“The Strange Days That Followed” or “My New Life and the New Person I Had Become Post-TBI” Part 2

The biggest loss I have experienced in this has been my memory. I noted before on other posts [I’m not going to keep self-promoting, and you can easily find the related posts] how I used to possess a near-eidetic memory. It was great to be able to recall everything that I needed to recall instantly.

I barely had to crack a textbook for my psychology classes. Once I mastered a mathematical concept, I could repeat the process with relative ease. Synthesis and analysis were my weaker points, but I was able to work on them, as I had most of the information available to me due to my excellent recall.

Also, it helped me to win arguments with others, as I could quote them almost word-for-word. To my gentlemen friends: just know that this will annoy the ladies in your life to no end whatsoever. While I might have won the battle of that particular argument, it in no way helped me to win the war.

In college, I was a Resident Assistant, or RA. And while that didn’t make me the most popular person on the campus — OK, OK, it was even worse than that, but that’s one for another day — I mention it only because of what my responsibilities entailed. One of them was, of course, getting to know the residents of the building. One particular residence hall (or “dorm” for the non-particular and non-PC among us) housed 160 students or so. We had to know 90% of the residents by sight in the end of the first month of the semester.

Piece of cake.

The end of the first month, I knew 90% by name and face, even the ones who did not live in my wing.

Apologies for the braggadocio, I’m not trying to sing my own praises. I wanted to paint for you the word picture of how my brain used to be a well-oiled machine in terms of memory and recall.

To say that it was humbling to lose this skill is to say that Scrooge McDuck had some extra cash.

Frankly, I was humiliated. I never considered myself to be “better than” anyone else. I knew what my gift was: some people are good athletes in general, others are great at a particular sport, others are academically gifted across the board, others are more socially capable, some are more organized, and so on. I knew that my memory did not make me better than anyone else, it just meant that I could remember and recall better than others. And there were other folks with even better recall than I had.

Still, it was humiliating to be robbed of my cognitive function — not only my memory skills, but there was more that I discovered that I was missing:

• Name/Face recognition
• Word association
• Minor impulse control
• Emotional controls
• Shortened attention span
• Ability to multitask

I had never had a panic attack prior to the TBI. Sure, I held felt panic rising inside of me at moments, but I had never been one to be paralyzed by it. And now I was.

The minor impulse control has more to do with conversation and the ability to retain good points and valid arguments, and I found that when I wanted to say something, I felt this need to say it, and holding it in seemed almost painful, like holding back a sneeze.

Often, I could not find words that I needed. I paid darn good money for my college education, and I took full advantage of every single opportunity from grade school on up to learn as much as I could. I had been in possession of a robust vocabulary up until that point, and having the words in my head but being unable to grasp them to use was so very, very frustrating.

Mental efforts were exhausting beyond belief. Anything that took vast amounts of focusing and concentration became monumental efforts. Meetings were beyond difficult, and sitting for a movie was arduous. Nap time was essential, and I had absolutely no night life. I used to be able to multitask like a fiend, but now being interrupted while doing one thing would completely derail my train of thought.

And meeting new people was a double-shot of frustration: not being able to recall the names and faces, and then dealing with the anxiety and panic that would come to a head when I was confronted with the fact that I could not remember the names and faces at the next encounter.

Mind you, it took me a while to figure all of this out. I mean, I was brain damaged and I had no real idea that I was due to the physical toll that the still-unknown-sepsis-causing-illness took on me. What made me realize I had a problem was when my strength returned and I was still easily confused, unable to multitask with any sort of ease, the panic attacks continued, and more.

Still, it took me a spell to get myself into Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). Admitting that (1) you need help, (2) that you need professional help, and (3) that you would never, ever be the same again was exceptionally difficult. I had been raised to be as independent as possible — which, combined with my stubborn streak, often meant going it alone when I didn’t or shouldn’t have to. This time was different, because as much as I wanted to be OK, to be the same person I was, to be free of the panic attacks and capable of remembering and recalling almost anything.

But quite honestly, that Hive account@phoenix32 was gone. He existed in the past, and there was no going back to retrieve him.

The one part of me that survived was my episodic memory, which is why I can so readily and easily recall my run-in with Nurse Ratched. This had added to the confusion, because when it came to episodes or to things IT/Tech related, I forgot almost nothing, including after the TBI. And since my life really did consist of IT stuff at work, IT stuff at home, IT stuff at my parents’ house, IT stuff at my siblings’ houses, IT stuff at Hive account@blewitt’s shop, IT stuff at my friends’ houses… Couple with it the fact that, upon being physically recovered well enough to start to get back to my life, I found that my martial arts training was still intact inside of my lil ol’ cranium. I picked up my katana and wielded it as if nothing had happened, save for some minor physical slowness. But the fighting computer in my head was functioning at 100% capacity, as it had ever up to that point.

The unfortunate aspect is that episodes like the one with Nurse Ratched tended to crank the stress level up, and as a result left me exhausted, since I was expending extra mental energy that I did not really possess to both process the moment and commit it to memory, something that still happens to this day, although to a much lesser extent, thank God.

I also found myself becoming terribly anti-social. Not that I stopped liking people, or wanting to be out, or visit friends and family, but that it was taxing. I tried not to cancel plans, but there were times when I was just plain weary and worn out, especially after a day of work. I did not like canceling plans, backing out of things, or bailing on my people. But especially for the first few months, while I was on the liquid diet, then transitioning to bland solid foods, and then being cleared for a regular adult human diet, I found it exceptionally difficult to get out with my dietary restrictions. I would routinely go home and sit there, sometimes unable to think.

I watched a TON of Netflix.

Ask me if I remember anything from the shows and movies that I had not seen before that time.

More to follow, my reader friends!