The poem refers to an accident that I had more than 20 years ago. I struggled with various problems until it was decided that I could take medication for a previously undiagnosed condition that may have been exacerbated by the accident. Allowing the shame and guilt of taking medicine to overshadow the benefits, I thought I should stop taking the medicine. Not a good idea.
My injury did necessitate surgery at the time, and surgeons did mention some possible internal problems that my parents never investigated.
I learned to cope with problems I did not realize I had, and others subsided with time. Or wires rerouted themselves.
Several years ago, an mri revealed scar tissue, not in the brain, but behind my face, the area of impact. Advancements in technology might reveal more truths if I wanted to, but it might not.
Either way, people whose job it is to diagnose finally took my complaints seriously. The meds have made a tremendous difference. Not cured 100%. But I don't have to worry about passing out or becoming lethargically impaired.
I still get lost and confused sometimes. A few weeks ago, I tried to follow written instructions. I got lost. Oh, and verbal instructions are a joke. I have to write it down or carry a printed copy.
For example, I cannot always read the mail that comes. Sometimes, I look at it, and it appears an ocean of gray and black on white.
Sometimes, I forget about it for a while until it just comes like a flash.
My children learned something from me. When they started driving, if ever they were lost, they called either me or their dad for help. A useful strategy.
My point is that I have never been helpless. I have always tried to stay focused, deal with my problems head on. I never wanted help. I don't like taking meds. However, I do like having to work much less now (in the brain), and I feel much safer.
Click here to read Attention, Please.