Memory is something that you take for granted until you don't have it. Like most things you take for granted, I suppose. What  dumb thing to say. I mean, my life and its details have always been available for my recall in vivid colour until very recently. Pregnancy and childbirth gave all my cognitive abilities a whack... I guess advancing age is a factor... the hammer blow, almost literally, was my head injury. So much of my life doesn't seem to exist anymore, my identity feels very uncertain.

Writing this past paragraph has been depressing. I keep deleting, rewriting, pausing. Writing to me has always been like breathing...although perhaps I could write, perhaps I am censoring things far more than I used to, because a sense of "SO WHAT" hangs over most of my thoughts about myself, my experience of things. I don't really know when this happened - I know that when I went to see Amanda6 months ago I honestly spoke about my mindfulness, my fullness of life. It felt honest, anyway. Since I whacked my head I can se in hindsight that I have been slowly going downhill - but then the SO WHAT kicks in. I don't seem to embrace mindfulness when it comes to less than positive things. The more I realise that it is just ME here in my headspace (that doesn't make sense???!) the less tolerant I am of the flaws/dysfuctions and warts that once interested me. I am embarrassed by them. I can't rebutt the negative cloud that seems to be growing with positivity because it seems ridiculous - it feels like maybe I used to get th energy from what I thought other people were giving me, but I have realised it was just me all along. ACKKKKKKKKKKK I am making no sense I know. I have no idea if it will even make sense to me should I come back and read this later. I make no sense.

I feel very empty. All my energy goes into making sure I keep experiencing and exploring around me like I never have. Being a mum and justbreathing the adorationfor my little boy...this doesn't sound empty I know... I'm a riddle to myself.

This has taken so long to write. I am broken.

Today I saw my therapist, it has been 4 or 5 months. I saw her a few times last year. It is nice to have so may constant, concrete things. ( I can't believe YOU are still here.) I went to see her because she had said to me, and to my occupational therapist, that she would like to see me at least twice before she goes away on maternity leave at the end of May. Off I trotted.

Yes, my occupational therapist. A rather nice, softly spoken, gentle person who encourages me to take naps and not push myself. 6 months after the worlds stupidest head injury, I float between doing as she suggests, and getting entirely bored of being unwell, and doing the opposite. I have an arsenal of people on my case - from my case manager, my neurologist, my neuropsychologist... aughhh the effing neuropsychologist what a bloody maggot she was. I had to go for this assessment for memory, attention, blah blah, and it kicked off with a clinical interview. Being a naive idiot, I answered her questions relatively honestly. I hadn't really counted on her writing a goddamn fucking report on me detailing said interview! Needless to say, it was not the most attractive portraitthat I have had painted. My history of 'numerous psychological issues including anorexia and an anxiety disorder, my use of recreational drugs made me appear like a junkie, and thank the lord I lied about how much alcohol I drink, because as it was, she suggested that a referral to CADS may be appropriate! (Community alcohol and drug services). Sigh. Fucking woman. That bloody American, she has been named in this portion of my life!!!

Amanda asked me if I was writing. I explained that the pen is dry of ink. She found this concerning, which I found interesting and thought provoking; she said that writing to express and analyse and explore has always been something that she associates with who I am. She asked me to try to write - to find where my blocks are and get my brain into gear. she has a good point, it feels painfully slow to get this out, a far cry from my keyboard being a piano and my fingers whirring out a symphony of wordie words.

I liked h's new project of writing with a purpose. I need a purpose. I have been waiting for the thoughts to come out into the words but perhaps, working the other way will be the answer.

Ideas of purpose????

xxxx

Oh I want to write!!!!! I want to write every day.

BUT - I want to ignore mysef, really... and blogging sort of rubs up against that idea.

Maybe I will just read, and remember the days whenI used to be articulate.

p.s.6 months on from walking into doorframe induced concussion and I'mstill getting treatment. Sigh.

How do you find comfort in your own mind??

Last night, I had an unusual dream. I am not sure what makes a dream unusual, I mean, they aren't usually 100% realistic. Usually, I can't describe mine. I can totally picture them, and feel them - but description lacks the felt sense of the dream.

Last night, one of my dreams felt profound. It was set at a place my brain has set for dreams in the past (but when I went looking for a feature that had appeared in some past dream, it was different - my brain does that to keep me on my toes) So, I was staying at some place, that SEEMED to be like an inpatient thing for eating disorders, but it was more like a place for you to go if you had been eating disordered in the past. It was like a check in place, making sure you were still cool in your non eating disorderedness. Anyway, the timing wasn't clear. I wasn't aware of a sense of Tom - that reality was suspended. I don't remember any individuals in the dream, just that there were 'other girls' in the programme, and there were staff.

In the dream I went for a walk down the road, a quiet road, not unfamiliar but I think a road/path in my dream universe. (Honestly, its like watching cable, someone tapping into my dreams would make a fortune in random trippy ongoing storylines) and Something Happened. The detail was entirely not part of the dream, but i knew that I had been raped.It was like floating back to the programme, with a sense of trying to prepare myself to tell people what had happened. I didn't want to admit it, and the details are blurry, apart from the sense of confusion that others were entirely outraged and horrified on my behalf and I just didn't know how to process this, like, I was expecting vitriol.

I don't know how to exactly and authentically explain why this was profound...except yesterday I had this thought that parts of me that I had been thinking I need to fix, maybe they are OKAY. Maybe, really, I am just OK!!!

ohhhhhhh

Welcome back to my brain!!! I've emerged, fortunately and unfortunately, different. I've had to think more, be aware of more. Losing your ability to string a sentence together is a little profound.

I'm learning alot. I've been blogging on blogger but it is about horses - well, my zen focus on Mindful Riding. I shall share the link. Just in case. Three posts so far.

So today was a little overly dramatic. Normal sort of day. Towards the end, got a call that my darling horse, my Lou, was caught in a fence. I had to drive to pick Tom up from daycare, to get home to her. I didn't know what I was going to find. My usual Awesome in an Emergency Persona left me entirely. I cried with raw fear all the way home. THANK GOD she is OK. I hugged her and cried, and let people see me cry, and it was just normal.

Just about to go home, Marek phones me. What am I doing, he is local. I say, come to my house, lets have a wine. I give him my address. Some time after, I hear a fast car. I see his fast car disappear up the road. I text him "hey you egg, assumethat you, I'm the white house with the red roof". No reply. I miss a call. I call him back. Don't get him. Wonder what he is doing up my road. Has he had an accident? He phones me. "Um, I've destroyed my car". I drive up there. Lucky to be alive. Long story short - he left in a police car, I gave him a hug and involuntarily kissed his neck. He phoned me after they processed him at the police station for drink driving - I can't judge, I've done it, I'm just glad I guess that his lesson didn't involve death. I make sure he is OK - he is being picked up. I wish I could be holding him. Gah. As a friend, mind!!!

Managed to curb my alcoholism, haha. Balance, balance.

Lessons to be learned all around.

MAYBE I should start one of those youtube blogs where Idon't have to think about writing. I'm not lazy - I'm finger blocked. I write in my head.

So 5-6 weeks ago, normal night at home. Bit of telly, chatting online, reading a book, drinking wine. Time for bed. I follow the usual routine. Last thing, turn off a light in the laundry. Sort of lurch around, too much wine.... hear a crack... a loud crack. Turns out it is my skull hitting the door frame. Turns out the warm feeling was the blood.

Didn't think it was the hugest deal. Until two days later when I was a total mess. Fell asleep at work, woke up suddenly, scratched my face - more blood. I decide I shall go home. I decide I shall go to the doctor first. He takes one look at me, Concussion.

For two weeks, I was a total mess. Trouble talking. Falling asleep.

Truth is, I'm still a mess.

Truth is, I haven't let my poor brain heal.

Truth is, I'm drinking too much, really.

I refuse to make a deal out of it. I will just sort it. I make a deal out of everything. don't even want to write it here.

Anyway. Mental energy to write on here - progress, yay!!!

Head injury - scary shit.

Recovering from concussion... will write when I can string a sentence together again!!

New embarrassing story - having to tell the Accident room doctor that the reason that I sustained a concussion and split my forehead was because I was drinking. Oh no, not out somewhere, home by myself. Needless to say, the last couple of days have been an interesting exploration into the world of the fuzzy, vacant, and slightly incoherant.

I went to see the archeologist today. I was so nervous!!! It was hard. It will get harder. I just did my best to keep breathing, and not go into my shell.