Reflections on consciousness
Sara Brinkac (she/they) // Columns Editor
On Oct. 1, 2023 my head was hit … hard. A hit so hard some would say I became concussed from it. Me, I say that. I got a concussion on Oct. 1, 2023 because of an above average impact to my head. The recovery process was shaky but hopeful, and for two weeks I was keeping optimism in my sights. Then … the second hit. Just over two weeks later I — hold laughter — walked into a tree. I’m not going to get into the details here but it was hard, it was significant and it was enough to compound into a severe concussion.
Now, I’ve had concussions before, two to be exact, so I am no stranger to blows to the head. Never before though have I had a concussion where I was handed the symptom sheet and was checking every symptom off, rating the majority of them moderate to severe and also adding some fun new symptoms in the other section. I am writing this over two months after my initial hit and still have some interesting lingerings from the impact. A ringing in my ears that sounds like an old water pipe has been left on in the distance, a spaciness that feels like I’m stoned when nearing my stimulation threshold, a myriad of intense emotion that dances across my body and consistent low level headaches/nausea that don’t like to be left out of the party. Here’s the good news though — I’m getting better.
Yes, the three things people love to hear when I return to daily life after my disappearance; how it happened, what it’s like to have a concussion and that I’m getting better. While it’s nice to satisfy people’s curiosity about the dramatic details and know that there is a general concern for my well-being, I must admit, the conversations get a bit repetitive. I have fallen into a rehearsed recounting of events, an on-hand set of responses to the typical questions and a similar optimistic phrase to prove to others and myself that I’m all better now.
However, here’s the reality: I’m still processing.
As great as it is to be returning to normal life and experiencing more, it also can be very easy to deny myself the space I need to heal in order to prove to myself I’m okay. I’m discovering it’s hard to reconcile ‘normal’ and ‘healthy.’’ That just because I can begin to work and fall into the same stressed routines I had before my impact doesn’t necessarily mean I’m back to normal health. Or does it? Now that I’m returning to ‘normal,’ I’m healthy right? And now that I’m beginning to be ‘healthy,’ I can be normal again — right? Seems to make sense … unless of course, I start to get my unavoidable symptoms again, meaning I’m not normal, not healthy and the unprocessed pain comes rushing back.
I want to run as quickly and as far away from pain as possible. I want it gone so badly, I bury it and convince myself that it isn’t there. But in some way or another that pain is present, waiting to be reconciled with.
“Pain is a stepping stone, healing a walk of fire.” — Devendra Banhart
I don’t want to be ‘the sick person’ any more, I don’t want to be vulnerable to the depression, anxiety, intense fear and hurt I was subject to early in my recovery. The physical pain still haunts me, the emotional pain scares me. The intensity of this emotion and fear of it can consume the mind, easily becoming the cause of a lot of confusion and indecision. It is hard to move forward while having a foundation rotted with mistrust and general anxiety toward life. The concussion has left me shaken to say the least, feeling at times directionless, frustrated, and sorrowful. But just because sight is lost doesn’t mean the way has disappeared.
“The obstacle is the path.” — Zen Proverb
True, there has been a lot of emotional, mental and physical turmoil I have felt in the last couple months, but there have also been profound emotions I never thought possible. Deep, intense, fruitful emotions that gave me new insight into courage, love, empathy and existence. All contributing to an awareness that feels wiser, slower and calmer.
When I could, I began walking everyday for 20 minutes early in my recovery. It began very slowly. I liked to think I was planting roots in the ground with each step, a nice reminder to move at the pace of nature. As I began walking I began noticing the trees. The unique shapes of them, the complex organic structure that is a branch system. The clouds in all their wisps, puffs, hues and movement. At home all I could do was draw simple shapes, mostly cubes over and over again, then stare at the same wall and close my eyes when it was getting to be too much. Outside, I became aware of more than just the simple objects I had ignored in my normal daily routine. I not only saw a complex shape, I felt it. I felt organic structure, an abstract world, another view on reality I was comfortable letting myself ease into moving through. I felt safe, beautiful in my form as a human being and rejoicing in the unique shifting complex reality I inhabit. A perspective of beauty I now and forever feel I will be able to call back into.
Humans, I believe, have a tendency toward filtering, reducing and categorizing. It makes it easy to process information when you can assign absolute values of good and bad, one and zero. However, humans also have a wonderful other quality, the ability to hold and process abstraction. There are many ways to move through this life, many perspectives and complexities that lie beyond simple definition. Maybe just because there is presence of pain doesn’t mean this is a bad thing to be avoided.
Maybe, instead of looking back on the past and being consumed solely by pain. There might be another way. By being grounded in the present allowing the experiences of the past to flow with their full range of emotion, one can begin to bring mercy and release into their body. One can find acceptance of where they are, patience on the journey and gratitude for the many lessons of pain. You don’t have to be in one absolute state or know where you are headed to be okay. There is joy in the abstraction of processing … huh, now how ‘bout that.
