Weekends huh? Weekends are supposed to be fun aren’t they? But when you have no discernable ‘week’ then the weekend is just another pair of days that drag into each other.
My weekend has been spent fighting my trio of enemies
Days like this are boring, stupid, exhausting, pointless smelly poo bums.
Days like this make me rage against the world and myself.
As a result I have done nothing of note, this bugs me. It bugs me to my very core. I like doing things. I also like not doing things but it would be nice to have the choice. I think that’s the issue. Having choice taken away is very disempowering, it feeds the cycle of mood, feeling and outcome I have going on. The self fulfilling prophecy that takes up all my thinking time and wont just bloody go away! So this is where Braingirl has to put on her cape and fight, even if it seems to be the same fight over and over again.
I will eventually break the cycle, I will, like a freed battery Hen feel the sunlight on my face once again.
I’m sat here writing this and my eyes are drooping. I’m tired. So very tired. Recovering from the lurgy and having hayfever isn’t helping but it’s my brain you see.
My brain is making me tired. This is because I’m ‘brain injured’ (those of you who know me may argue I always have been). I have what is known in the business as a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). Now it takes a lot for me to say this as I don’t want it and it sounds quite big and scary. But 8 months in I have to embrace it. I’m finally getting some professional help, help that I should have got when I was discharged.
I had an appointment with Headway this morning and I’m waiting on a psychologist and OT this afternoon. It’s weird for me to be on the other side of assessment appointments, being told about confidentiality and all that jazz. I have to stop fighting that I am disabled and that I am now a service user.
It’s a relief to be finally accessing support, a relief for myself and my partner (he needs a break). I can finally get answers to questions and hopefully see off the black dog. I’m assured what I’m experiencing is normal and that I’m going through a grieving process. I’m mourning who I was, what I’ve lost and the potential in my future. That’s hard, it sucks. I now have to reassess everything and figure out a new path. You see people look at me and because I look normal (ish) it’s hard for them to know what’s going on underneath. I look healed but I’m not.
At least now I have some tools to help me.