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.
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.
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
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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