I will discuss how my specific example applies to the larger picture of recovery.
Let’s look at school — finishing high school and applying to university would have been a hell of a lot easier — that’s for certain — clearly one benefit of not having the accident. I would have graduated high school — possibly with honors — and continued to apply to dozens of schools recognized for their program in theatre performance — my desired field of study.
Or maybe I wouldn’t have had honors when I graduated — I was a bit lazy in high school and did not always (ever) fully apply myself to my academics, so maybe I would have passed with good grades, but not with academic honors.
But as for the application process for university — surely I would have had success in at least one application for New York University, or Carnegie Mellon, or Northwestern…though, I recognize that I did have my sights set on some prestigious universities, and while my theatrical talent was recognized in small town Pennsylvania, on a national stage my artistic flair may have become lost… so I might need to settle for study at a “backup school” — still good, but not the same level of theatrical prestige. But at least I wouldn’t be studying theatre at a Bloomsburg University with my father as a professor of theatre — I would have felt I had more freedom to explore my art and fully immerse myself in the theatre arts program…
Which means I would never have studied Philosophy, at least not with the same team of professors that I came to know, enjoy, and deeply respect — I would not have discovered my deep appreciation for philosophy of the mind. Furthermore, I probably would have aimed to follow a somewhat more traditional artistic path for actors — moved to a city and become involved with a performance group — and never discovered storytelling as a professional art form, nor attended East Tennessee State University for a graduate degree in Storytelling. And if I was living in a city and even moderately successful (able to pay for food and rent most months) as an actor, I may have never thought of teaching English abroad and never traveled outside the United States — at least not with the same sort of cultural immersion — and that means I probably would have never met the woman who I plan to marry…
And that is looking at just one consequence of not having had brain trauma. Had I not had my accident, my life would have been very different, and many of the events that I was a part of would not have happened — at least not in the same way.
Take a variation on the idea of “The Butterfly Effect” (from chaos theory, not the movie). This is the idea that any one small change can lead to infinite, unknown variations in the future — if a butterfly flaps in wings in China, it could start a cascade of effects that leads to a tornado in Iowa.
Apply that to life’s timeline — if any part of your life had been different than it is, you would be living a different life.
The world will pile on pleasures and torments in abundance — and many times, a pleasure will somehow be a result of a torment, or vice versa — it is impossible to know what the complete set of effects will be from any one event. Similarly, the complete set of causes for your current situation cannot be fully deciphered. What you can know is that you are Here, Now — with every joy and sorrow that entails. Surely there are parts of your life that have caused great pain — as you are reading this blog, you likely have some involvement with brain injury — and there may be times you look back on and curse the decisions you made, but everyone of these events — joyful, tragic, chosen or otherwise — has brought you to your current situation and will be part of that which creates what is next.
You are alive, and you can make the decision to enjoy it.
In the scene above, Larry accepts his situation — acknowledges the difficulties, but also appreciates the pleasures. He acknowledges that he is alive — he has done a lot of interesting things — he has met a lot of good people — and he is glad all those things are a part of his timeline. He has decided to be grateful for his situation.
What’s your decision?
This is your moment — how you accept it is up to you.
Larry tell me, that if he could have any wish in the world…
Any wish at all…well…I don’t know what I would wish for,
but one thing I wouldn’t wish,
I wouldn’t wish that my accident Didn’t happen.
I’m not saying I’m glad my accident happened,
that I think anyone should Want for it to happen,
I mean, its been hard,
Real hard…
but,
well, I met everyone I know now because of my accident,
my recovery and all that,
and I’ve done a lot of cool things, and…
well, my accident has kinda made me who I am today.
and I’m okay with that.
***********Commentary*******************
If I could have any wish — any wish at all…
It took me some time to get used to this story.
Prior to this interview, I had wished countless times that my accident never happened — that I could return to the way things were before the accident — or at least to see what would have happened if I had continued down that road. I liked to imagine that life would have been perfect — or at least a lot easier and more rewarding than it was.
So what would have happened?
I’m going to play a game and take a look at possible — even likely — consequences in just one part of my life had my accident not occurred. After this, I will discuss how my specific example applies to the larger picture of recovery.
Let’s look at school — finishing high school and applying to university would have been a hell of a lot easier — that’s for certain — clearly one benefit of not having the accident. I would have graduated high school — possibly with honors — and continued to apply to dozens of schools recognized for their program in theatre performance — my desired field of study.
Or maybe I wouldn’t have had honors when I graduated — I was a bit lazy in high school and did not always (ever) fully apply myself to my academics, so maybe I would have passed with good grades, but not with academic honors.
But as for the application process for university — surely I would have had success in at least one application for New York University, or Carnegie Mellon, or Northwestern…though, I recognize that I did have my sights set on some prestigious universities, and while my theatrical talent was recognized in small town Pennsylvania, on a national stage my artistic flair may have become lost… so I might need to settle for study at a “backup school” — still good, but not the same level of theatrical prestige. But at least I wouldn’t be studying theatre at a Bloomsburg University with my father as a professor of theatre — I would have felt I had more freedom to explore my art and fully immerse myself in the theatre arts program…
Which means I would never have studied Philosophy, at least not with the same team of professors that I came to know, enjoy, and deeply respect — I would not have discovered my deep appreciation for philosophy of the mind. Furthermore, I probably would have aimed to follow a somewhat more traditional artistic path for actors — moved to a city and become involved with a performance group — and never discovered storytelling as a professional art form, nor attended East Tennessee State University for a graduate degree in Storytelling. And if I was living in a city and even moderately successful (able to pay for food and rent most months) as an actor, I may have never thought of teaching English abroad and never traveled outside the United States — at least not with the same sort of cultural immersion — and that means I probably would have never met the woman who I plan to marry…
And that is looking at just one consequence of not having had brain trauma. Had I not had my accident, my life would have been very different, and many of the events that I was a part of would not have happened — at least not in the same way.
Take a variation on the idea of “The Butterfly Effect” (from chaos theory, not the movie). This is the idea that any one small change can lead to infinite, unknown variations in the future — if a butterfly flaps in wings in China, it could start a cascade of effects that leads to a tornado in Iowa.
Apply that to life’s timeline — if any part of your life had been different than it is, you would be living a different life.
The world will pile on pleasures and torments in abundance — and many times, a pleasure will somehow be a result of a torment, or vice versa — it is impossible to know what the complete set of effects will be from any one event. Similarly, the complete set of causes for your current situation cannot be fully deciphered. What you can know is that you are Here, Now — with every joy and sorrow that entails. Surely there are parts of your life that have caused great pain — as you are reading this blog, you likely have some involvement with brain injury — and there may be times you look back on and curse the decisions you made, but everyone of these events — joyful, tragic, chosen or otherwise — has brought you to your current situation and will be part of that which creates what is next.
You are alive, and you can make the decision to enjoy it.
In the scene above, Larry accepts his situation — acknowledges the difficulties, but also appreciates the pleasures. He acknowledges that he is alive — he has done a lot of interesting things — he has met a lot of good people — and he is glad all those things are a part of his timeline. He has decided to be grateful for his situation.
What’s your decision?
This is your moment — how you accept it is up to you.
Monday, August 19, 2019
Scene 31 - Tony's Philsophy
*******Scene 31 — Tony’s Philosophy********
Tony has a simple philosophy on life.
Three words:
Born,
Live,
Die.
It’s what you do with that middle word that makes you who you are.
*************Commentary****************
These words are an exact quote — I took no artistic liberty in adjusting them — and I love everything about them.
These three words are the summary of everyone’s life.
Life begins when a person is born — into some situation and amid some set of circumstances that do not matter in the initial moment of life— when this first moment happens is a matter of metaphysical quandary and political skullduggery that does not matter for this philosophy —because the pure truth is that for everyone who is alive, there is some moment when life began. We are born.
And there is some moment when life, as any living person understands it to be, will end. A time when the energy that inhabits one’s physical form departs. As with the question of life — discussed above — the question of whether this energy is terminated or travels to the infinite is inconsequential for Tony’s philosophy. Simply put, the physical form that other people have come to know and is used to interact with the world, ceases to be animate. We die.
What we are left with — that elongated moment between birth and death — is life. Longer than the instant of birth or death — microscopically brief in the timeline of the universe and filled with the complete set of actions that is one’s experience. Most actions are a result of choices, and it this bundle of decisions that becomes the medium through which we define ourselves — the way you can state who you are.
But is a person merely the sum of his or her actions? Can we not harbor something inside that is not displayed to the world? What if there is a secret self that no-one knows about? Might this “secret self” be a better representation of the true character of a person?
According to Tony’s philosophy — No. It is our actions that define who we are. It is what we do while we live that defines our character. Secret impulses or an inner character do not matter — if we harbor any such inner motives — good or bad — as long as we do not behave in a way that displays these beliefs, they do not effect the empirical world.
Notice — above — that I used the words “most (added emphasis) actions are a result of choices”. As a survivor, one of our actions is that we have survived, but we did not choose this action. Our injury may have occurred because of choices we made, but in the moment when it happened we simply did it — we survived — yet that action has become a part of our definition in the world — I am a survivor — but the definition does not stop there. Life continues to be filled with infinite possibility after brain injury — granted, it is probably a different set of infinite possibilities than existed before the injury, but the set is still infinite. Therefore, there is an infinite number of ways to define one’s self.
We make choices, affected by our trauma, but these are still choices. Questions you can ask yourself — “Do I want to dwell in what I have lost or discover what I have gained?” “How can I learn from the new challenges that face me?” “How much do I want to incorporate my trauma into my professional or social life?” And the list continues — you just need to find the questions that bring the focus to how you want to define yourself.
One note about the above list — notice, that I do not include the question, “Will I let this trauma affect me?” This is a ridiculous question. Yes, the trauma will affect you. It is an action that you were a part of, and therefore is part of the definition of you, but it is NOT the WHOLE of your definition — you decide how much you want to display this part of yourself. Accept that actions of the the past will affect you — and decide how your present actions will define you for the future.
As an inspirational storyteller, I have made a decision to incorporate my accident into my professional life — I believe I can help people through my talents in speaking, writing, and leading workshops. You are welcome to make the same decision, or you may want to be less verbose about your trauma. The right decision is what feels best to you — just be sure that it is your decision.
We have been given a chance to live — some say that by being a survivor, we have been given a second chance to live. One day, we will die — but not today. We cannot pick every action in our life, but we can decide how we define ourselves.
We decide - Who Am I, Again?
Tony has a simple philosophy on life.
Three words:
Born,
Live,
Die.
It’s what you do with that middle word that makes you who you are.
*************Commentary****************
These words are an exact quote — I took no artistic liberty in adjusting them — and I love everything about them.
These three words are the summary of everyone’s life.
Life begins when a person is born — into some situation and amid some set of circumstances that do not matter in the initial moment of life— when this first moment happens is a matter of metaphysical quandary and political skullduggery that does not matter for this philosophy —because the pure truth is that for everyone who is alive, there is some moment when life began. We are born.
And there is some moment when life, as any living person understands it to be, will end. A time when the energy that inhabits one’s physical form departs. As with the question of life — discussed above — the question of whether this energy is terminated or travels to the infinite is inconsequential for Tony’s philosophy. Simply put, the physical form that other people have come to know and is used to interact with the world, ceases to be animate. We die.
What we are left with — that elongated moment between birth and death — is life. Longer than the instant of birth or death — microscopically brief in the timeline of the universe and filled with the complete set of actions that is one’s experience. Most actions are a result of choices, and it this bundle of decisions that becomes the medium through which we define ourselves — the way you can state who you are.
But is a person merely the sum of his or her actions? Can we not harbor something inside that is not displayed to the world? What if there is a secret self that no-one knows about? Might this “secret self” be a better representation of the true character of a person?
According to Tony’s philosophy — No. It is our actions that define who we are. It is what we do while we live that defines our character. Secret impulses or an inner character do not matter — if we harbor any such inner motives — good or bad — as long as we do not behave in a way that displays these beliefs, they do not effect the empirical world.
Notice — above — that I used the words “most (added emphasis) actions are a result of choices”. As a survivor, one of our actions is that we have survived, but we did not choose this action. Our injury may have occurred because of choices we made, but in the moment when it happened we simply did it — we survived — yet that action has become a part of our definition in the world — I am a survivor — but the definition does not stop there. Life continues to be filled with infinite possibility after brain injury — granted, it is probably a different set of infinite possibilities than existed before the injury, but the set is still infinite. Therefore, there is an infinite number of ways to define one’s self.
We make choices, affected by our trauma, but these are still choices. Questions you can ask yourself — “Do I want to dwell in what I have lost or discover what I have gained?” “How can I learn from the new challenges that face me?” “How much do I want to incorporate my trauma into my professional or social life?” And the list continues — you just need to find the questions that bring the focus to how you want to define yourself.
One note about the above list — notice, that I do not include the question, “Will I let this trauma affect me?” This is a ridiculous question. Yes, the trauma will affect you. It is an action that you were a part of, and therefore is part of the definition of you, but it is NOT the WHOLE of your definition — you decide how much you want to display this part of yourself. Accept that actions of the the past will affect you — and decide how your present actions will define you for the future.
As an inspirational storyteller, I have made a decision to incorporate my accident into my professional life — I believe I can help people through my talents in speaking, writing, and leading workshops. You are welcome to make the same decision, or you may want to be less verbose about your trauma. The right decision is what feels best to you — just be sure that it is your decision.
We have been given a chance to live — some say that by being a survivor, we have been given a second chance to live. One day, we will die — but not today. We cannot pick every action in our life, but we can decide how we define ourselves.
We decide - Who Am I, Again?
Friday, August 16, 2019
Scene 30 - Commitment
**********Scene 30 — Commitment*********
Sarah has made a commitment,
to getting better.
One day, I will write again,
One day, I will read,
One day, I will walk.
It just might take a little bit of time first,
that’s all.
****************Commentary**************
Sarah has made the decision to keep living.
After brain injury, the choices a survivor can make are limited — we often find our lives dictated by a new set of abilities and/or a rehabilitation schedule — therefore, it is important and empowering to recognize when and where we do have choices, and accepting to continue the process of living is a decision we can make. We must recognize that we’ve taken a hard hit by life, but that doesn’t mean we need to give up — that we will continue “getting better”. This does not mean we will return to a former state, but recognize our new abilities and discover how we can best employ these skills. This takes us on the journey of becoming a better person — of “getting better”.
Sarah has made this decision and is committed to keeping it.
Her injury has made many new difficulties — tasks that she used to find easy — writing, reading, walking to name a few — are now challenging or impossible to complete without assistance, yet she has made a commitment to improving these skills. Please recognize that commitment isn’t about completing, it is about applying oneself and being dedicated to the process of improving. Making a commitment to be at a meeting means that you will show up and try to contribute — if you make a commitment to a sports team it means you will use your athletic skills and work with your teammates to do your best — making a commitment of marriage means you will join with your partner and work together to improve yourselves both as individuals and as a couple. Sarah has made a commitment to “getting better” — there is no endpoint for this, but she has dedicated herself to showing up so that she can continue to improve her skills.
Finally, Sarah recognizes this is not a short term commitment. Even regaining the skills she mentions in the above scene, can take a very long time. For every human — starting from birth — it takes at least 3 - 6 years before we have even a rudimentary grasp on all the skills Sarah mentions — yet we go through the long, arduous process of learning these skills because they are required as part of having an independent existence. Most people do not remember the process of learning to walk — the function of our brain for long term memory is not fully developed — but if you look at any toddler, the determination cemented on his or her face is a clear indication of the difficulty. Furthermore, there is the confounding process of early reading or writing — the process of translating symbols — lines on a page — into sounds that represent ideas — this is an astoundingly complex process. With her injury, Sarah needs to go through the process of relearning these skills, and maybe it will take her another 3 - 6 years — or maybe less time — or it may take longer, but it doesn’t matter because Sarah has time — after all, she is alive.
Sarah has made a commitment,
to getting better.
One day, I will write again,
One day, I will read,
One day, I will walk.
It just might take a little bit of time first,
that’s all.
****************Commentary**************
Sarah has made the decision to keep living.
After brain injury, the choices a survivor can make are limited — we often find our lives dictated by a new set of abilities and/or a rehabilitation schedule — therefore, it is important and empowering to recognize when and where we do have choices, and accepting to continue the process of living is a decision we can make. We must recognize that we’ve taken a hard hit by life, but that doesn’t mean we need to give up — that we will continue “getting better”. This does not mean we will return to a former state, but recognize our new abilities and discover how we can best employ these skills. This takes us on the journey of becoming a better person — of “getting better”.
Sarah has made this decision and is committed to keeping it.
Her injury has made many new difficulties — tasks that she used to find easy — writing, reading, walking to name a few — are now challenging or impossible to complete without assistance, yet she has made a commitment to improving these skills. Please recognize that commitment isn’t about completing, it is about applying oneself and being dedicated to the process of improving. Making a commitment to be at a meeting means that you will show up and try to contribute — if you make a commitment to a sports team it means you will use your athletic skills and work with your teammates to do your best — making a commitment of marriage means you will join with your partner and work together to improve yourselves both as individuals and as a couple. Sarah has made a commitment to “getting better” — there is no endpoint for this, but she has dedicated herself to showing up so that she can continue to improve her skills.
Finally, Sarah recognizes this is not a short term commitment. Even regaining the skills she mentions in the above scene, can take a very long time. For every human — starting from birth — it takes at least 3 - 6 years before we have even a rudimentary grasp on all the skills Sarah mentions — yet we go through the long, arduous process of learning these skills because they are required as part of having an independent existence. Most people do not remember the process of learning to walk — the function of our brain for long term memory is not fully developed — but if you look at any toddler, the determination cemented on his or her face is a clear indication of the difficulty. Furthermore, there is the confounding process of early reading or writing — the process of translating symbols — lines on a page — into sounds that represent ideas — this is an astoundingly complex process. With her injury, Sarah needs to go through the process of relearning these skills, and maybe it will take her another 3 - 6 years — or maybe less time — or it may take longer, but it doesn’t matter because Sarah has time — after all, she is alive.
Tuesday, August 13, 2019
Scene 29 - Graduation
Hey friends -- It's been a while since my last post. There will be a several posts coming up in rapid succession (every 2 or 3 days) as I post the last few commentaries about the piece Who Am I, Again? Please read and enjoy, and keep in touch to learn what will be the next steps for this blog.
*********Scene 29 - Graduation*************
I remember my high school graduation.
and I don’t remember much about the ceremony itself,
up until I got my diploma.
See, we all got into line,
alphabetical order,
names were called,
Ryan before me,
and then, Lethan Candlish.
I walked halfway across the stage,
shook the Mr. Kellerman’s hand — the vice principal,
took my diploma,
and -
Now, like we said, Bloomsburg is a small town,
so everybody’s all up in everybody’s business,
and Everyone had heard something about my accident And my Miracle Recovery,
and as I finished crossing the stage, people began to applaud for me.
Truth is they stood up!
I got a standing ovation!
Now, I see this, and my theatrical instincts take over, so I turn,
face full front,
Deep bow.
And they laugh.
and I walked back to my seat thinking I made it…
Yippee
I wasn’t proud of myself - why should I be?
The second half of my senior year — with all the aids and help I was given — had been a joke.
Must have been pretty funny too - the audience had laughed.
I was alone. Tired.
Afraid.
I heard the name James Edgars called and I looked up on stage and saw James
in his wheelchair,
moving across the stage to…
See James has muscular dystrophy, so he’s always been in a wheel chair, at least as long as I’ve known him.
And, well, James and I — we were never close,
But he had worked harder than anyone to be graduating high school at all,
I mean yeah, he had been given a lot of help, a lot of aids — lot of assistance —
And I had that too —
but..
And as James took his diploma from Mr. Kellerman, he had this smile that Outshone the stage lights.
and as he finished his cross, again the audience applauded
Huge!
All around — shaking the seats of the auditorium
And it made sense…all of it.
I began to applaud as well because James had done it.
I had done it!
All of us, we were graduating.
And after the ceremony Mrs. Edgars, James’s mother, found me to congratulate me on getting through high school,
and I looked at her,
and I looked at James, smiling next to her,
and I looked back at her and I said, “well, thanks, but,
Well, congratulations to you -
To Both of you.
I had half a year, but you
Both of you made it through
Everything - Congratulations.” And she looked at me
said, “huh,
well I guess life gives everyone challenges,
and we all just
Get through them differently.”
***********Commentary*****************
“To graduate” is a process. The word “graduate” comes from the latin root “grad” — meaning “step” — and a graduation is a step in life. Another word that stems from the root of “grad” is “gradually” — changing little by little, step by step.
We decorate some moments of graduation with grandeur and glory — but these moments are somewhat arbitrarily selected, yet are declared to be “milestones in life” because of the pageantry involved. I don’t write this to demean any achievement of graduation, but to recognize that graduation is not a moment of completion, but a marker as we gradually move along our timeline. When we graduate from a class or a school, we are not done with learning or experiencing — we are taking the next step.
Hold on to that idea because we come back to it — but first the article is going to take a quick tangential sidestep.
“Being” is also a process. On dictionary.com, the term is defined as “the fact of existence”, but it seems to me that the “-ing” ending implies an active verb — a process — and I suggest that “being” is better defined as “the process of existence”. If we accept my definition, we can assume that being involves change, and as human beings — involved in a process — we are continuously changing — moving to the next step of life. In other words, we are perpetually graduating (told you we’d come back to it). We have agreed to publicly acknowledge some moments of graduation — but these selected instances hold no more objective value than any other steps on a timeline — when observed in the past tense, every life has a line that is plump with graduations — often unacknowledged — events that cause a change and push a person into a new stage of life.
Some unacknowledged graduations from my timeline…
When I made the decision to teach English overseas instead of pursuing a promising career opportunity in the United States, beginning a decade long excursion that has allowed me to live in South Korea, China, and Russia.
At age 8, meeting my best friend at his house and playing with Ninja Turtle action figures — beginning a friendship that continues to have a profound impact on my life.
The New Year of 2019, bending to one knee and finally proposing marriage to the woman who will soon be my wife.
Listening to that same lover when she challenged me — “You’re thinking of writing a blog? Well, what can you tell about your brain injury story that is new?” — thus beginning this self-reflective writing process.
The moment my car hit a telephone pole and I began the never-ending journey of
discovery after brain injury.
Each moment in the above list is a kind of graduation — and this list could continue for pages. I include my accident as part of this list because it was a step in my life — not the most pleasant step, but it certainly took me to a new stage of living — therefore, I now consider it a moment of graduation. I know you have a similarly infinite list — and if you don’t already know what is on your list, I encourage you to take a few minutes to think about it — write down the pleasant as well as the difficult — recognize some moments that changed everything — moments of graduation.
As a brain injury survivor, it can quickly feel as though we are static — stuck in our state — every day is a day of rehabilitation and relearning skills. When I was in early recovery, I held the idea of a “graduation” from rehab in my mind, and falsely believing that this would mean I had finishing recovery and was returning to my condition prior to the accident. I remember holding that goal in my mind — and there were instincts when it seemed so close — just one or two more things and I would succeed — but it always evaded my grasp, creating further aggravation. This became most clear in my social interactions — I wanted friendships to be as before, but that couldn’t happen because this was a new stage of living — and I had to deal with that. My classmates and I were all getting ready to graduate, but I had already gone through a different graduation, and it was hard to accept.
Took me years. Many years. So I gotta be blunt — as a survivor, we tend to want things to be the same as before, but that is not going to happen. If returning to your previous life is a goal, you are never going to complete it. As a brain injury survivor, we never “finish” recovering — and certainly never return to a prior state — we’ve changed as part of the injury. Hell, we’ve graduated.
And we will continue to graduate — continue to change. Take some time and acknowledge moments in your rehabilitation that can be recognized as graduations — moments that have marked you taking a new step. Write these down or share them with a caregiver — appreciate making the next step. I remember getting my mouth unwired and graduating to eating with my mouth again —leaving my wheelchair behind and graduating to taking a walk on the streets of Philadelphia with my rehabilitation coach — hugging my favorite caregivers farewell as I left Magee Rehabilitation hospital and graduating to a home based recovery plan — and again, this list could continue forever.
We cannot celebrate every graduation — having Pomp and Circumstance (the song played at high school graduation ceremonies) on infinite repeat would drive any person insane — and many steps simply shouldn’t be celebrated — but all can be acknowledged. These are part of ascending the steps of life. As a survivor, it is important to recognize this — that graduation is never an ending — it is tied into the step by step process of being — into the next moment of life — part of the discovery of Who You Are Now.
I hope these thoughts have helped you to graduate in some way. Please leave comments below.
*********Scene 29 - Graduation*************
I remember my high school graduation.
and I don’t remember much about the ceremony itself,
up until I got my diploma.
See, we all got into line,
alphabetical order,
names were called,
Ryan before me,
and then, Lethan Candlish.
I walked halfway across the stage,
shook the Mr. Kellerman’s hand — the vice principal,
took my diploma,
and -
Now, like we said, Bloomsburg is a small town,
so everybody’s all up in everybody’s business,
and Everyone had heard something about my accident And my Miracle Recovery,
and as I finished crossing the stage, people began to applaud for me.
Truth is they stood up!
I got a standing ovation!
Now, I see this, and my theatrical instincts take over, so I turn,
face full front,
Deep bow.
And they laugh.
and I walked back to my seat thinking I made it…
Yippee
I wasn’t proud of myself - why should I be?
The second half of my senior year — with all the aids and help I was given — had been a joke.
Must have been pretty funny too - the audience had laughed.
I was alone. Tired.
Afraid.
I heard the name James Edgars called and I looked up on stage and saw James
in his wheelchair,
moving across the stage to…
See James has muscular dystrophy, so he’s always been in a wheel chair, at least as long as I’ve known him.
And, well, James and I — we were never close,
But he had worked harder than anyone to be graduating high school at all,
I mean yeah, he had been given a lot of help, a lot of aids — lot of assistance —
And I had that too —
but..
And as James took his diploma from Mr. Kellerman, he had this smile that Outshone the stage lights.
and as he finished his cross, again the audience applauded
Huge!
All around — shaking the seats of the auditorium
And it made sense…all of it.
I began to applaud as well because James had done it.
I had done it!
All of us, we were graduating.
And after the ceremony Mrs. Edgars, James’s mother, found me to congratulate me on getting through high school,
and I looked at her,
and I looked at James, smiling next to her,
and I looked back at her and I said, “well, thanks, but,
Well, congratulations to you -
To Both of you.
I had half a year, but you
Both of you made it through
Everything - Congratulations.” And she looked at me
said, “huh,
well I guess life gives everyone challenges,
and we all just
Get through them differently.”
***********Commentary*****************
“To graduate” is a process. The word “graduate” comes from the latin root “grad” — meaning “step” — and a graduation is a step in life. Another word that stems from the root of “grad” is “gradually” — changing little by little, step by step.
We decorate some moments of graduation with grandeur and glory — but these moments are somewhat arbitrarily selected, yet are declared to be “milestones in life” because of the pageantry involved. I don’t write this to demean any achievement of graduation, but to recognize that graduation is not a moment of completion, but a marker as we gradually move along our timeline. When we graduate from a class or a school, we are not done with learning or experiencing — we are taking the next step.
Hold on to that idea because we come back to it — but first the article is going to take a quick tangential sidestep.
“Being” is also a process. On dictionary.com, the term is defined as “the fact of existence”, but it seems to me that the “-ing” ending implies an active verb — a process — and I suggest that “being” is better defined as “the process of existence”. If we accept my definition, we can assume that being involves change, and as human beings — involved in a process — we are continuously changing — moving to the next step of life. In other words, we are perpetually graduating (told you we’d come back to it). We have agreed to publicly acknowledge some moments of graduation — but these selected instances hold no more objective value than any other steps on a timeline — when observed in the past tense, every life has a line that is plump with graduations — often unacknowledged — events that cause a change and push a person into a new stage of life.
Some unacknowledged graduations from my timeline…
When I made the decision to teach English overseas instead of pursuing a promising career opportunity in the United States, beginning a decade long excursion that has allowed me to live in South Korea, China, and Russia.
At age 8, meeting my best friend at his house and playing with Ninja Turtle action figures — beginning a friendship that continues to have a profound impact on my life.
The New Year of 2019, bending to one knee and finally proposing marriage to the woman who will soon be my wife.
Listening to that same lover when she challenged me — “You’re thinking of writing a blog? Well, what can you tell about your brain injury story that is new?” — thus beginning this self-reflective writing process.
The moment my car hit a telephone pole and I began the never-ending journey of
discovery after brain injury.
Each moment in the above list is a kind of graduation — and this list could continue for pages. I include my accident as part of this list because it was a step in my life — not the most pleasant step, but it certainly took me to a new stage of living — therefore, I now consider it a moment of graduation. I know you have a similarly infinite list — and if you don’t already know what is on your list, I encourage you to take a few minutes to think about it — write down the pleasant as well as the difficult — recognize some moments that changed everything — moments of graduation.
As a brain injury survivor, it can quickly feel as though we are static — stuck in our state — every day is a day of rehabilitation and relearning skills. When I was in early recovery, I held the idea of a “graduation” from rehab in my mind, and falsely believing that this would mean I had finishing recovery and was returning to my condition prior to the accident. I remember holding that goal in my mind — and there were instincts when it seemed so close — just one or two more things and I would succeed — but it always evaded my grasp, creating further aggravation. This became most clear in my social interactions — I wanted friendships to be as before, but that couldn’t happen because this was a new stage of living — and I had to deal with that. My classmates and I were all getting ready to graduate, but I had already gone through a different graduation, and it was hard to accept.
Took me years. Many years. So I gotta be blunt — as a survivor, we tend to want things to be the same as before, but that is not going to happen. If returning to your previous life is a goal, you are never going to complete it. As a brain injury survivor, we never “finish” recovering — and certainly never return to a prior state — we’ve changed as part of the injury. Hell, we’ve graduated.
And we will continue to graduate — continue to change. Take some time and acknowledge moments in your rehabilitation that can be recognized as graduations — moments that have marked you taking a new step. Write these down or share them with a caregiver — appreciate making the next step. I remember getting my mouth unwired and graduating to eating with my mouth again —leaving my wheelchair behind and graduating to taking a walk on the streets of Philadelphia with my rehabilitation coach — hugging my favorite caregivers farewell as I left Magee Rehabilitation hospital and graduating to a home based recovery plan — and again, this list could continue forever.
We cannot celebrate every graduation — having Pomp and Circumstance (the song played at high school graduation ceremonies) on infinite repeat would drive any person insane — and many steps simply shouldn’t be celebrated — but all can be acknowledged. These are part of ascending the steps of life. As a survivor, it is important to recognize this — that graduation is never an ending — it is tied into the step by step process of being — into the next moment of life — part of the discovery of Who You Are Now.
I hope these thoughts have helped you to graduate in some way. Please leave comments below.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
Responding to Suicidal Ideation (3/3)
This is the final post (3/3) concerning what to do about the question of suicide after brain injury. The prior postings introduce the reason for this article (1/3) and share my suggestions to caregivers (2/3). This final post is a message to survivors with my thoughts about suicide and why it is NOT the best option. If you have not read the previous posts, I suggest you do so now. Thank you for reading and please leave your thoughts below.
To Survivors
The choice is yours.
Let’s be very clear on that.
YOU must make the choice of whether YOU want to live. You cannot rely on any other person to convince or inspire you to “continue living” — seeking such codependent support will strip away your personal autonomy and leave you always looking for that someone. To live is a choice YOU must make.
But it makes sense to choose to live.
Making the choice to live is leaving yourself open to the infinite realm of possibility. Life changes — that is inevitable — sometimes it’s in an instant and sometimes it’s over years — but life will change. The only thing constant is change. Sometimes change is a result of good or bad luck, and sometimes a result of choices made — I believe that most often it comes from some combination of these, but regardless change will come.
There are times when life may seem to be plush with luxury — and then that will change. This same life may become filled with challenges that bore into the soul — but that too will change. To employ an oft used metaphor — life is a rollercoaster with hills, valleys, steep climbs, fast falls, an unexpected and terrifying plunge, a stretch of calm that presents glorious views and leaves you breathless at the splendiferous beauty of the world, before tossing you into another stomach twisting tirade of turns — every life has all of that, and each event is the result of change.
To end your life is to end change. Don’t kid yourself — committing suicide is not fixing anything, but it is stopping change. Once you die, your life will remain how it ends. Mind, the life of those who care for you will be a marred by your passing — and once you’re dead, you can’t do anything to help. You cannot win an argument with suicide — suicide will never “prove a point”, but it will end the debate. Suicide will not bring revenge upon anyone — it will cause pain and sadness for those who love you, and this pain will necessarily be dealt with through reasoning, and then filed away into the shelving units of memory so that the pained person can continue to live. Suicide does not combine with other events to cause anything — suicide does not Do anything — suicide is an end.
But a sad survivor may say, “I’ve given up any hope of change — any change that might occur will surely be negative.”
I ask, “How can this be known? How can there be any assurance of a negative change?” I continue by suggesting, “You have a choice in how a change is viewed. Rarely — if ever — is an event all good or all bad — we make choices regarding the shades of emotion that are used to color events. By making the choice to stay alive, you leave yourself open to change — and you can make the choice to recognize the positive elements of a change.“You are a survivor of brain injury. The life you had before your injury has been inalterably affected — change has occurred.
Now choose how to accept that.”
Stripping away the “quotation marks,” I’ll tell you — the reader — that my life is not at all what I had intended when my brain injury occurred — how much of that is from brain injury and how much is from the infinite-other-changes-of-life is something that cannot be known. Brain injury certainly caused some changes, and the events that came from these changes inspired still more changes.
And Life occurred. And now, here I am.
To this day, there are countless moments when I regret never having felt secure enough to pursue my previously planned path, but there are more times when I recognize how blessed I am to have witnessed the journey of life I find myself on. It is my choice — I have made the choice — to focus on the treasured moments that my life has led me to instead of the dreams I had once hoped to pursue.
But the sad survivor may spit a spiteful reply — “Well isn’t that good for your life. My life is shit — I have no treasures — I don’t expect any. There is nothing to celebrate.”
And it is a choice to take that view — at times a tempting choice. It is easy to see only pain and, in some sick way, it is a temporarily pleasurable to bask in the bile of self-pity — but the pleasure does not last. There have been times when I have made this choice to wallow in misery — but in my experience, I found that the anger and hatred and agony quickly overcame any comfort that I found in masochistic self-pity — but this is a choice one can make.
Or you can change what you see. You can choose to recognize pleasures that reside in the decision to live. It takes practice — it takes patience — it takes dogged determination — but I say with confidence that there are times — things — events you can appreciate.
One way to practice this — begin small. Find a thing that makes you smile — an instant, a smell, a taste, an image — find anything that give you the slight nip of joy. Push yourself to find this nip — go for a walk, look out the window, listen to music, watch a movie, do something — just get outside yourself to discover what can give joy. Then write it down — document it — store it in your heart — and then look for the next joyful nip.
Choose to find five things a day — and once you find those five things, find ten more — and then find more — and it can become a habit to document joy. Try it — let me know how it goes.
Or try a different way — the choice is yours. It is always your choice — as long as you are alive, you have a choice.
Thank you for choosing to read this. I would love your comments on this blog or facebook — messages to hear how these words reach you. And please share with anyone you think might be helped. This was a difficult entry to write, and I would appreciate knowing your thoughts.
To Survivors
The choice is yours.
Let’s be very clear on that.
YOU must make the choice of whether YOU want to live. You cannot rely on any other person to convince or inspire you to “continue living” — seeking such codependent support will strip away your personal autonomy and leave you always looking for that someone. To live is a choice YOU must make.
But it makes sense to choose to live.
Making the choice to live is leaving yourself open to the infinite realm of possibility. Life changes — that is inevitable — sometimes it’s in an instant and sometimes it’s over years — but life will change. The only thing constant is change. Sometimes change is a result of good or bad luck, and sometimes a result of choices made — I believe that most often it comes from some combination of these, but regardless change will come.
There are times when life may seem to be plush with luxury — and then that will change. This same life may become filled with challenges that bore into the soul — but that too will change. To employ an oft used metaphor — life is a rollercoaster with hills, valleys, steep climbs, fast falls, an unexpected and terrifying plunge, a stretch of calm that presents glorious views and leaves you breathless at the splendiferous beauty of the world, before tossing you into another stomach twisting tirade of turns — every life has all of that, and each event is the result of change.
To end your life is to end change. Don’t kid yourself — committing suicide is not fixing anything, but it is stopping change. Once you die, your life will remain how it ends. Mind, the life of those who care for you will be a marred by your passing — and once you’re dead, you can’t do anything to help. You cannot win an argument with suicide — suicide will never “prove a point”, but it will end the debate. Suicide will not bring revenge upon anyone — it will cause pain and sadness for those who love you, and this pain will necessarily be dealt with through reasoning, and then filed away into the shelving units of memory so that the pained person can continue to live. Suicide does not combine with other events to cause anything — suicide does not Do anything — suicide is an end.
But a sad survivor may say, “I’ve given up any hope of change — any change that might occur will surely be negative.”
I ask, “How can this be known? How can there be any assurance of a negative change?” I continue by suggesting, “You have a choice in how a change is viewed. Rarely — if ever — is an event all good or all bad — we make choices regarding the shades of emotion that are used to color events. By making the choice to stay alive, you leave yourself open to change — and you can make the choice to recognize the positive elements of a change.“You are a survivor of brain injury. The life you had before your injury has been inalterably affected — change has occurred.
Now choose how to accept that.”
Stripping away the “quotation marks,” I’ll tell you — the reader — that my life is not at all what I had intended when my brain injury occurred — how much of that is from brain injury and how much is from the infinite-other-changes-of-life is something that cannot be known. Brain injury certainly caused some changes, and the events that came from these changes inspired still more changes.
And Life occurred. And now, here I am.
To this day, there are countless moments when I regret never having felt secure enough to pursue my previously planned path, but there are more times when I recognize how blessed I am to have witnessed the journey of life I find myself on. It is my choice — I have made the choice — to focus on the treasured moments that my life has led me to instead of the dreams I had once hoped to pursue.
But the sad survivor may spit a spiteful reply — “Well isn’t that good for your life. My life is shit — I have no treasures — I don’t expect any. There is nothing to celebrate.”
And it is a choice to take that view — at times a tempting choice. It is easy to see only pain and, in some sick way, it is a temporarily pleasurable to bask in the bile of self-pity — but the pleasure does not last. There have been times when I have made this choice to wallow in misery — but in my experience, I found that the anger and hatred and agony quickly overcame any comfort that I found in masochistic self-pity — but this is a choice one can make.
Or you can change what you see. You can choose to recognize pleasures that reside in the decision to live. It takes practice — it takes patience — it takes dogged determination — but I say with confidence that there are times — things — events you can appreciate.
One way to practice this — begin small. Find a thing that makes you smile — an instant, a smell, a taste, an image — find anything that give you the slight nip of joy. Push yourself to find this nip — go for a walk, look out the window, listen to music, watch a movie, do something — just get outside yourself to discover what can give joy. Then write it down — document it — store it in your heart — and then look for the next joyful nip.
Choose to find five things a day — and once you find those five things, find ten more — and then find more — and it can become a habit to document joy. Try it — let me know how it goes.
Or try a different way — the choice is yours. It is always your choice — as long as you are alive, you have a choice.
Thank you for choosing to read this. I would love your comments on this blog or facebook — messages to hear how these words reach you. And please share with anyone you think might be helped. This was a difficult entry to write, and I would appreciate knowing your thoughts.
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
Responding to Suicidal Ideation (2/3)
This is the second (2/3) posting concerning what to do about the question of suicide after brain injury. The previous post presented an introduction to these thoughts. If you have not read it, please do so now. This posting has my suggestions to caregivers and the reasoning behind them. Thank you for reading, and please leave your thoughts.
To Caregivers
To begin bluntly, know that a caregiver — especially a nonprofessional caregiver — cannot be the “hero” that “saves” a person from the thought or the act of suicide. Get rid of any idea like this — it puts an unfair burden on both the caregiver and the survivor. Suicide is a choice made by the person who commits the act. A caregiver can, and should, seek to positively influence the survivor, but should not take on responsibility for a suicidal decision. Taking on such responsibility can not only cause extended emotional trauma for a caregiver, but can also lay further stress upon the survivor — the survivor is no longer responsible for only personal wellbeing, but also the wellbeing of the caregiver. In my experience, feeling “pressure to live” and not kill myself for the sake of other people became another stress — I was not encouraged to live but felt further defeated. My thought process was, “Well, I’m getting pretty good at screwing everything else up, why not die and just add one more thing to an already long list. At least that way the list of my screwups won’t get any longer.”
Similarly, the caregiver should not seek credit for helping the survivor — the survivor is the only person who makes the choice to live or not live. Furthermore, this decision to live should not be a glorified. It is an important choice, but also — very simply — necessary. Any person who wants to continue in this life constantly makes the decision to live, though often it is done unconsciously — death is always possible, but most times we ignore this choice. For a caregiver to take credit for encouraging a survivor to decide to live takes away the power of that decision from the survivor.
With all those caveats, This puts the caregiver in the unenviable position of being a person who works a thankless task and never receives credit for the work done — what’s more, a caregiver can never know if any work done has affected a survivor in anyway. It is always a survivors decision.
But what is this work? What can a caregiver do to encourage a survivor to make the choice to continue living?
This work is — to Be there.
In the purest sense, simply be there — let the survivor know you are available and would like to listen, if there is anything to hear.
This is not asking ‘Are you okay’. This is not suggesting behaviors. This is not offering guidance.
Just listen — without judgement.
“But how?” A caregiver may ask, “How do I Do this?”
It’s not a thing to do, it’s a way to be.
At this point, I run the risk of falling into the realm of spiritual mysticism — “Just Be, man” — and that might shake some people, so let me cut that thought off — this is NOT about being mystic or meditating or the spiritual. It’s also not about “fixing” a thing. This is about trusting in the person for which you care to come to you when they are ready to express a need.
Now, that said, I do suggest a caregiver try to keep a light line of communication open — don’t go out of your way to ignore the survivor, but when you talk, keep things emotionally light — “Hey, how you doing?” “You wanna get some coffee this afternoon? No? Okay, let me know if you change your mind.” “Anytime you want to do something, just let me know and I’ll see what’s up.” Don’t try to force your way in — that will only push the survivor away — but just be there as someone who cares.
As a survivor, I remember needing to cry, to complain, to scream without the fear of having some other rehabilitation or therapy or life-affirming habit thrust into my life. Recovery sucks — things may be slowly getting better, but let a survivor recognize the pain and confusion and hate and all the negative feelings and emotions by talking about them — being able to express the negative is the beginning of moving onto positive thinking. As a caregiver, it is not your job to fix everything that is wrong — it is your job to CARE for the survivor, and sometimes that care is best shown by simply being there and letting the survivor dump all the shit out of his or her mind — and as a caregiver, its gotta be okay to wipe off this shit, smile at the survivor, give a hug, and brace yourself for the next load.
That is the first, and I believe the most important step — care — with no expectation or desire for recognition — care. Be there.
I recognize this cannot be easy. Giving care is often thought of as an active event, and the act of simply being may seem aggravatingly passive. Don’t worry, as a caregiver there is still a lot you will need to do — transportation to doctors’ appointments, preparing meals, helping the loved one navigate a new set of physical limitations — we could continue as the list of necessary things to do for a caregiver is rather extensive, but I do not want to become distracted. This is about the question of suicide — and this is one thing a caregiver cannot actively do. From my experience, a caregiver can best help by actively being there — available, ready, but not insistent.
In tandem with this, a caregiver can — and should — have information about suicide prevention services, encourage participation in social activities, demonstrate positive thinking, and be knowledgable of suicide dissuasion methods — these sort of actions are important for a survivor to have in his or her life, but first there must be trust. A survivor will have difficulty hearing a caregiver offer positive information if this information feels forced upon the survivor. I remember knowing that there was self-help information when I was in the intense part of my early recovery, but often felt I was being pushed toward it — and it made me uncomfortable to make the decision to access such help and extra curricular services when I did not feel autonomy over the decision to do so.
This raises the question — Would I have had less suicidal ideation if I felt more autonomy in the decision to reach out for rehabilitative resources?
I don’t know.
Maybe I did have a person or persons who provided a sort of unobtrusive care, but it was done in a way that I wasn’t even aware of the care, and this care helped to keep me from making the wrong decision — in which case these caregivers did a damn fine job and I am eternally grateful. Or maybe I didn’t have these people and I was fortunate to navigate the precipice of suicidal ideation on my own.
I cannot know.
A frustrating answer, but the only one I can honestly give.
What I can say is that living with my new and continuously changing set of skills provided a series of pressures, and at times these pressures squeezed out thoughts of suicide. How much it was my caregivers — those recognized and those I was never aware of — that inspired me to temper these thoughts, and how much it was my personal tenacity that kept me alive is unknown. It’s a damnable unknown, but one I’m thankful for and one I can Live with.
Returning to the role of a caregiver in curbing suicidal ideation, the primary job is both the simplest and the most difficult. Be there. Allow a survivor to cry to you, to complain, to consider all choices — all paths — all results. Have information at the ready and answer any questions asked of you, but do not insist that you know the “correct” thing to do. By being there with unobtrusive consistency, a survivor can find comfort in knowing there is support as he or she continues into a new stage of life.
I hope this makes sense. Please share with friends if you think they might find this entry interesting or helpful.
To Caregivers
To begin bluntly, know that a caregiver — especially a nonprofessional caregiver — cannot be the “hero” that “saves” a person from the thought or the act of suicide. Get rid of any idea like this — it puts an unfair burden on both the caregiver and the survivor. Suicide is a choice made by the person who commits the act. A caregiver can, and should, seek to positively influence the survivor, but should not take on responsibility for a suicidal decision. Taking on such responsibility can not only cause extended emotional trauma for a caregiver, but can also lay further stress upon the survivor — the survivor is no longer responsible for only personal wellbeing, but also the wellbeing of the caregiver. In my experience, feeling “pressure to live” and not kill myself for the sake of other people became another stress — I was not encouraged to live but felt further defeated. My thought process was, “Well, I’m getting pretty good at screwing everything else up, why not die and just add one more thing to an already long list. At least that way the list of my screwups won’t get any longer.”
Similarly, the caregiver should not seek credit for helping the survivor — the survivor is the only person who makes the choice to live or not live. Furthermore, this decision to live should not be a glorified. It is an important choice, but also — very simply — necessary. Any person who wants to continue in this life constantly makes the decision to live, though often it is done unconsciously — death is always possible, but most times we ignore this choice. For a caregiver to take credit for encouraging a survivor to decide to live takes away the power of that decision from the survivor.
With all those caveats, This puts the caregiver in the unenviable position of being a person who works a thankless task and never receives credit for the work done — what’s more, a caregiver can never know if any work done has affected a survivor in anyway. It is always a survivors decision.
But what is this work? What can a caregiver do to encourage a survivor to make the choice to continue living?
This work is — to Be there.
In the purest sense, simply be there — let the survivor know you are available and would like to listen, if there is anything to hear.
This is not asking ‘Are you okay’. This is not suggesting behaviors. This is not offering guidance.
Just listen — without judgement.
“But how?” A caregiver may ask, “How do I Do this?”
It’s not a thing to do, it’s a way to be.
At this point, I run the risk of falling into the realm of spiritual mysticism — “Just Be, man” — and that might shake some people, so let me cut that thought off — this is NOT about being mystic or meditating or the spiritual. It’s also not about “fixing” a thing. This is about trusting in the person for which you care to come to you when they are ready to express a need.
Now, that said, I do suggest a caregiver try to keep a light line of communication open — don’t go out of your way to ignore the survivor, but when you talk, keep things emotionally light — “Hey, how you doing?” “You wanna get some coffee this afternoon? No? Okay, let me know if you change your mind.” “Anytime you want to do something, just let me know and I’ll see what’s up.” Don’t try to force your way in — that will only push the survivor away — but just be there as someone who cares.
As a survivor, I remember needing to cry, to complain, to scream without the fear of having some other rehabilitation or therapy or life-affirming habit thrust into my life. Recovery sucks — things may be slowly getting better, but let a survivor recognize the pain and confusion and hate and all the negative feelings and emotions by talking about them — being able to express the negative is the beginning of moving onto positive thinking. As a caregiver, it is not your job to fix everything that is wrong — it is your job to CARE for the survivor, and sometimes that care is best shown by simply being there and letting the survivor dump all the shit out of his or her mind — and as a caregiver, its gotta be okay to wipe off this shit, smile at the survivor, give a hug, and brace yourself for the next load.
That is the first, and I believe the most important step — care — with no expectation or desire for recognition — care. Be there.
I recognize this cannot be easy. Giving care is often thought of as an active event, and the act of simply being may seem aggravatingly passive. Don’t worry, as a caregiver there is still a lot you will need to do — transportation to doctors’ appointments, preparing meals, helping the loved one navigate a new set of physical limitations — we could continue as the list of necessary things to do for a caregiver is rather extensive, but I do not want to become distracted. This is about the question of suicide — and this is one thing a caregiver cannot actively do. From my experience, a caregiver can best help by actively being there — available, ready, but not insistent.
In tandem with this, a caregiver can — and should — have information about suicide prevention services, encourage participation in social activities, demonstrate positive thinking, and be knowledgable of suicide dissuasion methods — these sort of actions are important for a survivor to have in his or her life, but first there must be trust. A survivor will have difficulty hearing a caregiver offer positive information if this information feels forced upon the survivor. I remember knowing that there was self-help information when I was in the intense part of my early recovery, but often felt I was being pushed toward it — and it made me uncomfortable to make the decision to access such help and extra curricular services when I did not feel autonomy over the decision to do so.
This raises the question — Would I have had less suicidal ideation if I felt more autonomy in the decision to reach out for rehabilitative resources?
I don’t know.
Maybe I did have a person or persons who provided a sort of unobtrusive care, but it was done in a way that I wasn’t even aware of the care, and this care helped to keep me from making the wrong decision — in which case these caregivers did a damn fine job and I am eternally grateful. Or maybe I didn’t have these people and I was fortunate to navigate the precipice of suicidal ideation on my own.
I cannot know.
A frustrating answer, but the only one I can honestly give.
What I can say is that living with my new and continuously changing set of skills provided a series of pressures, and at times these pressures squeezed out thoughts of suicide. How much it was my caregivers — those recognized and those I was never aware of — that inspired me to temper these thoughts, and how much it was my personal tenacity that kept me alive is unknown. It’s a damnable unknown, but one I’m thankful for and one I can Live with.
Returning to the role of a caregiver in curbing suicidal ideation, the primary job is both the simplest and the most difficult. Be there. Allow a survivor to cry to you, to complain, to consider all choices — all paths — all results. Have information at the ready and answer any questions asked of you, but do not insist that you know the “correct” thing to do. By being there with unobtrusive consistency, a survivor can find comfort in knowing there is support as he or she continues into a new stage of life.
I hope this makes sense. Please share with friends if you think they might find this entry interesting or helpful.
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
Scene 28 -- Responding to Suicidal Ideation (1/3)
****************Scene 28*****************
Larry,
did try to commit suicide
one time.
But It wasn’t all my fault,
see,
I was on these new anti depressants, so my head was in a weird place,
and I also had these pills…
When I took them, they made me feel real good,
kinda high,
and I knew if I took too many of these pills -
more than one -
I could OD and, like, maybe die,
But,
I don’t know,
like,
everything just…
SUCKED,
A lot.
And it wasn’t getting better,
So I thought - the pills -
Maybe I could, I don’t know,
feel good as I go out.
So I tried to OD on my medication. they found me,
got me to the hospital,
Turns out, couldn’t even do That right.
*******************Commentary***********************************
Suicide rates increase after brain injury.
Depending on the source cited, studies indicate that suicide rates increase 2 - 4 times after TBI (Suicidality in people surviving a traumatic brain injury...clinical management - Rates and Predictors of Suicidal Ideation During the First Year After Traumatic Brain Injury - 17% of people with traumatic brain injury attempted suicide)
The previous entry shared my experience with suicidal ideation, and I suspect that there are further thoughts of suicide that go unreported, as mine did — particularly in light of the responses I received concerning the previous article. When I was in the midst of often having thoughts of suicide, I remember learning the “correct responses” to questions so that my ideation would not be recognized and I would not raise any further concerns for those around me. If this is true for survivors other than myself, it suggests that instances of suicidal ideation may be greater than the amount reported in these studies.
Or I may be mistaken. It may that caregivers and professionals are able to pull back the veil placed over ideation and are able to see such “unreported” impulses with more clarity than I give them credit — these are professional research studies, and the possibility of deceptive responses may have been factored into the study. Whatever the case, I don’t want to dwell on this point — this is not criticism toward those studies — we can agree that there is a significant increase in both suicide attempts and ideation after brain injury. This article — posted in three parts — is my attempt to address this truth.
It comes from my personal experience. I cannot claim that I am an expert in the area of suicide, and should there be a conflict between my thoughts and those of a trained mental health professional, I encourage listening to professional recommendations over my ideas every time. That said, I want this article to present something new — to provide something more than a series of quotations — therefore I have written what I learned from my journey through recovery and suicidal ideation. My research into the subject seems to support the ideas that I share, but I ask for any responses that support or call into question my claims. The goal is to provide the best information.
This article will be posted in three sections — First is the short introduction that you just finished — thank you for that, but please keep reading. The next post (posted within the week) will be my suggestion to caregivers of how to respond to warning signs or fears of suicidal intention. And the final posting is a message directed to survivors that shares my philosophy about suicide and why it is not the best option.
Thank you for diving into this topic with me. It is a sad and scary reality that needs to be addressed — please keep up with these posts and share your thoughts.
Larry,
did try to commit suicide
one time.
But It wasn’t all my fault,
see,
I was on these new anti depressants, so my head was in a weird place,
and I also had these pills…
When I took them, they made me feel real good,
kinda high,
and I knew if I took too many of these pills -
more than one -
I could OD and, like, maybe die,
But,
I don’t know,
like,
everything just…
SUCKED,
A lot.
And it wasn’t getting better,
So I thought - the pills -
Maybe I could, I don’t know,
feel good as I go out.
So I tried to OD on my medication. they found me,
got me to the hospital,
Turns out, couldn’t even do That right.
*******************Commentary***********************************
Suicide rates increase after brain injury.
Depending on the source cited, studies indicate that suicide rates increase 2 - 4 times after TBI (Suicidality in people surviving a traumatic brain injury...clinical management - Rates and Predictors of Suicidal Ideation During the First Year After Traumatic Brain Injury - 17% of people with traumatic brain injury attempted suicide)
The previous entry shared my experience with suicidal ideation, and I suspect that there are further thoughts of suicide that go unreported, as mine did — particularly in light of the responses I received concerning the previous article. When I was in the midst of often having thoughts of suicide, I remember learning the “correct responses” to questions so that my ideation would not be recognized and I would not raise any further concerns for those around me. If this is true for survivors other than myself, it suggests that instances of suicidal ideation may be greater than the amount reported in these studies.
Or I may be mistaken. It may that caregivers and professionals are able to pull back the veil placed over ideation and are able to see such “unreported” impulses with more clarity than I give them credit — these are professional research studies, and the possibility of deceptive responses may have been factored into the study. Whatever the case, I don’t want to dwell on this point — this is not criticism toward those studies — we can agree that there is a significant increase in both suicide attempts and ideation after brain injury. This article — posted in three parts — is my attempt to address this truth.
It comes from my personal experience. I cannot claim that I am an expert in the area of suicide, and should there be a conflict between my thoughts and those of a trained mental health professional, I encourage listening to professional recommendations over my ideas every time. That said, I want this article to present something new — to provide something more than a series of quotations — therefore I have written what I learned from my journey through recovery and suicidal ideation. My research into the subject seems to support the ideas that I share, but I ask for any responses that support or call into question my claims. The goal is to provide the best information.
This article will be posted in three sections — First is the short introduction that you just finished — thank you for that, but please keep reading. The next post (posted within the week) will be my suggestion to caregivers of how to respond to warning signs or fears of suicidal intention. And the final posting is a message directed to survivors that shares my philosophy about suicide and why it is not the best option.
Thank you for diving into this topic with me. It is a sad and scary reality that needs to be addressed — please keep up with these posts and share your thoughts.
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Scene 27 - Questions of Suicide
NOTE: Before we begin, I will warn you that I do use some explicit language in this entry — if “swear words” will offend, please don’t read.
************Scene 27 - Questions of Suicide***************
I remember praying.
God…
They
say I am Here because of You.
They say you must have
Kept me alive for some reason.
They say you Breathed life into my dead, body,
but God Why!
WHY!
why?
You took everything I Am.
Everything.
My,
my skills, my friends,
my self control,
you took it and you threw it out, like, like it was nothing.
Like I…
…am nothing.
On November 4th, 1999
I died.
now I’m just waiting for this body to catch up.
********************Commentary**********************
It’s late afternoon, orange sunlight sneaking through the thin coat of grim on my parent’s kitchen window. I’m at the chipped white tile counter — just to the right of the sink — the heavy weight of the largest kitchen knife in my hands — the sharp chill of the steal point pressing against my wrists. Looking at the skin fold under the slight pressure…it is thin skin here — just a little pressure and I bet I could break it…how fast would I need to move to…
In this moment I spoke the words — cried — screamed at the overwhelming nothingness of an infinite universe. My cries claimed that they were prayer — pleas directed at God — mind, at that moment I knew no God, but I wanted my pain, my rage, my Hate and frustration and anger and fear and loss — I wanted to be heard! But I did not want any advice — No interventions — Let me me deal with my own fucked life however I goddamned please! I couldn’t express a desire of suicide to anyone I actually knew because they would worry for me — try to get me help — counseling — medications — things that numbed but could not fix. Numbed the dream of what I thought I had before — numbed the pain inside…
And I wanted to hurt — if I hurt then I could Blame life — Blame God — Blame for my Situation-Confusion-Pain — I wanted whatever had kept me alive to be conscious — and I wanted Know that whatever was my damned salvation would Hear me Suffer. I wanted to watch the world weep as I die.
At the time, I didn’t really know how to slit wrists, and I don’t know if I could have killed myself. But I did contemplate it, several times, and this moment — the moment I describe in the commentary above — the moment I remember when I present this scene in my storytelling — This is the closest I came to making a serious attempt. It was not a moment of impassioned rage that brings consequences of harm to myself or others — it was a meditated, conscious consideration of ending the suffering by slitting my wrists and letting life dribble from me.
My thoughts were filled with elementary and high-school inspirational speakers labeling suicide as “the weak person’s way” — “giving up” — “the lazy way of not facing problems”.
And my thoughts replied, spitting back at this speaker, “How DARE you echo in my mind when life has decided to toss me to the side, cripple my soul, destroy my dreams, forget about me. Fuck you if you say I’m weak for considering suicide, that I should ‘grow up’ and ‘face my troubles’ — what if I can’t beat them — is it better to try and know I will fail? You want me to fail?! You — speaker — who has not had brain injury — you say ‘Hey, it’s not that bad — ‘You’re alive, right?’ — ‘You can fix your life, it just takes strength and determination, and you seem like the go get ‘um kind of guy who can do it!’ — FUCK YOU if you think it 'just takes strength'. My strength is gone. I am gone. You haven’t had brain injury, don’t you give me advice until you smashed your head open and you're forced to live after life is taken away — see if you can give me the same goddamned advice — see if you still want to live through the recovery. I’ll don’t want your fucking advice — everyone’s giving me advice and telling me what to do and nothing is helping a Fucking Iota. This is my decision, and for once I’ll decide what I want to do..”
I spent a long time looking at the knife— feeling the handle against my palm, the blade against skin. Could I do it? Would I do it right?
Time became meaningless — seconds — minutes — maybe an hour passed — the decision was infinite — the question devoid of time.
Until the sound of the front door opening shook me to the present — my mother coming back from the store. The knife dropped to the counter and I fished around in the cabinets for a snack — providing a reason for being in the kitchen. The decision would wait.
And the question of suicide never pressed into my life as urgently again — it would flicker into my brain, and still does at times, for moments, but these are passions that I quickly quell with reason and/or meditation. But I often remember my thoughts described above.
How to provide appropriate commentary for this scene? I took the space above to try and flesh out the moment — to share the memory that remains in my conscious. I want you, the reader, to understand where I was and where many survivors find themselves — maybe you relate or maybe you learn something new. When one hears about suicidal thoughts, its easy to say “Don’t do it” and “Get help” — but this doesn’t address the damning confusion and pain that infects many thoughts after brain injury. Medication numbs the tortured soul and therapy will help to form strategies for understanding, appreciating, and navigating life with the “New You”, but it cannot bring back the infinite ineffable elements of being that have been torn asunder.
And a simple truth needs to be acknowledged —
Brain injury Fucks your life.
It does not end life and life can get better — I am a living and joyful testament to continuing after TBI — but after brain injury, your life is FUCKED UP! All those goals you had, those ideas, those plans…fuck ‘um. You’re starting over…you don’t know what tools are available…and you’ve got to deal with the world NOW.
Brain Injury takes you to a dark place. As I have stated repeatedly in this blog, it is important that a person does not dwell in this space and convince oneself that you cannot escape, but it is important to acknowledge where you are. Don’t hide it. Dark moments of the mind will come and dangerous thoughts will surface. Get help as these thoughts begin to become unbearable, but do not try to ignore them — recognize where you are. As a survivor, the situations of life have brought you here, and now you must deal with it.
The commentary for the next scene will attempt to more rationally discuss suicidal thoughts and express reasons why suicide is not a solution, but for this entry, I feel there is a need to acknowledge the truth of where this experience of brain injury takes you.
And contemplating suicide is a place many survivors find — so if you’re here, look around and see that you don’t see much — it’s a God-damned, dark space.
But you need to know where you are if you want to figure how to get out, and that’s the next step.
************Scene 27 - Questions of Suicide***************
I remember praying.
God…
They
say I am Here because of You.
They say you must have
Kept me alive for some reason.
They say you Breathed life into my dead, body,
but God Why!
WHY!
why?
You took everything I Am.
Everything.
My,
my skills, my friends,
my self control,
you took it and you threw it out, like, like it was nothing.
Like I…
…am nothing.
On November 4th, 1999
I died.
now I’m just waiting for this body to catch up.
********************Commentary**********************
It’s late afternoon, orange sunlight sneaking through the thin coat of grim on my parent’s kitchen window. I’m at the chipped white tile counter — just to the right of the sink — the heavy weight of the largest kitchen knife in my hands — the sharp chill of the steal point pressing against my wrists. Looking at the skin fold under the slight pressure…it is thin skin here — just a little pressure and I bet I could break it…how fast would I need to move to…
In this moment I spoke the words — cried — screamed at the overwhelming nothingness of an infinite universe. My cries claimed that they were prayer — pleas directed at God — mind, at that moment I knew no God, but I wanted my pain, my rage, my Hate and frustration and anger and fear and loss — I wanted to be heard! But I did not want any advice — No interventions — Let me me deal with my own fucked life however I goddamned please! I couldn’t express a desire of suicide to anyone I actually knew because they would worry for me — try to get me help — counseling — medications — things that numbed but could not fix. Numbed the dream of what I thought I had before — numbed the pain inside…
And I wanted to hurt — if I hurt then I could Blame life — Blame God — Blame for my Situation-Confusion-Pain — I wanted whatever had kept me alive to be conscious — and I wanted Know that whatever was my damned salvation would Hear me Suffer. I wanted to watch the world weep as I die.
At the time, I didn’t really know how to slit wrists, and I don’t know if I could have killed myself. But I did contemplate it, several times, and this moment — the moment I describe in the commentary above — the moment I remember when I present this scene in my storytelling — This is the closest I came to making a serious attempt. It was not a moment of impassioned rage that brings consequences of harm to myself or others — it was a meditated, conscious consideration of ending the suffering by slitting my wrists and letting life dribble from me.
My thoughts were filled with elementary and high-school inspirational speakers labeling suicide as “the weak person’s way” — “giving up” — “the lazy way of not facing problems”.
And my thoughts replied, spitting back at this speaker, “How DARE you echo in my mind when life has decided to toss me to the side, cripple my soul, destroy my dreams, forget about me. Fuck you if you say I’m weak for considering suicide, that I should ‘grow up’ and ‘face my troubles’ — what if I can’t beat them — is it better to try and know I will fail? You want me to fail?! You — speaker — who has not had brain injury — you say ‘Hey, it’s not that bad — ‘You’re alive, right?’ — ‘You can fix your life, it just takes strength and determination, and you seem like the go get ‘um kind of guy who can do it!’ — FUCK YOU if you think it 'just takes strength'. My strength is gone. I am gone. You haven’t had brain injury, don’t you give me advice until you smashed your head open and you're forced to live after life is taken away — see if you can give me the same goddamned advice — see if you still want to live through the recovery. I’ll don’t want your fucking advice — everyone’s giving me advice and telling me what to do and nothing is helping a Fucking Iota. This is my decision, and for once I’ll decide what I want to do..”
I spent a long time looking at the knife— feeling the handle against my palm, the blade against skin. Could I do it? Would I do it right?
Time became meaningless — seconds — minutes — maybe an hour passed — the decision was infinite — the question devoid of time.
Until the sound of the front door opening shook me to the present — my mother coming back from the store. The knife dropped to the counter and I fished around in the cabinets for a snack — providing a reason for being in the kitchen. The decision would wait.
And the question of suicide never pressed into my life as urgently again — it would flicker into my brain, and still does at times, for moments, but these are passions that I quickly quell with reason and/or meditation. But I often remember my thoughts described above.
How to provide appropriate commentary for this scene? I took the space above to try and flesh out the moment — to share the memory that remains in my conscious. I want you, the reader, to understand where I was and where many survivors find themselves — maybe you relate or maybe you learn something new. When one hears about suicidal thoughts, its easy to say “Don’t do it” and “Get help” — but this doesn’t address the damning confusion and pain that infects many thoughts after brain injury. Medication numbs the tortured soul and therapy will help to form strategies for understanding, appreciating, and navigating life with the “New You”, but it cannot bring back the infinite ineffable elements of being that have been torn asunder.
And a simple truth needs to be acknowledged —
Brain injury Fucks your life.
It does not end life and life can get better — I am a living and joyful testament to continuing after TBI — but after brain injury, your life is FUCKED UP! All those goals you had, those ideas, those plans…fuck ‘um. You’re starting over…you don’t know what tools are available…and you’ve got to deal with the world NOW.
Brain Injury takes you to a dark place. As I have stated repeatedly in this blog, it is important that a person does not dwell in this space and convince oneself that you cannot escape, but it is important to acknowledge where you are. Don’t hide it. Dark moments of the mind will come and dangerous thoughts will surface. Get help as these thoughts begin to become unbearable, but do not try to ignore them — recognize where you are. As a survivor, the situations of life have brought you here, and now you must deal with it.
The commentary for the next scene will attempt to more rationally discuss suicidal thoughts and express reasons why suicide is not a solution, but for this entry, I feel there is a need to acknowledge the truth of where this experience of brain injury takes you.
And contemplating suicide is a place many survivors find — so if you’re here, look around and see that you don’t see much — it’s a God-damned, dark space.
But you need to know where you are if you want to figure how to get out, and that’s the next step.
Thursday, February 21, 2019
Scene 26 - Had Things
************Scene 26 - Had Things**********
Tony, used to have things.
I had, you know, THINGS
Things like
a car, house,
job, career, friends
I had a lover, I had things. And then, just like that -
it’s all gone.
Now all I’ve gots is myself.
***************Commentary****************
As self-awareness returns after brain injury, it’s easy to feel as though everything has been lost. Physical skills and mental functions are compromised — an obscene portion of personal wealth is dedicated to immediate medical and rehabilitation care — prospects for employment have likely been severely limited — relationships compromised — difficulty completing previously simple independent tasks — memories torn from the conscious…the sense of loss after brain injury is a long and depressing list. It’s easy to feel like Tony does in the scene shared above — that “all I’ve gots is myself” — but this is not true.
After brain injury, life changes — there is no denying that — and the sudden switch of one’s friendships and social abilities is devastating — easily leading a person down the rabbit hole of isolation and loneliness. It feels like no one understands — how could they — and because no one understands, the only person you can rely on is yourself. A survivor is left alone to grieve his or her loses with solipsistic depression. It is not easy to climb out of this rabbit hole, but remaining in this hole is a choice.
Now, is tempting — its easier to just remain — when you’re alone in the hole, there is no conflict — minimal investment in activities, and therefore minimal risk of loss — most other people will not want to enter this hole with you, so you will not need to explain your difficulties — but while you’re in a hole there’s no-way/no-where to grow. A hole is a space that keeps others out by containing or trapping what is inside — isolation — and without room to stretch or flex — without the sun from outside to give energy — more than a majority of people will not be able to grow. A survivor who becomes trapped in the false security of a hole limits his or her ability to grow — not learning how to utilize the new set of skills — continuing to loose social comfort from a lack of practice — not grasping the full beauty of possibility that exists in the reality of being alive.
As survivors, we are alive — and being alive mean accepting a new reality.
After brain injury, there are many parts of life that you thought were stable, but can no longer continue. My personal journey included friendships dissolving, changing my plans for college, future professional dreams seeming to become squashed — I felt as if life had decided to abandon me.
I was forced to change.
I was fortunate to have one situation that did help to facilitate this change — I was leaving my high school setting. My situation allowed me to attend a local college that is literally across the street from my parents’ house — not where I had hoped to attend, but it allowed me to step lightly into college education while living at home — and as with most college freshmen, I was thrust into a new group of peers and teachers — people who did not know me and therefore did not have a history of what I “used to be like”. I was starting from square one, and forced to create relationships with people based on who I am now — who I was at that moment — not who I was in my pre-injury life. My anonymity allowed me to more easily discover the person I had become.
After experiencing an injury, it may be helpful to change your social settings — if you need to find new employment, embrace this opportunity — join new community activities — bring new people into your life by volunteering for charity groups — seek out support groups from brain injury survivors where you can share your story with people who better understand and can relate to your situation. Finding new groups of friends and peers allows you to build a life where people learn to like and respect you for who you are — not who you were.
However, tied to this search for new social groups there should be a healthy amount of caution — talk with trained professionals as you try new ways social interaction. The Brain Injury Network webpage states, “Our position is that support groups for people with brain injuries should be operated by people with professional level training in some field related to brain injury.” This is done to ensure the safety of advice given to survivors as well as to create a clear accountability system for any advice — peers with brain injury may have the best intentions when giving advice, but do not always have the professional training necessary in understanding of benefits and dangers of suggestions. That applies to advice from this blog as well — I have not yet received professional training, and, while my advice comes from research and experience, I am not a professional rehabilitation coach. My advice comes from experience, research, and reasoning — but it is still untrained advice.
As a side note, if anyone reading this can suggest ways I can find more professional training while living outside the United States (I currently live in China), please leave notes below. I am interested in increasing my knowledge and would love to gain a more complete understanding of these processes so I can speak and suggest advice from a better educated position.
But back to the subject at hand…
Some reading this may feel that this method of handling the pain of loss after brain injury (finding new friendships and social groups) is too idealistic — that the process of “forming new friendships” and “accepting your new set of skills” seems too obvious and candy-coated — and while researching this article, I came across comments to other articles dealing with issues of grief and loss that criticized the author for not recognizing the reality of difficulties faced by individual survivors — that attempting to cover the whole of recovery with a blanket statement about recovery is not helpful.
I do not think this criticism is flawed, but I would like to preempt such comments toward this article by acknowledging that I recognize the paths I suggest are presented in a way that is falsely uncomplicated. It is not easy to change peer or social groups, especially when you are tied to a setting due to family and/or work obligations. There will still be the pain of change and loss — and there will be new social difficulties as you learn how to utilize a new set of skills. I present my thoughts in the hope that they can help provide some direction — some path to start exploration. The goal of this article is to help a survivor recognize that you do not need to be alone — that believing “all I gots is myself” is a choice.
That said, I do encourage comments below — be they critical or otherwise. I am eager to read your thoughts on this topic so we can continue and deepen the conversation. But if you don’t leave a comment, thanks for reading and I hope we can chat sometime soon.
Please leave comments below.
Tony, used to have things.
I had, you know, THINGS
Things like
a car, house,
job, career, friends
I had a lover, I had things. And then, just like that -
it’s all gone.
Now all I’ve gots is myself.
***************Commentary****************
As self-awareness returns after brain injury, it’s easy to feel as though everything has been lost. Physical skills and mental functions are compromised — an obscene portion of personal wealth is dedicated to immediate medical and rehabilitation care — prospects for employment have likely been severely limited — relationships compromised — difficulty completing previously simple independent tasks — memories torn from the conscious…the sense of loss after brain injury is a long and depressing list. It’s easy to feel like Tony does in the scene shared above — that “all I’ve gots is myself” — but this is not true.
After brain injury, life changes — there is no denying that — and the sudden switch of one’s friendships and social abilities is devastating — easily leading a person down the rabbit hole of isolation and loneliness. It feels like no one understands — how could they — and because no one understands, the only person you can rely on is yourself. A survivor is left alone to grieve his or her loses with solipsistic depression. It is not easy to climb out of this rabbit hole, but remaining in this hole is a choice.
Now, is tempting — its easier to just remain — when you’re alone in the hole, there is no conflict — minimal investment in activities, and therefore minimal risk of loss — most other people will not want to enter this hole with you, so you will not need to explain your difficulties — but while you’re in a hole there’s no-way/no-where to grow. A hole is a space that keeps others out by containing or trapping what is inside — isolation — and without room to stretch or flex — without the sun from outside to give energy — more than a majority of people will not be able to grow. A survivor who becomes trapped in the false security of a hole limits his or her ability to grow — not learning how to utilize the new set of skills — continuing to loose social comfort from a lack of practice — not grasping the full beauty of possibility that exists in the reality of being alive.
As survivors, we are alive — and being alive mean accepting a new reality.
After brain injury, there are many parts of life that you thought were stable, but can no longer continue. My personal journey included friendships dissolving, changing my plans for college, future professional dreams seeming to become squashed — I felt as if life had decided to abandon me.
I was forced to change.
I was fortunate to have one situation that did help to facilitate this change — I was leaving my high school setting. My situation allowed me to attend a local college that is literally across the street from my parents’ house — not where I had hoped to attend, but it allowed me to step lightly into college education while living at home — and as with most college freshmen, I was thrust into a new group of peers and teachers — people who did not know me and therefore did not have a history of what I “used to be like”. I was starting from square one, and forced to create relationships with people based on who I am now — who I was at that moment — not who I was in my pre-injury life. My anonymity allowed me to more easily discover the person I had become.
After experiencing an injury, it may be helpful to change your social settings — if you need to find new employment, embrace this opportunity — join new community activities — bring new people into your life by volunteering for charity groups — seek out support groups from brain injury survivors where you can share your story with people who better understand and can relate to your situation. Finding new groups of friends and peers allows you to build a life where people learn to like and respect you for who you are — not who you were.
However, tied to this search for new social groups there should be a healthy amount of caution — talk with trained professionals as you try new ways social interaction. The Brain Injury Network webpage states, “Our position is that support groups for people with brain injuries should be operated by people with professional level training in some field related to brain injury.” This is done to ensure the safety of advice given to survivors as well as to create a clear accountability system for any advice — peers with brain injury may have the best intentions when giving advice, but do not always have the professional training necessary in understanding of benefits and dangers of suggestions. That applies to advice from this blog as well — I have not yet received professional training, and, while my advice comes from research and experience, I am not a professional rehabilitation coach. My advice comes from experience, research, and reasoning — but it is still untrained advice.
As a side note, if anyone reading this can suggest ways I can find more professional training while living outside the United States (I currently live in China), please leave notes below. I am interested in increasing my knowledge and would love to gain a more complete understanding of these processes so I can speak and suggest advice from a better educated position.
But back to the subject at hand…
Some reading this may feel that this method of handling the pain of loss after brain injury (finding new friendships and social groups) is too idealistic — that the process of “forming new friendships” and “accepting your new set of skills” seems too obvious and candy-coated — and while researching this article, I came across comments to other articles dealing with issues of grief and loss that criticized the author for not recognizing the reality of difficulties faced by individual survivors — that attempting to cover the whole of recovery with a blanket statement about recovery is not helpful.
I do not think this criticism is flawed, but I would like to preempt such comments toward this article by acknowledging that I recognize the paths I suggest are presented in a way that is falsely uncomplicated. It is not easy to change peer or social groups, especially when you are tied to a setting due to family and/or work obligations. There will still be the pain of change and loss — and there will be new social difficulties as you learn how to utilize a new set of skills. I present my thoughts in the hope that they can help provide some direction — some path to start exploration. The goal of this article is to help a survivor recognize that you do not need to be alone — that believing “all I gots is myself” is a choice.
That said, I do encourage comments below — be they critical or otherwise. I am eager to read your thoughts on this topic so we can continue and deepen the conversation. But if you don’t leave a comment, thanks for reading and I hope we can chat sometime soon.
Please leave comments below.
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Scene 25 - Gimp
****************Scene 25 - Gimp***********************
I wanted to be like my sister, I wanted to remain true to Who I Am, but…
Who Am I!
I remember being the Gimp.
That was my title, Gimp.
It was a Nickname my friends gave me
And I couldn’t deny it, you know.
I couldn’t walk right,
couldn’t talk right,
couldn’t - Laugh right!
I was…A gimp.
But at least I was somebody.
At least I had a title,
and an excuse. Whenever I screwed something up I could say, “Hey, don’t blame me, I’m a gimp, remember!”
And they would laugh and I would,
bray, along with them.
It was funny,
I guess.
**********************Commentary*********************
Friends tease one another.
In previous articles I’ve mentioned how — following my injury — I was involved in a rock band. As we were boyhood friends in this rock band, we would tease each other. The title of “Gimp” was first granted by one of my bandmates — don’t remember who said it and it doesn’t matter. As adolescent boys who are playing in the parent’s garage, it’s natural that we would flippantly toss insulting words - casually degrading one another — like peacocks flaunting plumage, young men throw jibes to display juvenile prominence — dissecting a companion’s flukes and flaws in what is a generally a safe environment. Everyone’s seeking to win this social game — the “score” seems to be kept by any laughter that is a result of these trite insults, and is generally forgotten soon after.
But some words resonate — hanging in the memory like a chime’s solitary tone through an empty night.
“Gimp” — I remember this word roused laughter, and this laughter caused the word to become lodged in my mind as an easy way to get a laugh while simultaneously explaining away any flub, fumble, or folly. And I embraced the word, proudly seeking comic approval through self-degradation. Yet at times, I went to far with my “gimp” routine — it was too much, and I have memories of the laughs that left a bandmate’s mouth becoming uncomfortable exhalations instead of jovial vibrations — but I clung to the word because it got a reaction.
And the quality of the word began to change — no longer a playful jest, but a false crutch.
As friendships became strained, when other’s used the term “gimp”, it became a safe way to lash out and express frustrations. When it was used by me, the term became a self-pitying excuse for my failures. And the term migrated from a term used solely within among bandmates to something widely known by my social circles — and I accepted this without hesitation.
I would even encourage it, thinking I could to wriggle my way into the social scene by turning myself into a sitcom character. I wanted to be the fool — the duffus — the Barney Fife character that everyone loves — and there were times when I would accent an error in order to flaunt my “gimpiness” in the hope of comic approval. But in reality, not everyone loves this character.
There were times I was called out on this excuse — by close friends — scolding my attempt to shirk responsibility for a mistake by using the term “gimp” — yet simultaneously, members of the same social circle would tease me with that title. I felt trapped — by the word, and what it implied — by the habit of its usage.
Until I made the choice to shed the title.
The date has been lost to memory, but I remember being at band practice when the word was thrown at me — not with excessive malice, just casual teenage cruelty — and I remember taking a stand — “Hey, don’t use that word — I’m trying to get better and that word…it just doesn’t let me do that.”
“Okay.”
And that was it. There was no discussion, no resistance — everyone in the band, and soon all people in my social groups, stopped branding me with the term. It simply took me making a decision to not allow the word.
Words are remarkable — intangible vibrations inspired by even less tangible thoughts that are transmitted by pithy bursts of air — words have no direct effect upon the physical world, but we imbue them with such power that they inspire, degrade, encourage, deceive — words can build a civilization, destroy a planet, create a love, manipulate a people — and the same words carry different power for whomever hears or uses them. One person may hear a term or phrase and it festers in his or her soul and creates rage or sorrow that terrorizes the mood for days — while another person will hear the same words and give them no more attention than a fly’s fart.
The term “gimp” had very little power for my friends other than an easy insult they could give in what was most often meant to be a playful manner — it was my process that wrapped the word in self-criticism, anger, and pity. This is not to suggest it is my fault that the word carried such power, or that I could have simply released what the word meant to me — I will not explore that sort of argument here — instead what I want to recognize in this moment was how easy it was to ask that the word not be used — and how freeing. I asked them to stop — they said, “Okay” — and there was a physical sensation, a weight lifted off my brain — and we went back to band practice.
Nearly nothing for my bandmates, it was a moment of personal rebirth.
This is not to say I have removed power from the word — to this day, the word has an affect upon my conscious when I hear it, and it hurts when used toward any person — but my response is different. Instead of allowing it, I will face the term and ask that it is removed.
And I suggest you do the same. In my time as part of the brain injury community, I’ve been shocked at how often I hear or see the term “gimp” used as a phrase of self-deprecation — and on several occasions I have spoken to survivors, suggesting they banish the word from their vocabulary. I don’t know if these survivors have done this, and I don’t know if they let the term have the same damning power — but too often I have heard the term used as a way to quickly dismiss personal difficulties in recovery, and I suspect that this word does carry a painful power for many people.
So therefore, as a survivor who is still healing, don’t allow the this term — or other similarly simple degrading terms. Don’t get mad or try to scream these words away, just state to anyone who uses them that you would prefer they not be used around you — if such simple request is refused, these people are probably not good for your recovery and you should try to minimize time together. No one is a “gimp”, and everyone healing. Surround yourself with language that supports your healing process.
Thank you for reading, please leave comments below.
I wanted to be like my sister, I wanted to remain true to Who I Am, but…
Who Am I!
I remember being the Gimp.
That was my title, Gimp.
It was a Nickname my friends gave me
And I couldn’t deny it, you know.
I couldn’t walk right,
couldn’t talk right,
couldn’t - Laugh right!
I was…A gimp.
But at least I was somebody.
At least I had a title,
and an excuse. Whenever I screwed something up I could say, “Hey, don’t blame me, I’m a gimp, remember!”
And they would laugh and I would,
bray, along with them.
It was funny,
I guess.
**********************Commentary*********************
Friends tease one another.
In previous articles I’ve mentioned how — following my injury — I was involved in a rock band. As we were boyhood friends in this rock band, we would tease each other. The title of “Gimp” was first granted by one of my bandmates — don’t remember who said it and it doesn’t matter. As adolescent boys who are playing in the parent’s garage, it’s natural that we would flippantly toss insulting words - casually degrading one another — like peacocks flaunting plumage, young men throw jibes to display juvenile prominence — dissecting a companion’s flukes and flaws in what is a generally a safe environment. Everyone’s seeking to win this social game — the “score” seems to be kept by any laughter that is a result of these trite insults, and is generally forgotten soon after.
But some words resonate — hanging in the memory like a chime’s solitary tone through an empty night.
“Gimp” — I remember this word roused laughter, and this laughter caused the word to become lodged in my mind as an easy way to get a laugh while simultaneously explaining away any flub, fumble, or folly. And I embraced the word, proudly seeking comic approval through self-degradation. Yet at times, I went to far with my “gimp” routine — it was too much, and I have memories of the laughs that left a bandmate’s mouth becoming uncomfortable exhalations instead of jovial vibrations — but I clung to the word because it got a reaction.
And the quality of the word began to change — no longer a playful jest, but a false crutch.
As friendships became strained, when other’s used the term “gimp”, it became a safe way to lash out and express frustrations. When it was used by me, the term became a self-pitying excuse for my failures. And the term migrated from a term used solely within among bandmates to something widely known by my social circles — and I accepted this without hesitation.
I would even encourage it, thinking I could to wriggle my way into the social scene by turning myself into a sitcom character. I wanted to be the fool — the duffus — the Barney Fife character that everyone loves — and there were times when I would accent an error in order to flaunt my “gimpiness” in the hope of comic approval. But in reality, not everyone loves this character.
There were times I was called out on this excuse — by close friends — scolding my attempt to shirk responsibility for a mistake by using the term “gimp” — yet simultaneously, members of the same social circle would tease me with that title. I felt trapped — by the word, and what it implied — by the habit of its usage.
Until I made the choice to shed the title.
The date has been lost to memory, but I remember being at band practice when the word was thrown at me — not with excessive malice, just casual teenage cruelty — and I remember taking a stand — “Hey, don’t use that word — I’m trying to get better and that word…it just doesn’t let me do that.”
“Okay.”
And that was it. There was no discussion, no resistance — everyone in the band, and soon all people in my social groups, stopped branding me with the term. It simply took me making a decision to not allow the word.
Words are remarkable — intangible vibrations inspired by even less tangible thoughts that are transmitted by pithy bursts of air — words have no direct effect upon the physical world, but we imbue them with such power that they inspire, degrade, encourage, deceive — words can build a civilization, destroy a planet, create a love, manipulate a people — and the same words carry different power for whomever hears or uses them. One person may hear a term or phrase and it festers in his or her soul and creates rage or sorrow that terrorizes the mood for days — while another person will hear the same words and give them no more attention than a fly’s fart.
The term “gimp” had very little power for my friends other than an easy insult they could give in what was most often meant to be a playful manner — it was my process that wrapped the word in self-criticism, anger, and pity. This is not to suggest it is my fault that the word carried such power, or that I could have simply released what the word meant to me — I will not explore that sort of argument here — instead what I want to recognize in this moment was how easy it was to ask that the word not be used — and how freeing. I asked them to stop — they said, “Okay” — and there was a physical sensation, a weight lifted off my brain — and we went back to band practice.
Nearly nothing for my bandmates, it was a moment of personal rebirth.
This is not to say I have removed power from the word — to this day, the word has an affect upon my conscious when I hear it, and it hurts when used toward any person — but my response is different. Instead of allowing it, I will face the term and ask that it is removed.
And I suggest you do the same. In my time as part of the brain injury community, I’ve been shocked at how often I hear or see the term “gimp” used as a phrase of self-deprecation — and on several occasions I have spoken to survivors, suggesting they banish the word from their vocabulary. I don’t know if these survivors have done this, and I don’t know if they let the term have the same damning power — but too often I have heard the term used as a way to quickly dismiss personal difficulties in recovery, and I suspect that this word does carry a painful power for many people.
So therefore, as a survivor who is still healing, don’t allow the this term — or other similarly simple degrading terms. Don’t get mad or try to scream these words away, just state to anyone who uses them that you would prefer they not be used around you — if such simple request is refused, these people are probably not good for your recovery and you should try to minimize time together. No one is a “gimp”, and everyone healing. Surround yourself with language that supports your healing process.
Thank you for reading, please leave comments below.
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