I was a 17-year-old high school senior when The Accident, as I so fondly call it, impaired my balance and coordination, caused deterioration in my eyesight which nixed my driving ability, produced ataxia in the muscles of the left side of my body (the muscles have too much tone or not enough, I forget which), making my left hand only able to do gross motor functions. But wait! There's more! I get tired faster than "normal" people. Yeehaw! The Accident also created or exacerbated mental and emotional problems.
First, the mental problems. My memory is fine for the most part but concentration is, well--what was I talking about? Oh, yeah. Concentration. My mind wanders a lot. Another obstacle to concentrating is the pain I experience from a spastic muscle in my left leg, the gluteus maximus I believe. As there is nothing doctors can see that causes the pain, such as a broken vertebra, a physiologist theorized that the TBI damaged a nerve. As a result of the damage, the more I sit, the greater the leg pain, and thus, the less able I am to concentrate. See my quandary? I am a reasonably bright guy, but my body blocks me from exercising my intelligence in a marketable way. It is quite frustrating as you can imagine.
Which leads me to the emotional damage. I get frustrated easily. I do not handle stress well. And, even though depression runs in my family, I believe it has hit me harder than the other members of my family. Self-destruction has crossed my mind many times like Charon's boat crossing the river Styx. As result of the emotional turmoil, I am not always the easiest person to live with. Just ask my ex-wife, the poor woman. She had no idea of the chaos in my noggin. But she did the best she could to love me and live with me 'til I drove her away.
See, I met my ex-wife in 1984 in college, three years after The Accident. We married in 1987. During our courtship, she only saw the mellow side of me, the Dr. Jeckyl part of me. After we married, had two children, and otherwise went through the pressures of young married life, I became Mr. Hyde at times, getting mad and yelling so much that my ex-wife complained that being around me was like walking on eggshells. We eventually separated in 1997. As an epilogue, I am glad to report we are friends.
I did attend college from 1983 to 1986, when I got my Bachelor's in Communication Arts. As I said earlier, my ability to concentrate is not exactly top-notch. So why did I go to college? It was a pipe dream. An expensive pipe dream, as it turned out. Sure, my body was somewhat crippled but I fantasized about me being a professional of some sort. Ha! A professional bum, maybe.
Beside my concentration deficit, my personality deficits also muddied the vocational waters. Indeed, the combination of the two deficits would prove to undo my career in civil service.
After I graduated from college in December 1986 with a 3.05 GPA, I had no idea what I would do for work. A feeling of dread gripped me as I realized that my disability would most likely preclude working as a professional. I went on a few interviews with no success, then I contacted my Voc Rehab counselor. He hooked me up with his cousin who was a manager for a government office and was looking for volunteers, with the caveat that perhaps the volunteer clerk position might lead to gainful employment. Even though it was beneath what I had gone to college for, I jumped at the offer.
Fortunately, the manager and I hit it off really well. And I worked hard, was punctual, and got along with everybody. These factors led to being offered a job. Good thing, too, as my wife-to-be had just informed me that she was expecting. We married in June 1987 and I started work as a federal employee in the following month.
For the first few years, everything went relatively smoothly on both the home and vocational fronts, save for a few hiccups. Eventually, however, as pressures mounted with the addition of responsibilities, the pressure-cooker feeling inside my head grew. I blew up here and there at home, yelling and screaming until my ex-wife had enough. We both decided it would be best if I left in April 1997.
At work, encouraged by success as a clerk, I took on more and more responsibility. With greater responsibility came increased pressure until it became more than I could handle. I burned out in a big way. Finally, all I could do was sit at my desk and cry. I fantasized daily about escaping by dry-diving off the building in which I worked. However, I could not bring myself to fulfill that fantasy. Compelled by the need to escape, I cut my wrist open in March 1998. Management sent me home. I applied for and received disability after that.
Since then, I tried going back to college for training as a technical writer--another pipe dream--but I am currently volunteering several hours a week as a senior law project assistant. Like many other TBI survivors, I fatigue easily, which rather precludes working fulltime without burning out. Volunteering part-time is ideal. I like it there, they like me, it's a beautiful thing.
Looking back at my life after the Accident, I see many failures that I blame at least in part on the TBI I suffered. Yes, it has limited my opportunities and options and basically screwed up my life in some significant ways. Most days I feel like half a man. But I also see many successes in spite of the TBI. Therefore, I remain hopeful that good things are in my future.
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