Hello everyone, everywhere,

Tonight we’re going to talk about me. Every week I give you little bits of my life and tell you what I’m going through, but this week I want to talk about what it’s like to live every day with a brain injury. I’m high-functioning, which leaves me in a bad spot in life because no one knows I have an injury unless I tell them. Perhaps if you talked to me for awhile you’d figure that something wasn’t quite right, but then that’s just the way I talk–with humour and passion.   With the piece I wrote tonight, I want you to try to feel what someone like me has to live with. It’s not meant to be depressing. It is my life, and that’s not depressing. It’s a bloody journey. That’s it.

And now it’s time to close our eyes and our thoughts, if only for a moment…and rest.



I watch from my balcony, all those strangers walking by, and I wonder where their road had wound to have brought them to this moment. The conversation in the back lane is street talk and psychobabble, all in one show. Then they must yell and argue with anyone, with no one; it doesn’t matter. After they are all yelled out, I witness street forgiveness, sometimes only, “F’ you, who cares!”

I am so afraid that I see the future of my own life. I close my eyes, feeling the wind–cold, harsh that day–pushing me to remember. But I don’t need the wind to remind me. I know that I am not much more than what I am.  No pictures of the kids–there are no kids. It’s been so very long that I have endured coming home to myself, and now the best years of my life have gone and I find myself old and broken. I’ve paid more than my share of the debt.

In four years I will be retired. From what? From being ostracized and shunned by every woman who finds out I have a brain injury? I don’t know what I have to do to make them realize that despite my brain injury, I’m very high functioning and that inside I’m a kind, gentle, man. I can’t seem to express myself properly to find that person whom I need in my life. I’ve stopped looking because I’m tired. I feel if someone really wants to find me, it will happen.

I suppose I should be used to it by now, but how in the hell can you get used to being imprisoned by your own mind? Just think about it. That’s all.


By jamesghutcheson

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