Brain Matter, Real Life Horror, Poetry, Personal Thoughts...

I was working on writing this in stages throughout parts of Thursday and now it has tuned into early morning Friday and I am currently feeling better than when I started it, but I figure I might as well finish it for whatever my own reasons are. Despite the time it takes, sometimes writing out my thoughts helps matters (at least some of the matters inside my own brain). I was having one of those days where I felt somewhat upset for no obvious reason and maybe it's partly Winter induced and maybe my mind is exaggerating things and maybe I'll delete this post soon (or make it only visible to myself). Most of this is feeling-based and temporary. I've had a fairly productive week by my own personal standards, read some poetry, wrote my first two new poems of this New Year (after not writing much the last few months and starting to feel rather worried that my creative passion was ebbing and my writing style was shrinking and I was becoming too normal and dull). I also completed a new collaborative poem with j/j hastain and revised an old collaborative poem with j/j, all of which are very good things in my mind, regardless of how other people do or don't feel about them. But my own poems also might have inadvertently contributed to my upset feelings, because I don't dash off happy light hearted words, and sometimes my poems involve "poetry research" on disturbing subject matter. And real life disturbing subject matter is way more horrific than blood-drenched gory horror flicks in my mind. And the poem I finished a few days ago initially derived from a movie I watched last weekend that ended up resulting in me researching some disturbing stuff for days (stuff that I already knew about to an extent but hadn't thought about in recent years or had temporarily sort of forgotten about). The short version is that my research involved mental institutions in the past and lobotomies. I wasn't sure why my research and my poem were bothering me so much (well other than the fact that lobotomies are incredibly disturbing - but they're mostly a thing of the past - and they're not related to me personally), but not long after finishing the poem, I was emailing a poet friend who I hadn't emailed for a few months, telling him about my latest poetry chapbook, telling him about having completed my first new poem of this New Year, and while telling him about that, it got me thinking... I thought that my upset-ness might be partially related to a past health issue of mine that resulted in a stroke/brain damage, mild aphasia, and seizure side effects. I'm relatively fine now and/or used to who I have become. But when I was reading about electroshock therapy (which basically electrically induces seizures) and how its "most common adverse effects are confusion and transient memory loss" (which are part of my side effects following a seizure), that elicited some discomfort as to why anyone would want that induced. But what is MUCH MORE uncomfortable is that in mental institutions in the past, it often wasn't up to the patients. It was decided for them and forced upon them. AND if electroshock therapy didn't work the way they wanted it to (they as in the system, not as in the patients), then what if they decided to give that person a lobotomy, which is basically like choosing to make someone personality-less and brain dead, even though there body remains alive. I wondered if some people who had lobotomies felt trapped inside themselves yet unable to personally express their feelings at all. Part of the reason I say that is because some people who had lobotomies ended up committing suicide and there must be a reason for that, feeling-oriented, brain damage-oriented, or otherwise. Even though lobotomies aren't done anymore (at least not legally) and have nothing to do with me personally, it is also possible that part of my research and related thoughts somewhat reminded me of research I'd done in the past related to aphasia (of which I have a very mild version, but my past research indicated that some people with extreme versions, caused by strokes or other brain damages, can't even talk normally at all, regardless of what's going on inside their brain, which nobody else would know because they can't express it - which to me, seems like a form of extreme horror). Not being able to express oneself at all, no matter what's going on inside your head, even though you used to be able to in the past. Thus the idea of surgically causing purposeful brain damage (via lobotomy) is an extreme horror story to me, far more disgusting than a fake horror story, because it was real. Not long after completing my email to my friend, I then started working on another poem, using bits from a poem-in-progress that had been sort of random and that ended up turning into an unobvious, indirect, but more personal connection to the previous poem. I'm very happy I completed two new poems, but whether or not this is fair... sometimes putting emotional energy and time into my poetry (which is of course my own choice and what I passionately choose to do) causes me to feel more annoyed, angry, and even pissed off at how many people don't seem to express themselves on an individual level at all and just post memes and clichés and other people's words (which is of course their choice). Other people don't have to care about my personal thoughts/feelings/ideas or poetry, but I can be bothered by their impersonal clichés. Granted nobody has to express themselves personally on online social media sources, but sometimes I wonder if some people barely express themselves personally anywhere at all. I have significantly toned down expressing myself personally online as much as I used to (other than via my poetry) and that is my personal choice for various reasons, but one small reason is it seems like there's nowhere good to do so anymore. I used to do so on blogs (and still do to an extent, such as HERE), but I don't think blog forums get anywhere near as much attention as they used to in the past. I used to do so more on facebook, but facebook's lay out has become increasingly geared towards Smartphones (and continually scrolling up and down to quickly glance at memes and photos and short text-length phrases and respond quickly or with emojis). A post this long probably either won't show up via Smartphone scrolling or will look like some damned novella on a phone. So anymore when I do write one of my long posts, I figure I'm mostly just writing it for myself, which is fine, because it's sort of like an online journal (and I can re-read it/re-examine it later, if I so choose). But it still bothers me on a variety of levels that online communication (and perhaps even real life communication) in recent years has become increasingly toned down (mentally watered down?) into rather quick and impersonal. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's what it seems like to me. Even in regards to sharing poetry on facebook (or blogs), maybe I'm wrong about this too, but it seems to me that in order for it show up and possibly get much attention (even from other poets), it needs to involve a photo, so you need to take a photo of or scan your own (or someone else's) poem in order to increase the likelihood of other people even seeing it, let alone reading it. But to me, poetry is about WORDS, WRITTEN EXPRESSION, and READING. I usually share a few lines from the poems (mine or other people's) and a link to where one can read more and even most of my poet friends don't seem to see most of those posts. I don't want to feel like I have to include a photo with everything I post if I want it to get any attention. I like some photos, but I also like LOTS OF WORDS.

bad dream induced by memory issue/doctor appointment stress

I woke from an annoying bad dream, in which I was participating in some sort of poetry reading contest. I was the first participant and went up to the front to read my two poems. The woman who was MC-ing the event was a woman I knew, so she and I talked for a few minutes, then she introduced me to the crowd. Before we'd started talking, the poems I was going to read were bookmarked in a journal, but suddenly the bookmark was gone and I had to start flipping through the book to find my poems.

I couldn't find them and the dream consisted of me repeatedly flipping though journal after journal and notebook after notebook, while standing in front of a crowd and looking like an unorganized mess and feeling increasingly embarrassed and confused.

I told the woman she could just introduce the next reader, but she said she wanted to keep the reading order the same as it had been listed and so if I couldn't read first, then I couldn't read at all. I couldn't find my own poems, so I couldn't read first, so I couldn't read at all - but it wasn't the not being able to read part that bothered me as much as losing my own poems and having no idea what had happened to them.

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I know what inspired this dream. In real life, I make tons of lists all the time, largely because of my mental quirks AND my aphasia-induced memory issues. I'm a very organized person or at least I think I am or at least I attempt to keep my brain organized so that I don't go mentally bonkers. But despite all the time and energy I spend organizing things onto lists, I also lose lists a lot, or I have so many lists that I don't know which is which and which is where.

I try my best, but I can't do anything fast. The more time limitations I have, the more stressed out I get.

I hate doctor appointments (way too many bad experiences) and I have one coming up this Friday. Because of my stressed out brain issues, I purposely set the appointment up months in advance. This is my first appointment with this particular doctor, and they said they would send me the paperwork to fill out in advance. Several months went by and I hadn't gotten the paperwork yet. I thought maybe they planned to send it closer to the time of my actual appointment, but just in case they had forgotten to send it, I called the office again on Friday the 15th of this month. The woman on the phone said the paperwork would be mailed the Monday after that. Well it's ten days later now and I STILL haven't received the damned paperwork and my appointment is this Friday and I'm pissed off and I feel like they just don't care.

I hate doctor appointments to begin with, I get extremely overly stressed out about them, and even if I WASN'T stressed out, my brain can't dash off medical paperwork in ten minutes (or 20 minutes or 30 minutes), because I read slow, I think slow, and I have word issues. If I'm writing something like THIS at home, I can take as long as I want and nobody needs to know how slow I am and about my annoying word issues.

But if I'm writing something somewhere else, I can't automatically process what I'm reading, I can't automatically understand what they're asking, I can't dash things out fast, I can't remember stuff like the names of my various doctors (and I sure as hell can't spell them), the name/dosage of my pill, the time frames of other health issues, or doctor appointments, etc.. Anything to do with numbers and time is hard for me to remember. The only numbers that come naturally to this brain or my birth date and my age.

So what this means is that since the doctor's office didn't bother to send me any advance paperwork, I have to spend a few hours GUESSING what their paperwork will ask me and writing notes to take with me - and hoping I don't forget something important and hoping I don't lose my own notes. The thing is, I'm sure I've written these kinds of notes before, but I don't remember where I put them, even though I probably put them somewhere that I thought was a well organized place to put them. Heck, maybe I even scanned and stored them on my computer, but I don't know, because I CAN'T REMEMBER.

I'm stressed out, part of me would rather cancel the appointment then try to handle this stress, and when I get all stressed out and somebody tells me to relax, I feel like punching them.

The other issue about being stressed out at a doctor's appointment and having to spend a lot of my time and mental energy transferring paperwork I wrote at home onto paperwork they hand me in the office, shortly before the appointment, is that my brain will get so stress-focused on that stuff, I won't even be able to focus on the details of the actual appointment.

Broken Springs

It was a gorgeous springy day today weather-wise, but…

I seemed to be having a broken springs/tainted strings mish mash associated with my brain.

I’ve recently gotten on a friend of mine’s case a few times about too frequently using the word “broken” to describe himself/his brain, but my brain sure felt broken earlier today.

It was a tough morning for me in terms of a number of easy little things being overly difficult. I used to be detail oriented and good at remembering things in advance, but now I’m not good at remembering details – so if anyone expects me to quickly get something done at the last minute (without finding out about it, remembering it, and planning for it in advance), chances are I might have a stressed out little explosion – and unfortunately, they’ll be stuck in the middle of my explosive devises too. Not that those explosive devises will be lashing out at THEM, mind you – but they’ll sure hear me lashing out at myself and calling my brain inept and screwed up and disappointing.

Trying to quickly get something done at the last minute (without advance notice and planning in advance time) stresses my brain into shredded threads that don’t like themselves, don’t appreciate themselves, and focus too much on their weaknesses instead of their strengths.

This morning, I got all stressed out because at the last minute I was attempting to fill out a piece of paperwork that should have been easy, but wasn’t – because I can’t remember my dog’s age, his date or month of birth, what vet appointments/treatments he might need, nor where the heck I put the past paperwork that might offer me such information. I used to be good at all of that stuff (as well as other forms of organization); now I am not. I certainly don’t want my dog to suffer from a too-early demise due to my disabled brain strands.

Then from their I got to thinking about how frequently I seem to lose things ‘cuz I can’t remember where the heck I put them when I was attempting to organize them (from my calculator to my assortment of googly eyes that I wanted to use for making some homemade Valentine cards to much more). Then I got upset (not at HER; at ME) when my little niece stepped into my art room and blurted out that it was the messiest room she’s ever seen – which is probably because I’m frequently having to unpack boxes in order to try to find things AND some boxes I don’t even bother unpacking/organizing into a particular space in the first place, ‘cuz then I’ll soon forget where I put those.

It seems like every time I make a substantial and time-consuming effort to organize my space, I then forget the details of my organization by the next day – and I don’t want to have a messy, unorganized space – but I also don’t want to have a neat, organized space that involves unpacking multiple boxes and searching for things on a frequent basis. Both ways cause me to feel bothered and troubled by my seemingly inept brain.

In case you think I’m exaggerating about my broke strings and mutilated brain waves, consider this. I’ve now been living in my newish space for more than seven months and I still haven’t memorized my address. I have it written down and have to look at that piece of writing every time I need to write it down somewhere else.

I know I need to focus on the positive not the negative, but sometimes (like this morning), I have an episode where it really bothers me that I used to have strong memorization skills and be a fast-moving individual; but now I’m more of a slow-moving, unorganized mess, whose brain sometimes can’t remember easy things yet is frequently popping out all kinds of random things and weird things and big bizarre words.

On the plus side, at least I can use some of those big bizarre words as part of my poetry content – and that’s definitely a pretty awesome plus side, as far as I’m concerned. In fact, in mere minutes, I shall post a positive, poetry-oriented blog entry above this negative little spurt.

Post-Stroke Aphasia Articles

Linked to below is my Intro piece for my three new Post-Stroke Aphasia articles.

These articles took me a long time to write; I was often overtaken by mixed feelings.

But I finally did it and hopefully a few people will read and relate.

The Intro will offer you a few snippets of what to expect from the others.

Those other pieces will also be added here.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/7973477/intro_to_my_three_new_poststroke_aphasia.html?cat=5

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NEW - Post-Stroke Aphasia Piece One (Challenging Words & Images)

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/7973591/poststroke_aphasia_piece_one.html?cat=5

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NEW - Post-Stroke Aphasia Piece Two (Love Replaced With Doubt & Debt)

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/7976323/poststroke_aphasia_piece_two.html?cat=70

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Piece #3 coming soon...

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P.S.

I understand that my stroke was difficult for my ex-husband to deal with too. He had lost his first wife to cancer; she had suddenly died young. He was very uncomfortable with hospitals and health issues and I can certainly understand that. I just wish he would have told me that he was truly sorry but he really couldn’t deal with this kind of situation again in his life. Yes, I would have been disappointed by that, but it would have been better than him acting like the whole situation was my own fault and repeatedly lashing out at me due to a lifestyle change that had happened beyond my control. It’s not like I had my stroke on purpose. I wish it wouldn’t have happened. I wish it wouldn’t have made his life harder. I wish I wouldn’t have lost parts of my brain - and then my home and my husband and my credit and more...

If something bad, unfortunate, or mistaken happens, he wants to move on – not dwell on it. I can understand that to an extent, but not when it is related to a brain loss injury. He seriously wanted me to forget about it after mere weeks, but how am I supposed to forget about or ignore something that still affects my brain?

Would most people just ignore a brain injury – or expect their spouse to?

I don’t think so.

Maybe I’m wrong.