Can't See the Forest for the Trees

I cried on the flight down to South America. 

 

Sliding into my seat I glanced out the window at the dark airport hanger.  I had every reason in the world to be happy, excited, and expectant but as I took my seat I felt none of the standard rush freedom of embarking on an adventure.  Instead, the weight of the world settled on my shoulders.

 

Dark thoughts wormed their tenacious little fingers into my brain.  Sure I was going to get out of the country, learn about different cultures, have adventures, new experiences, and so on and so forth.  Yeah, I’d extended my trip to 6 months to learn Spanish, and all that. But it was more than that…

 

No one was going to miss me.  My friends didn’t help me move, my boyfriend didn’t even help me move.  This had been the last day I was going to be in the city for 6 months and nobody even wanted to hang out with me.  There probably wasn’t one single person who even cared I was going.  I mean sure I had lots of acquaintances did I really have I have one real friend?  They

 probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone. I thought, bitterly as tears slid soundlessly down my

 face.

 

The lack of support was my own fault.  It had to be.  Maybe I was just unreasonable wanting people to be there for me or care about me.  Why would anyone want to be there for me anyway?  I was a horrible person who couldn’t even control her emotions – I yelled at movers, threw tantrums when she didn’t get her way, and hurt people without meaning to.  A seven-year-old knows better than that.  No wonder no one wants to deal with me.

 

I could go to South America but I wouldn’t make real friends there either, I was doomed to be forever completely and utterly alone.  Staring intently out the window I turned my head even further from my neighbor – hoping desperately she didn’t notice my glistening cheeks, didn’t see my face crumple at this new horror.  I couldn’t distract myself with the in-flight movie, I couldn’t read a book; I was too far-gone to pull myself out of this tailspin – all I could do was to focus on the misery.  No matter how long the day had been I wouldn’t be able to escape into sleep, I thought glumly.

 

At least I could be warm trying. Tearing the plastic wrap off of the little airline blanket I pulled my knees into my chest.  I shifted this way and that attempting to situate myself in a way so that all of me fit under the miniature courtesy blanket.  Well, this is about as good as it’s going to get I sighed after a few minutes and shoved the handkerchief-sized pillow between my head and the side of the plane.  Within moments I was fast asleep.

 

When I blinked blearily awake sunlight was shining through the plane’s thick double-paned window.  It was morning – the night’s dark thoughts weren’t even a distant memory – I had slept through almost the entire flight. I looked around the cabin, yawning my way back to the real world.   I hadn’t realized how tired I’d been, I could still use a few hours more sleep but you never got good sleep on planes, did you.  As I looked out the window that familiar thrill of excitement filled me.  We were over another continent.  I was exploring new lands – going on an adventure!

 

Fatigue is the most common complaint of survivors.  For people who haven’t experienced it, fatigue can sound innocent enough; after all, it just means you wear out more easily.  So you get tired, so what? 

 

Unfortunately it is much more dangerous than that.  Fatigue has many faces.  It can open the way for any number of deficits; throws your judgment off, plays on insecurities, everything becomes more difficult, thoughts confused, learning impossible, the list goes on.  One of the most insidious tricks fatigue will play is how quickly it comes – often a survivor won’t even realize they have pushed themselves to far until it is too late.

 

The morning’s brain injury episode had sucked every drop of energy out of me without my even realizing it.  Because I had had so much to get done that day I shoved the incident and its emotional drain to the back of my mind.  Putting on the afterburners I soldiered on through, tying up all of the last-minute loose ends. 

 

Emotional meltdowns are the most draining thing in the world – worse than running a marathon, worse than studying neuroscience, worse than babysitting a room full of toddlers with ADD.  It is as if someone opened the floodgate and let your entire reservoir of energy spill out with the emotions.  Any outpouring of heightened emotions can be draining but the stressful conflict-driven brain injury episodes are the worst.

 

Somehow this time, fatigue had erased all positive or even rational memories.  It had siphoned all happiness out of my life and thrown me into some nightmarish alternate reality.   Of course I had wonderful friends who I was going to miss terribly!  I’d spent half the day on the phone.  If I hadn’t been running around like mad trying to get everything done I might have been able to meet up with more them than just S.  But because relationships romantic and otherwise can be difficult for survivors, and because I have had problems with this in the past this is a fear of mine.  Fatigue had played on this insecurity, made me forget all of the good, and managed to hide the fact that it was the culprit.

 

As soon as I recharged my battery with a little sleep the fatigue, irrationality, depression, and all the rest vanished into thin air.  But the terrible part is that when you are in the thick of things it is all but impossible to see a way out of them.  Your fears loom, obscuring the reason behind the problems, good thoughts, or any glimpse at perspective.  You really can’t see the forest for the trees.

 

As always, prevention is the best solution.  Keeping a regular schedule, getting enough sleep, keeping away from stressful situations are still the best ideas.  There will of course always be moments where things don’t go according to plan. Thankfully the magic bullet for brain injury is never far or too hard to come by – Sleep.  Sometimes it can just be hard to judge when you really need it.

 

Knowledge is power – the more you and your friends and loved ones know about how to manage your brain injury the better off you all will be.  Talk to your family and friends about fatigue.  Ask them if they would help out by suggesting naps or taking a little rest resting when you get irrational, or seem to be acting out of character.   It isn't asking much but at moments like this getting an outside perspective in these moments can be exactly what you need.  Losing one's way in the dark forest of brain injury is a nightmare, but with a little guidance it is easy to escape - all you need is someone to guide you towards the path out - sleep.

 Photography by Dennis Lo

 

 

"Be Kind for Everyone You Meet is Fighting a Hard Battle" (W 4th part II)

I wish that I were sensitive enough to have decided to change my inattentive ways all on my own, but alas this is not the case.  I’m thick – I need to be hit over the head (no pun intended) before I get the message.  And the jarring reminder I got was exactly the wakeup call I needed….

 

Waiting for the train, I leaned against one of the faded hunter green pillars, my nose buried in the Elephant Vanishes.   Every page or so I would look up to peer into the cavernous black tunnel, straining my eyes for the faintest hint of headlights, or breath of air from an approaching train.  No luck.  Cursing the MTA, I would go back to trying to concentrate on my book.

 

After fifteen minutes a slurred bellow interrupted my reverie, “Geeeve me ah dolla foh shum foood.”

Startled, I jerked up from the book to see a massive figure sporting a worn leather jacket, over what looked like a bundle of grimy, torn clothing. The formidable man lumbered towards me, thick-fingered hand outstretched.  From fifteen feet, his stench was bad and it seemed to get exponentially worse with each step.  As he drew near, the rank smell of whiskey and body odor made me take an involuntary step back.

 “Sorry,” I shrugged my shoulders;  “I don’t have a job right now.”

Even if I’d had money, I wouldn’t have given it to him.  I have a strict policy against giving beggars money (musicians and artists are a different story).  As often as not your dollar won’t be going towards food, and I have no desire to encourage drug use.  I will however, always give them food if I have it, and because of this I try and carry fruit or nutritional bars with me.  If they turn down the food – you can be pretty sure they didn’t need money to fill their stomachs.  But today I just didn’t have any food with me.

 “Yeah, but yoush gotsh food, yoush gots a home, yoush don gotsh problems.”

Disgusted, and increasingly annoyed, I looked pointedly away.  I was done listening.

“All high and mighty and can’t even spare a dollar on Martin Luther King Day?  B*tch.  People like you can’t even understand what problems are….”  Volume and ranting increasing as he stumbled away, several other commuters threw glances in his direction. 

I am beyond thankful that he didn't stop to argue, for his sake as much as mine.  As he denounced me for having an easy life, and being selfish, myopic, and self-absorbed, I could feel my gorge rising.  My fingernails bit into my palms, as I focused on the pain fighting to keep my mind free from the all-consuming grip of building tide of TBI-driven rage.   Telling me I didn't know what problems were, how dare he?  

Were it not for the rising tide of anger then I would have seen the obvious danger; he was male, twice my size, uninsured, and mentally unbalanced (at the bare minimum).  I should have been able to see the awful circumstance he was in for what it was and felt compassion, pity, or perhaps disgust, rather than rage.  However my anger and outrage corroded all reason, rationality, sense, or thought of self-preservation.   If the man had stayed, and engaged me in a confrontation, rather than ignoring the clearly intoxicated bum, I would have stepped up to the plate and given him a piece of my mind.  

Happily the train came within a minute, just in the nick of time.  I reflexively stepped into the car, and with the change of settings the anger and outrage dissolved.  The man probably wasn't in a condition to think of anyone's troubles but his own.   Though assumptions and prejudgments are one of my pet peeves I have to remind myself to "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle," and teach rather than react.

Thankfully today my flashes of rage aren’t as intense, and I have come light years in controlling them, but I do still work to manage living with anger and heightened emotions.  As with most TBI residuals, the doctors’ advice is to stay well rested, keep a regular schedule; avoid stress – the usual suspects.  Unfortunately, these things are not always feasible, and even when they are; anger flashes can rear their ugly head.

My best advice for times of agitation, (I wish I had known years ago) is to walk away and get yourself out of the situation if you possibly can – change scenery, change topics, but it is paramount to think about something, anything else.  Often this can be all but impossible for me to do alone because perseveration almost always goes hand in hand with my rage and traps me there.  

This is why it’s imperative to talk to your friends and family about how to handle these situations, for your sake as much as for theirs. Survivors are generally suggestible so the best thing to do is to redirect their attention to another topic, change the surroundings, and the agitation will disappear.   It's almost frightening how well this trick work, and it can be unsettling to onlookers to see such an abrupt change.  For me though, it is a welcome release from the clutches of TBI. 

I would love to hear your stories about similar situations, and struggles with heightened emotions.  Any input on  tactics for coping with anger flashes would be fantastic too.   I always say, it never hurts to have more TBI-fighting weapons in your arsenal.