To Shake Violently.

The word “concussion” derives from the Latin concussus, which means to shake violently.

569px-Human_brain

To live with a history of 7-8 Concussions, all gathered like easter eggs in one wonderful, but very fragile basket (a.k.a my skull cavity) all accumulated during the ages of 13-19, leaves one to wonder just what the heck is really going on up there.

At this point in time, I prefer not to go to the hospital when I happen to have sport/life related head injuries. Because frankly- Is there anything that they do besides shine a flashlight in my eyes, look at my chart, see that I’m a “chronic offender” and simply treat me like a hypo-chrondriac? That seemed to be the case last night. And when the doctor pulled the mental illness card. Saying, “I could be experiencing other symptoms due to my other problems” I knew I had to leave. I was not going to receive any help from this Doctor.

Yes anti-depressants can cause symptoms similar to concussions, but the severity of head pain due to pressure and the overwhelming memory loss and slow functioning, I know this is not just some  “side effects” – those side effects are something that I deal with everyday. What I am experiencing is getting worse, not better, and is limiting what I am able to do. After having an antique wooden door fall, and crack me on the back of the head on May 1st, then 2-3 weeks later, having a soccer ball almost knock my lights out, the month of May has been full of concussion symptom observation. What I am finding a little uneasy is that I am finding it harder to “bounce back”. Trust me. I think I know myself after all the mental health shenaneghans I’ve had to deal with before the age of 20. It seems that unless you see a brain surgeon, or a neuroscientist, post-concussion symptoms are not recognized to be much of a big deal. And since I did not come in unconscious, puking, or in a vegetable-like state, I was pretty much told “we can’t help you” and sent on my way.

It’s true, they can’t help me. Unfortunately medical care has not ventured into the treatment of brain injuries, and the problems one may experience afterwards. Help like that doesn’t seem to be implemented in an everyday hospital. After being told that they “cannot prescribe magic” I literally begged for a cat-scan. But was told “it would not change anything”.

Thanks for thinking I am a 6 year old, I know it won’t change anything. I want to be aware if there is anything that is being ignored, or that could explain any of my problems that lately, I am finding very hard to cope with. And the treatment and unprofessional remarks I received from this doctor? – not impressed at all.

It seems I have hit many a wall in regards to trying to find a better quality of mental health. Is it really so hard? More often than not I come home and begin to doubt myself, thinking that yes, I do complain too much. But then again, all I am looking for is to be able to actually enjoy living. And having the fear that yes, there may be something happening in my head unawares, does affect my ability to achieve a day without worry.

So even though it frightens me, and causes me to worry,  I’ll keep reading articles, papers, whatever I can to find help, since I have yet to find a doctor that will acknowledge my worries about permanent damage.

The only “advice” I received last night was “to avoid getting hit in the head again”.

Thanks, like I didn’t know that already…

http://www.bcmj.org/article/current-concepts-concussion-diagnosis-and-management-sports-clinical-review

I Suppose You’re Wondering…

And to be frank,

So am I.

I too, wonder, what am I doing. What should I be doing. Where should I be. Where should I go. Why am I here. Why am I not there. Who am I. Who will I be. Am I supposed to be worrying about this. Why am I so worried about this. What do I do, now that I am nearly twenty, mentally ill, and feeling completely confused on what to do next. Yes, I am an artist. But will that pay the bills. Will that give me freedom to educate myself further. Will I forever be dependent on my parents for not only moral support but also financial. How do people do it. Show me how. Not how to settle with mediocre, show me how to find this thing called happiness. Contentment. Joy. Whatever you call it. I want to find it. The world is my oyster you say, but why does that seem so frightening. Oh don’t be so cliché, you cluck at the computer.

Go ahead and cluck. I am a walking cliché. Full of my generation’s struggles and expectations. Full of false hope. Full of hoping that my hope is not false, but something that could possibly become true. Becoming an artist seemed so right when I was a child. This is what I’ve learned. I can’t become an artist. I am an artist. An artist who is, trying to find a purpose for herself. Trying to find who she is. Trying to find who she was. Before I knew what mental illness felt like.

Can I be the person I was before mental illness filtered through me, making the windows of my perception darkened. Who was I. The photographs can only speak so much, and leave so much to be questioned. Do I even want to be that person again. I was merely a child. Can I be both. Can I feel the happiness. Experience the emotion. But also have the strength gained from all the scars I carry. Is it too much to ask.

It seems with everyday comes more self-reflection. More questioning. More fear. But also, more hope. Hope that I won’t have to question what happiness is. Hope that I won’t have to feel guilty for existing some days. Hope that as an artist, I can enjoy the search for who I am. Who I will be. And become inspired by what I experience. Hope that I won’t feel obligated to worry about things I can’t change, foresee, or control.

With everyday there is more hope in my life,

that everything is going to be okay.

And even if I don’t believe there is hope- I will keep telling myself until it rings true, because right now- I am not sure what else to do.

xx