Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather, must recognize that it is he who is asked. Viktor Frankl
Making friends is straightforward for children – you can hear it in any playground, “Do you want to be my friend?” To take an adult friendship to a deeper level is also straightforward: stand in my friend’s shoes. This is underpinned by lots of open-ended, non-judgmental questions. All the rest naturally follows. We have been standing in each other’s shoes for a long time, so of course, the shoes are both comfortable and comforting.
And then your friend has a life-changing trauma. Before my brain injury, I was mostly reliable, trustworthy, self-aware and honest – shoes that would never walk out on a friend. Now my shoes are scuffed, worn out, coming apart at the seams, sometimes too big and sometimes too small. They just don’t fit. My shoes are markedly different.
My brain created a coherent identity when the neurons fired together. Perhaps it was a bit of a mess, but coherent. What happens when it doesn’t fire together? That’s what I described in the previous fifty-plus blogs – basically, I lost my identity to a trauma. In my early twenties, a friend warned me not to pull messy threads to make myself more presentable, it may unravel the tapestry of my life. And I will tell you this unashamedly, I was born messy. He was prescient. It only took one single momentary misfire in my brain to unravel everything. I was left with some shadowy presence in my head. And for a long time, I rightly treated it as a dangerous imposter who must be evicted to save myself.
Now I know I am stuck with him.
After my rehab, friends told me that my main problem was that I did not accept my situation. I regarded it as the kind of hippie-talk that belongs at Woodstock – with Hendrix playing his white Stratocaster on the stage. That is why I take most advice as good-natured but pointless. Instead, I am trying to see myself as a person with a brain injury. And that is not the same as acceptance, it is more about the less attractive notion of surrender. No one wants to admit they have less control, unless they surrender themselves to God or karma or whatever, though I doubt they would surrender without the comradery of like-minded followers.
Every minute I am aware my brain is damaged, and every minute I am aware I do not fully understand what is happening. And I have often heard exactly the same from others with a traumatic brain injury. Acceptance is more Woodstock-like playacting, or just being accepted by others. Surrender is the act of surrendering to what is happening, without understanding what is happening. Let me tell you, that is a true leap of faith. Or enlightenment.
So, tell me reader, which person is more authentic, the person I knew very well with a coherent identity or the one who suddenly appeared without a coherent identity? I have learnt that authenticity is slippery. When I broke my arm on my son’s seventh birthday, I did not emerge from that injury as a different person, I knew it was me who had the accident. It is not the same with a brain injury – in reality, you can emerge as a different person.
I expected myself to transition into some sort of normality after my stroke. And I had reason to be confident. I was always good at “getting back onto the horse” after a fall, and every time I strived to return as a better person. I am genuinely shocked that living with a traumatised brain is more complex, nuanced and darker than I imagined. The brilliant author Joan Didion, when her life was upending within six months after turning seventy, wrote: Life changes fast. Life changes in an instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends. She is right. My acquired brain injury has overwhelmed my life. Even recreationally watching television or football is certainly not effortless.
A couple of years after my stroke, I saw a neuropsychologist who spoke about post-traumatic growth as a reward for hard work in rehab. I told her it sounded more like my grandfather’s go-to-idiom of lemons to lemonade, but I am certain that trauma causes great suffering. I believe that post-traumatic growth is more about philosophising suffering. Nowadays, when trauma knocks on my door, I prefer to say thanks but no thanks.
After years of struggling in failed rock bands, and then suddenly becoming celebrated, Mark Knopfler questioned the worth of struggling. He said, I recommend a dose of success to make a much happier life. I agree. After many setbacks, I know I would get far more happiness and enjoyment from life with a dose of success. That is why these blogs are an uncomplicated “traumalogue”, written for others struggling with their brain injury and their families/friends.
You have to look elsewhere for positivity. Just watch Woodstock. You can sing along, too!