You Asked for It

I learned visualization as a coping mechanism early in life. I don't remember if I started using it for my insomnia or my trauma first, but that's like asking the chicken or the egg question. When I have insomnia, I picture myself at the Manahawkin Drive-in movie theater on Route 72. That should give you an idea of how long I've been using it to help with my insomnia. I'm sitting in a car waiting for the sun to go down while I stare at the movie screen. Slowly, my mind's eye zooms in on the white canvas, the emptiness enveloping everything in my brain, eating every dark, racing thought that otherwise would never stop. Any lingering ruminations obliterated with a final brilliant blast of intense light before the world goes dark and sleep finally takes hold.

When I have trauma, something else takes over. It shoves the trauma into a pillow case and takes it to a secret place deep inside my brain. It travels by an old row boat to an island protected by a leafless tree. It walks past the old tree and into a decrepit old shack, the door slamming shut behind it. The only light in the shack comes from the single window which overlooks the tree and the nothingness beyond. Below the window, sits an old black steamer trunk. It opens the trunk, dumps in the trauma, slams the truck shut, and leaves. That's where the trauma stays and is never heard from again.

Visualization has helped me survive by not only "forgetting" things but by being able to created fantasy worlds that I can escape to during times of extreme stress or trauma. Some may say my coping mechanisms are not healthy, but I am alive and I have never hurt anyone else. Sure, I am pretty fucked up, but I could be a hell of a lot worse, all things considered.

I have been getting a lot of shit from my family lately about my increasingly erratic behavior. Apparently, everyone is getting a little sick and tired of my shit. I have to admit the irony of the situation is not lost on me. Because I am sick and tired keeping my mouth shut about everyone else's shit. You see, a few months ago, I took my jar of fucks that I had and I shook them all down the kitchen drain. Then I turned on the garbage disposal and I let that motherfucker run until I was sure that every last one was gone.

Unfortunately, last November, my brain fucking broke. I had a vestibular migraine that caused Hypertensive Encephalopathy (HE). Basically, I had a migraine that came with bouts of vertigo. I would stand up and my heart rate would race. Then, the vertigo would kicked in. Pain would start shooting from one ear to the other like I was getting electric shock therapy. My blood pressure would spike and I would start puking and pissing myself. Sounds fun, huh? Everytime this happened, it was causing my brain to swell. Unfortunately, the hospital staff, ignored my entire medical history, my request for a neuro consult, ninety percent of my symptoms. Instead, they focused solely on the fact that I was a vomiting pot smoker. I was misdiagnosed with Cannabis Hyperemisis Syndome (CHS). This caused three extra days of injury and trauma to my brain and a prolonged recovery.

The HE was diagnosed by my neurologist the day after I was discharged. My nausea didn't subside until I asked for a meclizine and it worked for the vertigo. I don't have vertigo where the crystals in my ear get out of whack. Long Covid damaged my Central Nervous System (CNS) and my vestibular system, especially the left side. I have a lot of left sided weakness due to nerve damage. We have also seen some problems with my Autonomic Nervous System (ANS) that could potentially be from the Long Covid. Sometimes my body has a hard time maintaining homeostasis; which means it has a hard time regulating normal balance. It can't regulate temperature. I have a problem staying warm; I have a problem staying cool. There is no rhyme or reason. Some in my family say I am going through menopause or I am just getting old. They just refuse to believe that I have a neurological problem. Yes, I am getting old, and yes, it looks as if I, finally, may be starting menopause, but I also have two chronic illnesses. I'm not really sure why they refuse to believe or try to understand what is going on with me, but whatever.

My neurologist told me to watch my blood pressure and my stress. He told me that recovery from HE could take weeks to months depending on the damage. Not to be disheartened; I had seen before how much nerves and the brain can repair. I had come back from major flares before. There was no reason to think I couldn't come back from this one. I tried to smile at him; I looked at the notes I had scribbled down to make sure I had asked him everything on my list. Random words had been scribbled on a piece of paper. To anyone else, they would have meant nothing, but they were enought to jog my memory. I could barely write my name, let alone legible sentences.

better

memory

migraine-halo

lightning

The HE took my memory from the last six months. Some of it is still there, but most of it is gone. Whatever filter I may have had left was completely destroyed. It took me a minute to figure out it was gone, but I have decided that I don't really care. It seems to have dropped me a few more years in my maturity level, which is something that I really couldn't afford. I feel like I am back in my eighteen year old angst filled self again and I fucking hate it. It has made it practically impossible for me to absorb new information. I can't figure out if it is a short term memory issure or if it is something more than that. I seem to have a problem with critical reading and writing. I can't spell and I have the attention span of a flea.

What scares me most about what the HE did to my brain is that it destroyed the steamer trunk. When I close my eyes, I am now able to find the house all by myself. Never before was I able to go there unaccompanied. The water has dried up; no boat needed. Now, I walk to the house, right past the dead tree and into the one room house. The lock on the trunk is broken. The steamer trunk is wide open and screaming for the trauma that filled it's dark abyss. I hear Deb Miller say, "Nature abhors a vaccuum."

"Yeah, I know, bitch. I hope your bird still screams my name all day long."

I don't know how to fix the trunk; even if I could, do I want to? It was getting pretty rough, shoving new trauma in there without letting anything out. Why not finally deal with these feelings I've ignored as long as I can remember? What is the worst that can happen? Just because I might actually be starting menopause? Maybe it's time that I finally started dealing with my feelings and the angst that I have been struggling to hide for the last 45 years. Nobody in my family wants to deal with it, but I really don't care anymore. I'm sick of walking on eggshells because everyone gets so upset everytime I try to talk about my childhood. I get guilted into shutting up. No one wants to hear it. Apparently, everyone likes it better when I keep my feelings to myself and I don't set boundaries and stick to them, even if that leads to self-medicating and rehab.

For the longest time, I kept my feelings to myself. I told people, "Trust me, you don't want to hear what is going on in my head." They push anyway, "You can talk to me, Sara, it's ok." Then, once I open up? I get told I need to find someone to talk to. That's funny; that's what I thought I was doing. They end up getting mad at me because of my opinion or upset because my feelings were hurt by something that they did. I usually have to apologize for one thing or another. Yes, I have to apologize for having feelings and talking about these feelings that I didn't want to talk about in the first place. You know, the feelings that I said you probably couldn't handle and would be offended by? Yeah, those feelings.

I have felt like an outsider my whole life. Once my parents got divorced, I have felt like I have been on the outside looking in while my parents tried to create better families with their new spouses and their children, and I was just a third wheel. I have never felt like I belonged anywhere. I think that's why I connected so much with animals; they never hurt me like people did.