Scene 5-My Mother's Call

***********************Scene 05 - My Mother’s Call****************************

My mother was in her home office when she got the call.

It was late, after eight,
i was finishing up paperwork and the telephone rang - who…-
I picked up the phone,

and learned my son had been involved in a  serious automobile accident,
He had been life-flighted to Geisinger Medical Center,
He was in a Coma -

and there are moment when the world will freeze,
Thoughts, emotions, they don’t make sense,
Frozen as you try to comprehend…

But the world continues to move,
and I needed to tell his father - he was at work - I needed -

I put down the phone.
Collected my things.
Turned out the lights.
And made sure to take the dog out before I left.

I didn’t know when I would return.

***********************************************************************

In his book, Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell presents the “Hero’s Journey” as a sequence of events that is common in many heroic tales of folklore.  He goes on to suggest (as roughly summarized by me) that this sequence is common because it metaphorically mirrors the “journey” a person undertakes when he or she is shaken from normal events and goes through a “life transformation” - raising a child, puberty, marriage, etc…  The first stage in this journey is “The Call to Adventure” - when the hero of a story begins his or her quest.  In popular culture, we often think of a hero choosing to take on a quest, but an adventure may begin from some unforeseen circumstance or unintended event - in Campbell’s words “The adventure may begin as a mere blunder…” 

My mother was in her home office when she got the call.

It’s important to remember that brain injury affects more than just the survivor - the process of healing involves everyone.  In an instant, the world changes and everyone involved with a survivor begins his or her personal journey.  My mother is a psychologist and was finishing paperwork at her home office when her world changed.  In my storytelling, I use words to freeze-frame and slightly dramatize this instant, because it seems that moments of such great import should be given more emphasis - sustained a second longer so that realities can adjust - but in truth, the universe never slows - one instant will continue to last exactly one instant. 

In that instant, my mother did a remarkable thing - with emotions and information and questions crashing around her, she kept going.  I have been blessed by a family that, while often highly emotional, also has a pragmatic streak the size of the Mississippi, and - in that instant - my mother had the wisdom to recognize that This was what life had laid before her - it would be taking a great deal of her time so she had better make sure that things were as orderly as possible before she goes began on the road.  She didn’t deny or avoid reality, but did her best to be ready for it - this was not her decision, but the energies of her reality had shifted and she acknowledged the path that was presented to her.  No one chooses brain injury - the call comes and the hero must answer it.

Accepting the situation - first by mother and then by my father as soon as he was informed - was instrumental in shaping my path of recovery. A realistic approach that allowed my parents - and later me - to see the situation, evaluate choices, and take action on that information.  I do not mean to imply that this was an emotionless approach to recovery - emotions were always high - but my parents had the pragmatic wisdom to see that these emotions were recognized, acknowledged, allowed to remain - but told to stay off to the side so that they didn’t block a more realistic view of things.  This approach was certainly not the easiest way to approach recovery - nor can I say with 100% confidence that it always allowed the best decisions - but I do believe this approach provided a consistency-of-method to how my recovery would continue.  This consistency allowed me to feel that the progress of my recovery was stable, helping to create the ground work for my recovery in full to achieve the best possible results.

I do not mean to imply that it was ONLY my parents pragmatism that allowed for my recovery - there are infinite variables that factor into any circumstance - but I do believe that the approach taken by my parents was beneficial.  Not only did it encourage pragmatic and rational decisions, but it provided a bit of shelter from the torrential waves of emotion tormenting each moment of recovery - created a land where things tried to make sense. 

Every person involved with a recovery is a hero, and each hero faces unknown challenges.  It is the hero’s responsibility - as a survivor or caregiver - to face these challenges and find the path to transformation.

That’s my two-cents on the subject.  Thank you for reading - please comment below.

My Accident - what happened

**********************My Accident - What Happened**************************

The introduction of “Who Am I, Again?” setups up the story correctly - I was early in my senior year of high school when I was called upon to take my sister to her small, rural, Quaker elementary school - Greenwood Friend’s School - for an overnight party as part of the newly established middle school - at the time, there were only 4 middle-schoolers enrolled in the school.  I was a relatively new driver, and had just had an adolescent spat with my mother, so it was exciting to get out of the house and just drive. 

At the school, after letting my sister run off with her friends, I had a discussion with her middle-school advisor - as I used to attend the school, she was also my former French teacher.  I remember feeling a sense of maturity talking with my French teacher - I was an almost adult (17 years old), not just a kid like my sister and her friends, and I could have conversation about more adult things - plans for college and the artistic projects I was currently involved in.  The way she respected my plans while sharing her experiences - and the fact my parents were nowhere near me - made it feel like one of my first truly “adult conversations”.

My last memory is as stated in the performance script - “..watching her wave goodbye, through my rearview mirror, as I drove off into the night.”

The accident occurred on a quiet, narrow, country road - it’s not the main road between my house and my sister’s school, but it’s a route that takes a little less time and is much more interesting for a new driver.  I don’t remember the drive leading up to the car accident, but I have been told that a car had just passed me - traveling the opposite direction - when he saw me loose control and crash into a telephone pole (through his rear-view mirror).  My guess - I was driving a little two fast (10ish miles over the speed limit), and - being relatively new to the road - when I passed the other driver I swerved just enough that my wheel dipped over the side of the narrow, country road, making me lose control for just a moment, but that moment sent me into the telephone pole.  That’s my guess at what happened - not proven, but it makes sense to me.

What can be proven are the events that followed: the man who witnessed my accident rushed to the nearest farmhouse, banging on the door, asking to use the telephone (occurred in the BC era - Before Cellphones); fortunately, no other major accidents had happened in the region so the hospital was able to immediately send out their emergency rescue helicopter; and the volunteer emergency crew - that just happened to include our auto-mechanic and family friend - responded in record time and flew me to Geisinger Medical Center, the large regional hospital.

Those are the facts surrounding my accident and rescue - a nearly textbook-perfect rescue situation; several friends have commented on how lucky I was - except that I had an accident.  I recognize this good fortune and have no doubt that the timeliness and quality of the rescue were factors that allowed my exceptional recovery, but I also realize that a rescue alone cannot predict the path of recovery; be it a solider on the field of battle, a young mother tripping down the stairs, an athlete in an accident on the way to the game - when brain injury occurs every survivor begins a long journey.

My recovery has been a gift - whether that gift comes from God or circumstance is inconsequential: I have been given the opportunity witness and experience a full journey of recovery and then to use my training and talent to share that story.  By terming it a “gift”, I do not mean to make light of any of the tragedy in this experience - but I did survive, and by surviving believe I have gained a rare understanding of a tragic situation - this privileged understanding is what I term a gift.  It is my hope that with this gift, other survivors and caregivers will be inspired to recognize their own tragically gained gifts, and by sharing experiences can help to educate the world about the realities of brain injury and recovery.

That’s where I began my journey, and where I hope it continues to go.  In these first several entries, I’ve tried to setup the logic behind my thoughts as well as introduce the performance piece - I’m not sure where we’re going from here. My goal is to post two entries a week as I comment on “Who Am I, Again?”, but there will likely be some missed and/or late entries do to life situations.  Follow along, subscribe, share with friends, and please leave comments with thoughts on my writings or parts of your own story - I’m excited to see what you write.

Until then, all the best and chat soon.

A Verbal Collage

**********************A Verbal Collage**********************************

I've spent the last few entires talking about the three characters in “Who Am I, Again?” who are residents at the Crumley House - Larry, Sarah, and Tony.  As part of this, I highlight the three actual residents used as models - using the pseudonyms of “Peter”, “Jessica”, and “James” - but its important to remember the journey of each of the above characters is an amalgamation of stories collected from many residents.  Stories were picked that I felt highlighted common experiences in recovery and have themes that I heard repeated by multiple residents.  The choice to use the specific residents as models came from a sense that - at their stage in recovery, - these residents would be able to present a clear storyline of recovery to an audience that might not be familiar with brain injury.

With that said, I will use the rest of this entry to describe some of the other residents at the Crumley House - the goal being to demonstrate the wide variety of people recovering from brain injury and to emphasize that there can be no “cookie cutter” recovery plan as each situation is dramatically different.  Each resident discussed below will be described using a pseudonym in quotation marks - “name”.

The first person that must be presented is “June”.  “June” is the reason the Crumley House exists - when she was a young adult, “June” went through an accident that caused TBI and her family had the finances and associations to be able to begin the Crumley House Brain Injury Rehabilitation and Living Center.  This center now provides a valuable rehabilitation resource for the region as well as gives a place for “June” to live and develop.

This background presents a beautiful, inspiring, television daytime-drama beginning to “June’s” story, but when getting to know “June”, one can see she is clearly not “Made for TV”.  When I began working with the Crumley House, “June” had already been a resident for more than a decade and she had the characteristics that caused her seem like an over-forty-infant - endless excitement or sorrow immediately wiped away by the next distraction.  Her communication came in one or two word sentences - spoken in an urgent, strained tone - and expressing only necessary thoughts - “Hungry” - “Uh oh” - “I love you”.  She expressed her love to everyone, and while I do think she used this phrase as a tool to get favors from the staff, I also believe she genuinely felt love to every part of the world that showed her kindness.  I also believe that the thoughts coursing through her brain were infinitely more complex than she was able to express, but somewhere in her highway of thought process there was a detour caused by her injury, and the neurons containing more complete ideas got lost in the rambling country roads of her mind. 

Despite her difficult and extended rehabilitation process, during even my relatively short time working with the Crumley House, “June” continued to make clear gains in her recovery - moving from life in a wheel chair to some assisted walking, to taking a few steps on her own - the beginnings of expressing rational for her actions and understanding a cause-effect relationship between actions and results - the recognition of emotions displayed by other people, and seeking to provide comfort or a shared joy.  These are small steps, and I do not know if “June” will ever recover to a point where she can be more fully and independently engaged in the world, but each step is progress.  Always ready to face the long journey and take a few more steps, usually without encouragement or insistence by the staff - “June” would recognize the rehabilitative task set before her and put her energies into completing the challenge to the best of her abilities - this determination became a source of inspiration for everyone around her.  Unfortunately, due to cognitive limitations, I was not able to interview “June” for my storytelling piece, but the experience of life with her clearly helped to color every moment and every story collected at the Crumley House.

Another resident who had difficulty escaping from his wheelchair is “Steve” - an older veteran who’s body was paralyzed in a hunched position.  “Steve” moved through the Crumley House with the authority of aged royalty - he didn’t impose his will on anyone, but all the residents bowed aside so that “Steve” could maintain his routine - everyone knew that when it was time for “Steve” to play Mario Wii Golf - and they could join him in a game, but would never stop him from playing.  “Steve” had trouble speaking - with the damage to his throat and the nerves controlling his mouth limiting his utterances to what at first seemed only grunts and moans - but as I came to know him, I learned parts of his nonverbal language and how to understand his patented personal communication techniques - collecting pieces of his story and sharing in his experience.

“John” was a resident usually found beside “Steve” when he was playing his Wii Golf.  A former military man, “John” had the body type of an NFL linebacker, though years of recovery had formed a layer of pudge that coated the muscles.  Having regained many of his motor skills, “John” could move freely and perform most self-care tasks without assistance, though more complicated procedures might become tangled in his thought process.  “John” employed and enjoyed clear, simple logic that recognized a “right” and “wrong” way of behaving, and this clear bifurcation of his world could ignite impassioned responses if his clear morality was called into question.  Often “John” wondered about the grounds of the Crumley House with a seemingly childish desire for simple pleasures, but when I interviewed him, his persona dipped into an quiet, introspectively innocent wisdom gained through his experiences. 

Yet not all the residents were pleasant to interact with.  “Stella” was a resident who wore a spiked shell at all times - aggressively contradicting anything that didn’t follow her demands.  She was a large woman - by which I mean big and strong, not fat, and every sound and movement she made was forceful - as if she was trying to tear down any wall that might limit what she intended to do.  “Stella” could move moderately fluidly and spoke with clear diction, but she carried a bundle of aggression that seemed to be endlessly boiling over.  At first glance, one might think “Stella” ready for interaction with the outside world, but within a short time of being around her, one would realize her slower cognitive processes as well as regular emotional setting of anger.  Interviewing “Stella”, however, was remarkably easy, and when we spoke she shared surprisingly coherent stories that displayed a range of emotional experiences - it almost seemed as if her public persona of anger was a defense that she clung to, though I leave that as merely a speculation, as I am not qualified to make such a claim.

These descriptions could continue for chapters - dozens of residents lived at the Crumley House during the time I was involved with the facility - some for the full time while others for only a few weeks - and each resident had his or her own unique set of difficulties that came as a result of TBI and methods for adapting to new ability levels while finding inspiration. 

There was “Billy” who cherished all things “coun’ry” and loved horses and the idea of ranch life so much that, despite needing a wheelchair, he found a way to ride and care for horses at least once a month. 

And “Cynthia”, an aging hippie who - if approached while having her cigarette - would recall seeing Janis Joplin or Jefferson Airplane in a smoky rasp that would fade away as words escaped her, but the story played across her eyes. 

And “Ben”, the high school senior star athlete left in a full body cast after a skiing accident  - who couldn’t talk in more than grunts, as he couldn’t move his mouth, but learned to communicate his insistent joy bringing a smile to even the darkest cynic.

And more..

Each resident comes from a his or her set of circumstances and has his or her unique set of difficulties - yet every person is engaged in the process of recovery.  Earlier in this blog (Scene 01-Introduction), I suggest that where the story of recovery begins isn’t important, and I hold by those words - the residents at the Crumley House, a relatively small rehabilitation facility in rural Tennessee, display just a part of the spectrum of attitudes and life situations that can begin a journey of recovery. 

When I perform “Who Am I, Again?” people often ask me, “What actually happened in your accident?” - I understand this curiosity and will share my details in the next posting, but I don’t start with that story, nor do I address it in “Who Am I, Again?”, because I want the reader (you) to recognize that the specifics of an accident are not important - an event will cause TBI and that will likely result in an infinite variety of complications and questions that a survivor must come to understand so he or she can appropriately adapt to his or her situation.  When TBI occurs, everything changes - it’s not the story of where you come from but the story of how you get through it that matters.

Those are my thoughts.  Thanks for reading. 

Please subscribe, share, and leave comments below. 

Chat soon.

Scene 04-Tony's Introduction

***************************Tony’s Introduction**************************************

Tony doesn’t actually remember the day of his accident with his fiancé.

Well, not the day of, or the week leading up to it,
But I remember ten days previous to the accident,
I’m sitting there with my fiancé and my soon to be mother-in-law,
We was making plans for the wedding,
she and I, we’re arguing about - wineglasses or something,
My fiancé’s sitting over there -

and the hardest thing I had to, kinda keep re-teaching myself as I “came back to life” after this accident with my fiancé,
I was the only survivor.

*********************************************************************************

The events surrounding the incident that causes TBI are almost always a blur - everything is happening in a relatively normal manner - in Tony’s case, he was driving home from a party with his fiancé - and suddenly you’re waking up in a hospital with hours, days, or sometimes years removed from the event.  You don’t understand where you are or why you can’t do the things you are supposed to be doing - it doesn’t make sense and you want to get back to the life you know and understand.

This desire is common among survivors and seemed to exist in the Crumley House Resident who became the model for Tony’s characteristics - I will call him “James”.


A former construction worker from central Tennessee, “James” came from a hands-on, working background focused on the completion of physical projects as a mark of the day’s success.  He was also cautious about whom he trusted, and it was hard to form a friendly relationship - though I did see him naturally reach out to new male residents at the Crumley House, seeming to enjoy behaving in a “big-brother” manner as residents became situated in their accommodations.  Despite his willingness to assist others, “James” did not appreciate having to ask for assistance and resented when the rules of the establishment - as opposed to his personal limitations - restricted what he was able to do.  Despite jerky movements, it seemed that by his physical abilities, “James” could have operated outside, though he would likely have limited employment options and certainly wouldn’t be able to return to construction work - he could also at times display a vengeful, violent temper, and I suspect that this may have provided ample reason to remain at the Crumley House.

It’s from these characteristics that I created the character of Tony.

In the piece, Tony represents the struggle discussed at the start of this essay - wanting to return to how things were before his accident - and anger at the limitations imposed by the recovery restricting his ability to make that return. 

As human’s we have a desire for consistency - we want to know that what is true today was true yesterday and will continue to be true tomorrow - the bagel shop on the corner opens before 7am and has fresh coffee.  Even relatively small discrepancies in that consistency can cause frustration - what, why the hell is the bagel shop closed today - but when brain injury occurs the hope of any consistency is gone.  Everything changes.  Yet there tends to be a (false) belief that the goal of recovery is to return to the pre injury consistency.  Due to difficulties with memory after the accident, this disruption of consistency can be further accentuated because, even if the changes are consistent - the bagel shop has actually been closed for two years now - the surviving person may have difficulties remembering that the changes occurred, and this creates uncertainty about the new “normal”.

With somewhat trivial changes - the bagel shop - this can be frustrating but is manageable - but when a life situation is irrevocably altered due to a survivors situation, this can be damning.  In the character Tony’s situation, his fiancé died next to him in the car, but he had to be reminded of her death each day of his early recovery.

I am a fellow survivor, but I cannot fully comprehend the enormity of this tragedy.

His anger makes sense to me.  When the world that you spent a lifetime building is torn asunder and you must be reminded of it each day, an understandable anger can arise.  These circumstances, however, while accounting for a source of the anger, do not excuse it - to state this in an crassly, unsympathetic, pragmatic manner: Shit happened, now deal with it. 

I have had anger issues that have come up in my recovery process - both in the intensive recovery immediately after the accident and the years that have followed - and I understand that, in reality, the bluntness of this advice is absurd - emotions are not switches that can be tuned to the correct setting - but the truth of the statement remains.  The fact that brain injury, and the particularities of the tragedy surrounding it, occurred cannot be changed - the primary goal of recovery must be to adapt to these new circumstances.  This does not mean one should deny the pain or anger caused by the events, but learn how to accept the situation and continue personal growth.


In Who Am I, Again?, Tony is in the process of making this adjustment - he still longs for the past and in some cases dwells in it, but is still conscious of the necessity of moving forward.  What I have come to realize as I reexamine the characters and stories in this piece, of the three residents, Tony is the natural storyteller - his stories, while true, tend to be presented in a slightly grandiose manner and with a storyteller's flair (this will be demonstrated and discussed more in future posts).  Similarly, “James” - while viewing the idea of storytelling as a profession with slight distain - loved to share his own stories and seemed to be conscious of presenting the facts in a manner that would elicit a reaction.

Sensing the storytelling flair of “James” is only an observation and I cannot support it with quantifiable data - I am relying on my abstract “storyteller’s instinct” to reach this hypothesis - but I posit that, if my instinct is true, it seems possible - perhaps even likely - that by embracing his storytelling tendency, “James” is finding a way to better understand and come to grips with his current experience (please leave your thoughts in the COMMENTS below).

While the experience and motivation for “James’s” storytelling is not available to me, I have come to recognize this motivation does exist in the character of Tony, though I did not consciously imbue him with this quality when composing the piece.  This returns to some of the ideas presented in the second entry of this blog (Scene 01-Introduction) - and after nearly a decade of working with the character, I have come to recognize that Tony uses his ability to create a gripping narrative as a way to better understand his personal situation in recovery.  Please note, I recognize that using “the recognition of the tendencies in a character” that I created to support my own argument concerning the healing process of storytelling becomes almost absurdly “meta” - and I do not mean to imply that this constitutes any sort of solid “proof”, but it is an idea that I will continue to explore as I relate and comment Tony’s stories in future postings.

But until then, please leave your thoughts, however pragmatic or meta they may be.  As I write, my fingers are spitting out a lot of ideas and I would love to hear your arguments for or against  - my hope is that these essays help to start a conversation so together we can discover what recovery means and how to make this journey in the best way possible.

Those are my thoughts for this entry, thanks for reading.  Quick note - I'm going on a short vacation, so there will be no more posts this week, but I will be posting next Monday, so keep an eye out.  Thanks for reading.

Scene 03 - Sarah's Introduction

***************************Sarah’s Introduction**************************************

For Sarah there was no warning.

Not really,
I had just dropped my daughters at Little Angles Daycare,
I was going through a green light - it had just turned green -
and Boom.

There was no warning.

****************************************************************************************************         

The first sentence of this story segment contains a common experience concerning TBI - there was no warning.  I’ve already written about this in a previous post, so I won’t elaborate on it again here except as a reminder of the consistency of an unexpected event begining a journey of recovery from brain injury.


Instead, I will use this entry to speak about the character of Sarah and the woman I used as a model for her - I will use the name “Jessica” for this woman.

To quickly describe “Jessica”, she was a bubble pumped full infectious joy to the paint that her skin was stretched thin by it, and sometimes an unintended criticism or sharp word would cause her to burst into painful self-hate and depression.  When my relationship with the Crumley House began, “Jessica’s” condition was such that she had lost her short term memory and would forget what she had been told only hours or minutes earlier - though with regular, repeated exposure people, activities, and schedules would be recognized.  Her memory did seem to be improving by the time I ended my work with the Crumley House, but she still tended to rely on her difficulties with memory as an excuse if she got in trouble with any staff at the center (I will write more on this in a future entry).

Being relatively new in her recovery process, “Jessica” was in the process of adjusting to her new world.  As I worked with the Crumley House, I witnessed what I felt were several transformations  of “Jessica’s” personality - from a new survivor excited by the privilege of living again after her accident, to an angry victim of the world, to a woman settling into her new reality of recovery.  This is clearly an oversimplification of “Jessica’s” process, but I present this journey in these three stages because I recognize my own healing journey mirroring that path - and I would hypothesize that this are common stages for survivors of TBI (if you know of any good resources to support or contest this hypothesis, PLEASE LEAVE A NOTE in the comments below - thank you).

With these observations in mind, I created the character of Sarah.

In the timeline of Who Am I, Again?, Sarah is still at the stage of being excited to have survived (as discussed above), but is coming to the difficult realization of her new, different abilities - moving into the second stage of the healing journey outlined above.  Sarah embodies the urge to “put on a happy face” and quote inspirational slogans while trying to ignore the pain caused by the new circumstances of recovery. 

Looking back on my experience, I feel that in my experience this hope was a chosen naiveté supported and encouraged by healing professionals - especially in early recovery - because of the positive effects on my mood and with the belief that a positive outlook has positive effects on the healing process (again, I believe there is research support this, but would like suggestions of where to find citations - COMMENTS BELOW).  I remember reciting words and inspirational stories with such a consistent rhythmic and verbal structure that it was as if I was reading a script - having a background in theatre and an inclination for storytelling most certainly influenced my recitation, but I have observed similar tendencies in other TBI survivors, including but not limited to “Jessica”.  I term it a “chosen naiveté” because although an awareness of my situation was beginning to dawn on me, I used these scripted outlooks as an escape from the frightening and uncertain reality of recovery.  Furthermore, I feel the healthcare professionals that encouraged this outlook didn’t intend to create a “false hope”, but to acknowledge that there was hope - as previously discussed (earlier posting), the speed of recovery differs greatly for any individual, so hope should never be fully abandoned.  Granted, there is a danger in becoming lost in the ideals of what might be and not acknowledging what is - if a recovering person focuses only on what they will do, it is possible to forget to complete the necessary steps to attain that future - but there can be a balance between present reality and future potential. 

Sarah has this hope - this focus on the future.  Simultaneously, however, she displays the dangers of attempting to ignore the pain that exists behind a hopeful facade.  More will be written on both aspects of Sarah in future postings, but these opposing drives - the hope of recovery and the hidden depression - create a dark conundrum that exists in many people recovering from TBI.  Keeping the hopeful ideal of recovery at the forefront of a survivor’s public persona seems to provide relief to those close to the survivor - personal relationships as well as healthcare providers - and it is comforting for a survivor to provide comfort to those close, but the dark rumblings of inner depression are hard to hide.  This creates a quandary for caregivers - how to support a positive outlook while not ignoring what could become a dangerous depression if negative feelings are allowed to fester.

How does a caring, supporting person find this balance?  There is no easy answer, but having raised this question I feel compelled to state my opinion: the best way to support a survivor through this conundrum is by simply being there and listening - not as a professional or someone ready to intervene, but as a friend and companion.  That is not to suggest that work with a psychiatrist and/or rehabilitation clinician shouldn’t be employed to help - these are trained and studied professionals who understand the process of recovery and how to assist and protect a recovering person - but as a non-professional trying to help a recovering friend, simply listening allows the survivor to work things out for him or herself.  This empowers the survivor - so much of recovery is about doing what the doctors tell you to do that by having someone simply listen, a survivor is better able to recognize the ability and responsibility of self-direction.

Now, I recognize that listening is not always an easy process - especially in early recovery - as narratives may lack a clear temporal plot line or consistent logic, but I encourage allowing the story told by the survivor to take its own path - a listener should not try to insert coherency into the survivors narrative.  If a listener feels a need for clarification, questions may be asked, but don’t use questions lead the speaker - let the survivor reach conclusions following his or her own path.  Furthermore, and this may be the most difficult and counter-intuitive part, if the speaker reveals that he or she is considering potentially self-destructive behavior, the listener should not attempt to step in and remedy the situation - instead listen and let the survivor complete his or her narrative and, when the situation allows, quietly inform a professional of any fears.

That is my opinion on how a loved one can best help the conflict that arises between appearing hopeful and feeling depressed.  Please note, while I have done a fair bit of research and I draw from personal experience for this opinion, I am not a trained professional and I welcome any thoughts concerning this matter (COMMENTS BELOW).

As explained above, Sarah is the personification of this conflict in Who Am I, Again?.  In the performance Sarah’s body is always in her chair - unable to escape this conflict - but, despite her motivational responses being somewhat contrived, in her deepest self she recognizes there is hope.  It is finding hope amid this amalgamation of emotions that keeps a survivor driven to heal.

I expect that this topic of internal conflict will be explored more in future writings, but until that time, please leave your thoughts and suggested readings in the comments below.  Thank you for reading.  Chat soon.