My Wake Up Fall

Scene 20: A Grudge With God “The biggest obstacle you’ll ever have to overcome is your mind. If you can overcome that, you can overcome anything.” ~Les Brown Another challenging part of my situation was that on the outside, I looked perfectly fine. My raging symptoms, however, were constant. I would do my best to stay calm and focused and to get into my “zen zone” whenever I went to see doctors or when anyone other than my immediate family came for a visit. I wanted to make those encounters as productive and as non-dramatic as possible. Once I was alone again, I would lose my shit. Even when my older brother would stop by to see me, I felt the need to hide my symptoms, as I didn’t want him to judge me as his “crazy, frantic sister.” I was like that singing frog from a cartoon I used to watch as a child, where the frog would sing and dance for his human friend, then in front of an audience he would just sit still and ribbit. My husband used to get so angered by my more composed representation of myself, because it wasn’t the entire picture of the frantic way I was behaving at home. He was concerned that the doctors could not see exactly what was wrong if I was holding it together so well at every visit. He was also disturbed that our friends and family couldn’t possibly understand what I was going through, either, since they never saw that side of me. My reality was so much to constantly be dealing with. I was often told that head injuries can take months and even years to heal, and sadly, I can vouch for that. That was also hard for people to grasp. I wasn’t a football player or a boxer, so how could I have been so affected by a fall? When you research the brain and how fragile it truly is, though, you start to understand that it doesn’t take much to damage it. Even a mild bump or abrasion to the brain can cause bruising and cortisol levels to skyrocket, which can lead to aggressive symptoms like the ones I experienced for three long years; from being in a constant state of fight or flight to persistent insomnia, to vertigo to severe depression. Even though I had merely tripped while jogging and whiplashed my head, since it was my fourth brain injury, I had clearly done enough harm to cause major damage. The question became: Would I ever heal? And if so, how long would it take? When a year would go by and I was still the same for the most part, but worse from the stress and strain that I had undergone, I would get very frightened and wonder if this was it for me. Sometimes, I would become extremely angry and scream and yell at God. I felt so betrayed by that supposedly benevolent force who wanted the best for everyone. I understood that bad things happened to people all the time, but I also felt like the suffering I had endured was enough already. I would lay in my bed and ask God to take me if this was the way it was going to be. I would rather be out of my physical body than live with so much pain. Oftentimes, I would be angry and bitter in my requests to God, but at other times I was authentic and calm, and would surrender to the fact that I had experienced a very good life with wonderful people and experiences, and was “ready to go, please.” I knew I couldn’t live a happy, comfortable life in my condition, and I was accepting of moving on. (Much of the spiritual content that I was listening to daily made the “other side” sound quite lovely, actually, and I was past due for “quite lovely”). I just felt that it was supposed to be God’s job to make my transition happen, not mine. Why should I take my own life and look like a quitter to my friends and family, and especially to my kids? My grandfather had taken his own life, and I don’t know if my dad and uncles ever truly forgave him or got over the pain it caused them. Sometimes I would have chats with my oldest son trying to explain that I didn’t want to leave my family, but I couldn’t handle what I was feeling much longer. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to talk to my kids about that, but I am OK with the fact that I did. I strongly believe in being open and honest with my kids, and I think it empowers them when they understand that I believe in them and in their ability to handle anything. I strongly needed their support, and my trauma was glaringly obvious, not even something that I could hide from them. There were a few occasions when I acted in ways that I wish I could do over, but I have also forgiven myself for those times, as I was struggling immensely. As time slinked by with no relief, I started to have thoughts encouraging me to end my misery. One day, in that state, I was very angry and had had enough. I marched into the kitchen where my middle son, Nathan, was standing. I opened the knife drawer, put my hand on a knife and snarled out loud to myself, “Do it already!” as if the real me didn’t have the guts to. It was a cry for help. As young as he was, Nathan was wise enough to understand my dramatic act out. Nate always responded appropriately. He used humor as his mechanism to handle me in that instance. He chuckled and said, “Stop it mom!” He tried to act like he was unfazed by my antics, even though he was traumatized. He comforted me to diffuse the situation, hiding any fear he had. He then walked me up to my room and stayed there with me until my husband got home. Another frightening instance happened one afternoon, (again with Nathan around), while I attempted to take a nap. Anytime I was able to doze off was a godsend. I wish I could have just “napped” through those entire three years! I was actually able to doze off on this particular day, but was startled awake with major spinning and anxiety racing through my head and body. I couldn’t move very well and started screaming for Nathan to come help me. When he came in, I fell to the floor and started hanging on him and begging him to save me. I thought I was dying, again. It still blows me away to think about what the brain and body are capable of. Again, my poor 11-year-old son had his mom wigging out with no adults around. And again, he played it cool and assured me, “You are fine, mom!” Bless his heart. I will forever admire the strength my children possessed, especially having to witness their mom suffer everyday. “Expect the unexpected, life is not meant to be easy. We all have our challenges. It’s how we respond to them that really matters.” ~Peter Waite (Healingwell.com)