Dear Bloody Brain,
It’s me again. I guess you’re on my mind a lot.
In response to your letter, I don’t always think of you badly. In fact, whenever I think of the losses you incurred, I can’t help but remember the gains. My new passion for teaching, though really not that new anymore. And the writing… How did I manage all those years without writing? The person I have become, more empathetic, more aware and self-aware, more alive.
It’s funny, I still think of myself as I am now as the new me, of my life as my new path or journey. Will I ever stop thinking of myself and my life as new? Would that be a good thing if I do? Surely acceptance is a good thing. So why do I have this feeling that it isn’t necessarily good? Somehow it smells of complacency, stagnation.
Someone told me to think about acceptance in terms of learning to live with the bloody brain. Though it sounds better than acceptance, it doesn’t well with me either. Learning to live? I am alive. Very much so, more than I ever was. In so many ways I am more than I was before you showed up in my life.
This is the point where I’m supposed to say that you are a blessing in disguise, but that really sticks in my craw. You? A blessing? You almost killed me. Though I guess in some sense you did kill the old me.
Going back to what I wrote earlier. (Note the ADD stuff going on–you’re responsible for that one.) Okay, back on track here. However I feel about the bad stuff, I have to admit that the good that came out of you has made me happier as a person, more whole. Am I supposed to believe that the bad stuff is part of the journey I have been going through to become this new person that I am? Possibly.
Whatever. You come with good as well as bad and plenty of both.
Enough. I can burble on and on. Time to get some “real” writing done.
What is it with you? You’re either whining and complaining about me, or you go all mushy gushy. Why can’t you just be… I don’t know, normal. No that doesn’t work; you’ve never been normal, thank God. Just be… Oh whatever, not whiny or mushy.
And about that whole acceptance thing: who cares? You’re stuck with me. It’s about bloody time you got used to it, and if you don’t—tough.
I guess the real issue here is that you go on and on about me. No one is listening. It’s boring. Just try to get over yourself.
The Bloody Brain