Snow

When I tell you that I cannot shovel snow, which word in the sentence "I cannot shovel snow" don't you get?

Car accident.
My back is wrecked.
Bulging discs.
Restrictions on lifting.
Will not get better.

This is not a newsflash.  Use the snowblower.  Hire a plow.  Or piss on it.  Whatever.  
 
I cannot shovel snow.
I cannot shovel snow.
I
          cannot
                               shovel
                                              snow.

Yes, I use my car to move the snow around the driveway a bit. 
                Innovation.  Adaptation.  Compensation. 

But not remelioration.

I have brain damage-- known in politer circles as traumatic brain injury-- but I am not brain dead.

I understood quite well when I was advised of my brain and spinal injuries.

Why   don't   you   get   it?




sapphoq healing t.b.i.

Here I Am and Here is my Damaged Brain

Here I am.  I am here.  
This is Briella.  Briella is my post-traumatic-brain-injury-Brain.  Still brilliant but a bit sideways.

I do not have the luxury of pretending that I am here alone without my damaged brain.  I live with my damaged brain every day.  You don't.  I hope you never have to.  Don't hide behind your cutesy slogans or stupid fake rubber band bracelet.  Forget your damn suit that you wear to our conferences.  Burn your business cards.  And those stupid slogans.  Those slogans were never any good anyway.  Forget your sparkly p.r. campaigns and your expensive dinners to raise money that I cannot afford to go to.  I am not a grateful survivor.  I am not a t.b.i.  I am a pissed off brain damaged human being.  Stuff your platitudes.  There is no room in my life for your pretenses. 

For you to pretend that you "don't see" my brain damage, t.b.i., brain, atypical neurology, limitations, signs, symptoms, disability, disabilities, differently abilitied abilities, and so on ad nauseam renders you an ineffective agent for change, professional helper, advocate, brain injury association board member, volunteer, acquaintance.  Here is my injured brain.  Here is my damaged brain.  I already told you she has a name.  Her name is Briella.  Go ahead.  Touch her if you dare to.  She is electric.  She is firm and blobby and disgusting.  Like rotting banana in a skin.   Smell her.  Smell the axons burning.  Smell the rage she carries.  Smell her stink.  And now, don't forget.  Don't forget.

Bear witness.  Silent witness if you must.  Do not turn away from my damaged brain.  I have no room in my life for bullshit.

sapphoq and Briella healing t.b.i.