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.