Someone stole my shoes.
Ferrets adding to their stash.
I want my shoes back.
Stupid wraps the soul in chains, squeezing ever tighter;
Growing in strength as it drinks
Stupid is drowning in hopes lost
You try to rescue
Kittens, butterflies and memories of child dreams on a summer night.
Stupid grows with cruel words dropped casually
“Failure” is not an option
Learning is not possible.
A key to bind stupid.
A song is freed.
Listen to the heart beat of freedom.
Stupid is just a word
You arrived wrapped in bows of twisted metal and spiderweb glass
The music of squealing brakes, rumble, boom, silence! Siren song begins!
Traumatic Brain Injury came home to live.
Riding the tide of confusion, I learned to live in a new world.
Balance and falling
I lived narrow, limited, restricted. You laughed.
Rehabilitation. Work. Sweat. Tears.
I took back running.
I took back part time work.
Scout came- service dog
My world grew.
Almost two years.
You just took the Army Reserve.
I live with TBI.
You will not defeat me.
My life will be full.
My life will be meaningful.
I will live.
In high school, many years ago, I had to write an essay about this poem. Today, the first lines popped into my head. I struggled to remember the poem with no luck. Fortunately, I recalled enough of the poem to find it on the internet. It strikes me as powerfully now as it did then. Perhaps because I am struggling with my “new” post-injury identity. In a sense, I am the same person as before. But, there have been so many changes in my life and my ability to live it that I feel different. Perhaps identity is something we always work to create. Sometimes, a major event happens that is an upheaval rather than a quiet, gentle progression of change.
IdentityLet them be as flowers, always watered, fed, guarded, admired, but harnessed to a pot of dirt. I’d rather be a tall, ugly weed, clinging on cliffs, like an eagle wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks. To have broken through the surface of stone, to live, to feel exposed to the madness of the vast, eternal sky. To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea, carrying my soul, my seed, beyond the mountains of time or into the abyss of the bizarre I’d rather be unseen, and if then shunned by everyone, than to be a pleasant-smelling flower, growing in clusters in the fertile valleys, where they’re praised, handled, and plucked by greedy, human hands. I’d rather smell of musty, green stench than of sweet, fragrant lilac. If I could stand alone, strong and free, I’d rather be a tall, ugly weed. Julio Noboa
The poem still speaks to me today. It is combined hope, yearning for freedom, and the ability to be true to one’s own self with the fear of being different. I love the weed analogy. People hate having weeds in their garden. Yet, they are inevitable. They are also tough to kill. To be a weed among flowers. Is it a bad thing?
Here it is, just after midnight. My mind is annoyingly alert. Last night, I woke up at 2 a.m. and did not fall asleep again until after 7:00. This post is the result of a sleep deprived, meandering mind. Read on, if you dare!Insomina Blinking sighing deep Blurry eyes look out at night Stars dance in the sky
This is am awesome picture. It’s by Sherry Blue Sky. You can read her blog here:http://stardreamingwithsherrybluesky.blogspot.com/ She has some wonderful poetry and pictures.
I noticed something in the title of the post. The word “again.” Break it into syllables: a gain. What will I gain from this time? More haikus! =) Seriously, one life lesson from the concussion that keeps returning is being able to use something that can be viewed as negative to positive effect. “Again.” Often this word has negative connotations. Hey, I have insomnia again. I have to repeat the assignment again. Of course, if the activity is fun, again is good. I rode the roller coaster again. Yeah! Yet, doing something again can be beneficial. In music, repetition is used in practice and rehearsals to build technique. If I am not successful at a project the first time, doing it again gives me an opportunity to improve. It all depends on how you view it. Again can be a gain.
The philosophies of men mingled with the philosophies of women.
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My name is Michelle Munt and this is my story about surviving a brain injury and what I continue to learn about it. This is for other survivors and their loved ones, but also to raise awareness of what can happen to those in an accident. This invisible injury too often goes undiagnosed and it can be difficult to find information about it. I will talk about things that have helped me as I continue to recover and invite others to see if it works for them too.
Breaking down the stigma of mental illness one story at a time.