When Bad Things Happen to Good People

"I would start the book by mentioning that there was a lot of blood, and some broken bones... for much of my life..."  

                                                                                 -random conversation at chain grocery store

I like to observe people, and I like to take in all that is happening around me.  I am a friendly person by nature, and also a curious human.  I do like to converse with people, and I find myself in the most random conversations.  I try to embrace the random, because it usually leads me right where I need to be.

Last night I was speaking to someone about tragedy.  We talked about how some people deal with trauma in healthy productive ways, and others self-destruct.  I wondered if it was family and community support, or genetics, or even personality that made a difference in why some people carried on in spite of unspeakable things, and others curl up at the first sign of trouble.

Losing a child, experiencing a natural disaster, enduring a physical attack, losing a job/family/spouse- all of these things can be devastating.  Some people come out of it in one piece, and even say they are stronger because of the trauma.  There are others that wander around as ghosts of their former selves, and it is as if they started a completely separate life once the tragic event occurred.

Today, as I was going about my daily errands, I participated in the random chitchatting that seems typical now that I want to hear the stories of those around me.  I have found myself asking certain questions, pausing at the right moments, and making mental notes of what I need to write down later.  The reality is that I wish I could make a "time-out" signal, and quickly grab a pen and paper to make notes for the remainder of the conversation.  I don't think this town is ready for this new dimension of strange... So, I try my best to engage in conversation and remember the details for later.

I was asked how my job was treating me, and this same person knew I had been working on a few writing projects.  I casually mentioned the book, and got the classic response: "I have been told I should write a book."  Normally I would grin and wonder when the conversation would be over.  I would laugh to myself and think about telling her how hard it is to be a writer.  But I know this lady's story, and she does have book-worthy material...

She brought up some pretty significant sexual harassment and assault, violence in high school, and a kidnapping and beating.  At this point, it might even skip past book-worthy and move straight to Lifetime movie.  This story started our lengthy discussion about how some people can come out the other side of horrific events, and almost seem better for it.

Are some people just more resilient?  Are there some souls that are just more determined to exist, and to make their lives matter?  I wonder if purpose makes a difference in all of this--when there is a child, or family, or something to live for, then there is a reason to go on.  The easier the mind can process what happened, and make sense of moving forward, then healing can occur.  I am not saying it is easy.  But I am saying it is indeed possible. And luckily this topic is very interesting to me...

I've been swimming in research on traumatic brain injury for some writing projects, and I am amazed at the stories I read.  There are some people that should not be succeeding.  They are beating all sorts of odds and making productive gains in their lives.  I have to believe that these are the people with fighting spirits--they want to live so that their story can be told.  There needs to be a voice for these warriors.

And now there is...  This project has been in the works for a while now, but the wheels are finally in motion.  I have been traveling for interviews and meetings, and writing like crazy.  I do feel that I have had more purpose after my attack, and with each tragedy in my life, I have had exponentially more purpose and drive.  Theoretically, I would be some sort of superhuman at this time in my life (or at least skip to some bonus level), but that is besides the point.  The point is that I recognize that I am a strong, capable woman that sees I need to give a voice to other warriors.  I am glad I have found my purpose, and that is what keeps me moving on.

On Pain...

"Given the choice between experiencing pain and nothing, I would choose pain."

                                                                                                                      ~William Faulkner

I have had to think long and hard about this post.  Not because I don't have anything to write on the topic of pain, but because I have always been taught to suck it up and walk it off.  I am an emotionally-intense person, but one thing I was never supposed to do is let someone see me hurting. I once walked on a broken foot (broken in seven different places) for a week before seeing the doctor.

As you can imagine, the experience of the past three years has been eye-opening.  I dealt with more physical and emotional pain than at times I could bear.  People would tell me that it was all just making me stronger.  I wanted to punch them in their faces.

Pain is an interesting sensation.  It is always a warning--that something is causing us distress or torture.  I remember watching an episode of the BBC Sherlock series, and remarking at the limp that Dr. Watson produced.  It all came from psychosomatic feelings he hadn't dealt with.  I thought that it was foolish, but part of me knows that such a thing can be very real.  Over the past few years, I attributed much of my physical pain to an emotional wound that needed time to heal.

I know being physically attacked is never a field day.  Being emotionally injured during that time was a second blow.  Add to that the vulnerability and lack of security that goes with not working, and I was a mess.  I remember at my worst I was on Percocet 10's four times a day, with tramadol buffers.  I was on valium, muscle relaxers, and tons of seizure meds.  I honestly don't remember much of a year of my life.  I wonder now if I would have survived if I was really aware of all that was happening.  I remember talking to a therapist that told me the mind only lets you deal with so much of a trauma or memory at a time.  I think the medicine and my mind did a good job of keeping me from losing my sanity.

In summer of 2011, all of the medicines stopped.  I decided that I was going to overcome everything now that I was starting a new teaching job.  My mobility had improved significantly, and I knew my emotional health was looking great.  I thought I could take on the world!!

What I forgot was that I would have pain the rest of my life.  It was a reality I had to accept.  I could pretend that I was a magical creature that found a cure, but that would be deceiving myself.  It always drives me crazy when parents deny their child has a disability.  Now I understand it--I was trying to mourn the fact that I would not have that "normal" life everyone else had.  I was shortchanged, and I tried to prove something to myself by going cold turkey.

By September, I can remember showing up to my doctor in misery.  I hadn't slept in weeks, and I honestly could barely move.  The hardest part about the pain is that no one could see it.  I didn't have a broken leg or a black eye.  And I pretended like everything was normal so no one at my new job would learn my secrets.

The doctor wondered why on earth I had gone off the medications.  I told her I was out to prove something, and had failed miserably.  So, we started back on some light stuff, knowing that was going to make me a functioning human being.  I liked the sound of "functioning."

I got back into running, and have really enjoyed my experiences.  With the help of my trainer, Jesse, I have been able to make incredible progress!  I will not lie- I have been in terrible pain every day.  I have two leg surgeries coming up, but I really want to make good progress before I am side-lined.  

I will admit to something though: sometimes feeling pain is all that makes me feel alive.  I know it sounds completely strange, but it is when I feel the results of a run that I feel most alive.  Maybe it is because I went through a few years where I felt NOTHING.  Maybe because I know in a few years I will not be able to feel this pain again.  I don't want to sound like a freak, but it is when I am sore and hurting that I feel the most alive.  I guess that is because I know I have pushed my body to do something it couldn't do, and may never do again.

I look back at the times where I was numb to the world, and look to the future and the scariness it holds. I think to myself, if given the choice, I would most definitely choose to feel the pain.