The Pain Is Everywhere

This is a point in my journey I could not have predicted. I have never considerd myself a “happy” person, but I have always felt that I had some direction and motivation.  

The loss of my job, my memory, and some of my higher functioning has left me feeling robbed.  Chiari has stolen the things about myself that made me feel like my life had value to me or made me feel valuable.  

The hard part is staying transparent.  I began this journey so that those who came behind me would have a record of the trials I faced in case theit situation was similar to my own.  

I have a complicated history that involves some childhood horrors and now I have lost my coping mechanisms (work, work, work, work, work).  So, at my neuropsych evaluation it was recommended that I go into long-term therapy with a PhD level psychologist because now I have to work through my current life change and wade through my past so it can be fixed.  

That sounds reasonable.  Still, on the inside it drives me into an anxiety attack just thinking about it.  I don’t want to re-live that part of my life, but in a way I already am.  I feel just as trapped and hopeless as I did when I was a child, but with the added bonus of having my own child and remembering independence. 

Slowly, the enjoynents of my life are fading.  I am checking in less often.  The neuropsych eval stated that my intelligence surpasses 99% of people in my age range.  At times, I have the clarity to see that I am severly depressed and I am getting worse quickly.  I recognize the trail of red flags that my mind is desperately flinging all over, anywhere someone will look.  

That is why I have chosen to keep my battle as public as possible (without incriminating anyone or tarnishing anyone’s reputation) because it is time to stop being ashamed.  We are not ashamed of diabetes, heart disease, stroke, broken bones, or any other health problem.  We should not be ashamed if our brains aren’t functioning well either.  

So, this is why there have not been any updates.  I haven’t cared enough to do any.  I have barely cared enough to get up every day and pretend like I want to be here.  I hope that as I go through treatment, this cartoon with flourish and once again be what I created it to be.  A mockery of the crazy things people aay to me. 

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“I can’t believe it’s been a whole year!  I just got a promotion, what have you been doing?”                                     “Surviving!”

The world at large does not have a thorough understanding of recovering from brain surgery.  While their lives breeze by marked by accomplishments and milestones, my days are monotonous and almost indistinguishable from one another.  My memory started fading over a year ago, and I only have vague recollections of what has been going on in my life.  I have not achieved anything, and it makes for very awkward conversations.

Dreaming…

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Dreaming the dream!

Life is full of dreams.  They change and mature as we grow and sometimes when we are on the cusp of achievement, the dream dies.  I felt this way last year when my doctor told me I would need brain surgery.  Everything that I had worked for was snatched from my hand and I was left with what felt like nothing.  I could no longer sing arias or even hold my guitar.  And when I could hold the guitar, my fingers wouldn’t always cooperate.  After surgery, I got a ukulele to help me with retraining my fingers to listen to my brain.  It has been the most comforting item during this period of my life.  When everyone is sleep and I am wide awake, I can sing and play and feel like my voice is still relevant.  I may never go back to school.  I may never perform a solo again.  I may never be what I thought I would be.  I will sing though, and I will imagine all the people whose hearts I could have touched.