before and after
the turning point of my young adulthood
cw: injury, trauma, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts
i’ve avoided death at least twice: as a premature newborn and when i was 17. the former was always kind of just…looming over me. something i knew was real but hadn’t stuck much in my memory. i’d seen the pictures my family took of me and my twin during the months we spent in the hospital growing and getting stronger; i weighed 1 pound, 9 ounces when i was born, my eyes, lungs, skin, and brain still not done developing. the size of a doll, literally. i knew it was me because i was told it was me but it didn’t feel like me.
i felt so far removed; i’d been through a lot in my childhood, but i was stubborn and a good healer, so i made it through. i didn’t quite realize how much of an effect it had on me at the time, how much i carried with me. what choice did i have other than to keep going? i had dreams and ambitions and things i wanted to learn how to do. i didn’t work so hard for nothing. it’s never made sense to me to give up before going as far as i possibly can and trying everything i can. it’s just what i consider normal; i’ve literally never known anything different than being disabled.
i’m not purposely trying to be impressive or inspiring. my parents raised me and my siblings in the exact same way — i wasn’t treated specially or handled all that differently. i got the same punishments, i was held to the same standards, i had the same academic expectations placed on me, i was expected to be kind, respectful, and caring to others. we were all encouraged to go to college — my sister and i just happen to have careers that involve a master’s degree. i never held myself back; it was usually other people and their anxiety that have kept me from doing what i want when i want to do it. i understand the inclination to be protective, but it’s been hard to cope with.
i still don’t remember any of what happened aside from what other people have told me; i’m honestly grateful none of it ever came back. as a teenager i had a habit of staying awake until 2-3 in the morning and sleeping into the afternoon — getting out of bed and going downstairs to eat after noon was totally average and not unusual, especially in the summer. i’ve been able to use stairs since i was 9 or 10 years old; maybe i got too confident, or i wasn’t paying attention? i don’t think anybody really knows how i got almost all the way to the bottom, lost my balance, twisted around and fell backwards onto the floor and hit my head.
according to my siblings (who were home at the time, my 14 year old brother had to call 911) i was still conscious laying out on the tile floor. i knew something was wrong, and i was so scared that when i saw my grandma rush through the door i screamed i’m gonna fucking die. the only physical sign of anything at first was some blood coming out of my ear on the side that hit the floor first; when the EMTs were checking me out and asking me what day of the week it was, what year it was, who the president was, i answered them like are you really asking me this right now?
my parents’ house is 10 or so minutes from the hospital, but by the time i got there i already had swelling on my brain. i ended up being in a medically induced coma for four days to get through the worst of it, and according to my family they weren’t sure how or if i was going to recover. i woke up knowing i was in the hospital but not how i got there, and finding out i’d almost died freaked me the fuck out. i was angry at myself, i was scared, i was anxious, i was sad — could i trust myself anymore? i had no idea; the one thing i did know was i was confused and lost. would i be able to walk or do anything independently again? would i have more brain damage? had i fucked everything up for myself? i didn’t tell anyone for a long time, but during those three weeks i didn’t care if i fell asleep and didn’t wake up.
when i came home i was more anxious and depressed than almost any other time in my life. i was alone, i couldn’t start college (i was devastated when my doctor told me i needed to give my brain a break for the semester), i was having nightmares and flashbacks, and i was scared to move around in my own house. i honestly think the only thing that helped me truly recover was to move forward. to not completely give up all the goals i had before the brain injury even though the person i was before was gone. i still made mistakes, and there are things i wish i’d done, but i saw it as an opportunity to start over.
all these years later, i really do see it as a turning point. i promised myself i’d focus on things that fulfilled me and made me feel good. i cut toxic people out of my life. i learned to go with my gut. i learned how to say what i want and just go for it. i started really focusing on my mental health. i try not to focus on my fears and anxieties; they still exist, but they’re not debilitating all the time anymore.
i don’t always see it, but i’m not the shy, frustrated, scared kid i used to be. the things i want for myself — an independent adult life, better relationships, time for things i love — mean that much more to me, not in a morbid way but because i realize they’re not stupid and insignificant. they’re what’s important to me and what’s going to allow me to be the version of myself i always wanted to be when i was younger.