You'll Never Guess In A Million Years...

I totally forgot I had this. Apparently, for the millionth time. Well, keep on counting because it was certainly happen again and again and again.

I have been reading more. I know that much. I've been trying to keep track of them on Good Reads, as I had done prior to my injury. I look at my list and can't tell you anything about a novel I finished last week. *shrug* I guess it's really short-term entertainment. The point is that I am reading again.

Reading again has my mind trying to turn. I get headaches when trying, but it's definitely trying. Whereas normally it's like a desert with an occasional tumbleweed blowing by. I'm unable to form a full story. Heck, it's usually only a character or a plot, never together though. The character that may pop up is definitely not one that would go with the plot. Maybe that's a story in itself?

Prior to my injury my brain never shut off. I remember being really really young and having stories flow through my head. From start to finish. They were awesome. My own internal movies. I thought this was normal for everyone. It wasn't until I hit college that I realized that most people don't have that. They may have ideas pop up, but not full blown movies that they created, running through this minds and souls. Along with the incredibly strong urge to write it all out. It was too great to keep to myself. The desire to share was overwhelming. I started writing them down before I could form words - I drew pictures. Granted, I couldn't tell you what the hell I was trying to say, but I did it.

It drove me insane. It was like a junkie needing another fix. I needed to write. My friends would humor me and would read the stuff I wrote. They'd try to write as well, but would admit it was no where near as clear and flowing and good as mine. I thought they were just holding back. In college, I learned they probably were not holding back.

It was like quitting smoking. The shakes, the muscles twitching, the whole body unease that you know that you are lacking something and desperately need it. Every cell within you is crying out for you to have it. That's what it felt like with the stories in my mind. Then when you gave in and had that drag off that cigarette - the total body relaxation. It was like heaven. That was how it felt when I finally caved and began to write it out. That is how it was for me - for my entire life - up until the injury.

Since then, it's a dry brown and tan desert. There isn't even a cactus with it's thick green body in the background. There is no color - just browns of different shades. It's dead quiet. Now, though, a tumbleweed of thought will occasionally pass by the scenery. No colorful characters playing out this wonderful story. No sun, blue sky, green grass. Nothing. Not even the red of blood or the black of pain and death. Just, nothing.

I lost who I am. I lost what I am. I lost myself.

The stories would drive me nuts. It became overwhelming so often. My brain never shut off. When there wasn't a story, I was considering everything - from bills to sex to food to cleaning to appointments and events, etc. My mind never stopped. It was never just one thing - it was a flow of things. At times so much I thought my mind would explode.

At times I hated it. I complained often of my brain just not shutting down. I only slept 2-5 hours a night due to my mind. I was too busy paying attention to it and working out problems within, tweaking stories just right, etc.

Now it's a wasteland of nothing. My beautiful raging mind is gone. It is dead. Maybe that's why I feel like I should have died that day. Because a huge part of who I am did, in fact, die that day.

I keep hoping one day I'll see a bird, or maybe a blue pool glistening in the sunlight. Maybe a whole party.

The longer it takes, though, the less likely that will ever occur.

For now I'm stuck with the desert.  A part of me is without any doubt, dead. Can it be resuscitated?

You'll Never Guess.....

Yeah, I totally forgot I had this, again. Probably not even the second time and definitely won't be the last. *sigh* I just don't know what to do. One moment I think I'm doing so great, the next something comes along and it's like a slap in the face.

Tomorrow is Mom's Day. I was texting with a friend and mentioned I needed to call my mom. Of course, I bet you already know what came next. Yeah, apparently that pain wasn't the first time, but it sure as hell felt like it. I don't think I'll ever remember. I wonder if I'll ever be able to go through the grieving stages. I mean, when you can't remember it happened, can't remember finding out that first time and the pain and anguish - how can you work through it and move on? I wonder if professionals realize this and have something to help? I somehow doubt it.

I have to find a way to convince myself to look at this as not a negative, but in some kind of positive light. I wonder if I succeeded in that, then maybe I'll improve? or at the very least lead a better happier life.

Right now I question my existence, but from what I've written before, it's not the first time and most likely not the last.

*sigh*