Asshole (059)
My brain is an asshole. Now, I really want to explain why it’s an asshole, and I really want to do justice to the fact that it is an asshole and the difficulties I experience because of it. I want to convey it correctly. That’s why I’m writing a book. Not everything that is wrong with my brain could fit into a blog post.
Last night, I became incredibly paranoid that I’m going to be hurt on this vacation. That somebody is out to get me or that there will be a terrible accident. Mike and I, and two of our friends, were sitting in a cigar smoking lounge last night. And I just kept thinking about how somebody was going to come in the door and hurt me from behind. My back was to the door, and I don’t normally sit like that. This is a result of the PTSD from experiencing the robbery and being dragged by my hair at gunpoint. I wrote about that on my blog. So if you’re wondering about that story, there’s a little glimpse into it as a letter to myself under the Dear Andrea heading on my homepage. I don’t know if these new friends who are traveling with us understand what it’s like to live with an experience like that in your past and the damage it can do to your present. I try to tell them that my brain is an asshole and that’s why I’m so distant and having a very difficult time concentrating. I hope they at least try to understand. And if not, I will have to accept that some people have a difficult time imagining what it’s like to live with a damaged brain.
I just read a post on Instagram by a woman that I have followed for quite a while. She explained that she lost a friend last night because of her damaged brain. Her friend killed herself. And she is reading comments from people about how this friend was selfish to take her own life. But it’s the damage—the disease—that is selfish, not the beautifully spirited woman who suffered with it. This woman is holding space for her friend online where she will not be judged harshly for her diseased brain. It’s an example of one of the reasons I follow her.
It’s so hard for me to write about this. I’m ugly crying into hotel sheets. When I talk about writing on my blog with people I’m traveling with, I have to explain that I need to do this every day to hold myself accountable and that it gives me a sense of accomplishment to do so. They ask how many people read my blogs, and probably laugh to themselves when I tell them the low numbers. To be honest, I’m not sure they are laughing, but Brain The Asshole is telling me they are. I don’t do this for anyone else; I do this for me. To tell the asshole in my head to shut up. And that I’m worthy of sticking to what I want to do that makes me happy. I’m proud that this is day 59 and I am not going to have to think about it for the rest of today while I join our group on a boat and eat delicious food and have fun in the Atlantic ocean. Take that, asshole!
