I Am Living, Only Less
Healing from a concussion
I am living but only maybe a third of my life. I am but a shell of who I used to be. A fraction of my old free self. I am trapped in my body, trapped in my concussed brain. I am living, only less.
I find it hard to dream while most of my time is spent awake, in bed, in the dark. My thoughts still running while exhaustion fuels my body. Holding back my pointless tears, they’ll be back anyways. I try to find ways to make this work, to somehow mold my situation in ways beneficial. I lay awake thinking of ideas for a potentially new business or a different business. But with a day spent mostly in bed, it’s hard to consider the action of it all.
And then there are moments of guilt, moments of motivation, moments of
“Surely I can _____, it’s just _____.”
I don’t know what’s worse, the regret of not listening to myself? The regret of not trusting what I already know, when the pain or exhaustion takes over. Or the realization, all over again, that I am confined by my circumstance. The realization that I have lost control of my abilities. The realization that I am living, only less.
Work looks different now. Productive looks different now. Life looks different now. There is no movement, with everything seemingly on pause. The world around me busy, in motion, as I watch it longingly from my window. I congratulate myself now for things that before would go unnoticed.
To clean my kitchen: “Congratulations, you did well.”
To wash my hair: “Congratulations, you worked hard.”
To shave my legs: “Congratulations, for the self care.”
All the while thinking, was that worth my energy? Energy is now quantifiable. The ordinary tasks of the day have now become a full days work, the energy of my day. The choices I make look different now.
“Should I go for a walk, but if I do I can’t do laundry?”
“Do I cook myself a nice dinner or save my energy?”
“Should I call my friends or sleep?”
I am living, only less.
I live in darkness now. Oh’ how I miss the sun. Nighttime brings me the calm I wait for all day, it dims the lights of the world making it easier for me to live. Nighttime gives me the chance to look out the window. But with all this physical darkness comes emotional darkness too. To avoid the light all day leaves a person in a perceptually darker place. And to avoid the grip of emotional darkness I choose to talk to people, which pulls my energy. And to pull my energy keeps me in physical darkness. And that’s the loop.
The choices I make have changed. Do I sit in desolate solitude and recover faster while falling into emotional darkness, or do I choose a longer path to brain injury recovery while clawing at the walls trying my best to not fall into oceans of sadness. I choose the slower recovery each time. I am living, only less.
I know this is not my forever, or is it? I know this is not my forever, although it feels endless. I know this is not my forever, but it is my right now. My current everything. I am a driven person stuck in endless traffic. I am a resilient person stuck in darkness. I am a dreamer on pause. And although my accomplishments have changed, I am proud of myself for laying awake, in bed, in the darkness.
I am living, only less.
