No one reads this or connects it with my other online identities but since I've removed personals involvement from my other social media stuff, and I feel like bitching, I am jsut gonna go ahead and do it.
So I have brain damage. Yeaaaaars ago I threw up so hard I actually ripped open the inside of an artery in my neck, and it threw a clot, and that clot did some nasty shit on its way on through and out.
No doctor noticed for two weeks.
Everyone else did.
Good times.
Anyway.
So now I have a damaged brain. Brains don't grow back. Some areas can regenerate a few cells - notably the prefrontal lobe - but mostly brains fix themselves not by regenerating like skin does, but by rearranging the cells we have to fire to fancy new configurations.
This has been quite the ride. Because shit, it changes things.
I don't even know how much of my personality is consistent. No idea. Let alone everything else.
I have memory loss my nurologist won't akowledge because it falls short of dementia. That was the bar. "You don't have dementia, you know what year it is." Gee thanks there chief.
Anyway.
My brain wasn't too stable to begin with. I have always been prone to logic leaps that occur very quickly and not necessarily in ways other people would make them. My mind is jumbled and a little random and things collide all the time that probably shouldn't.
This has become much worse since the brain damage. See, my brain keeps wiring shit together. Shit it really shouldn't. It changes who I am, what I think, what I can think.
It's actually quite terrifying to realise you're a sack of geletine misfiring lighting at itself.
So anyway. To the point. Yes - I have one of those. Probably. It's somewhere in here.
Oh right, no, another detour. I'm autistic. "Oh yeah, they definatly didn't screen girls when I was a kid because how the fuck did they miss this otherwise" autistic.
Back to the point.
Recently I had this sensory processing ... Whatever the fuck that was. I call them.idssocistive episodes. I don't know how accurate that is. But my mind unhooks from my sensory data. Everything feels muted and unreal - sound, sight, touch, heat. Name it. It's wrong.
I hate these.
It gets particularly nasty because there are nurologicsl consequences. See, my concious mind ramps up it's interpretation of sensory data. It goes all in and leaves the rest of my existence stuffed in this tiny little box without enough space to do dick.
One effect of this is I suddenly become highly obsessive. I think it's a comfort mechanism, I require the same stimulus over and over again or to somehow mentally connect it to the same element. Of course, it could also jsut be that obsessive behaviour towards interests is part of who I am. I am autistic. I DEFIANTLY go all in when something fascinates me. But not... Not like this.
Do you have ANY IDEA how many times I watched starwars 8 in 72 hours? Any clue? Holy fricking ... Something. I watched it fast. I watched it slow. I watched it skipping ahead 10 seconds every 10 seconds. I dissected that thing in micrscopic detail.
It gets better. Because mere hours before I got hit with this episode... I was not a starwars fan.
Nope. I watched it. It was ok. I wasn't going out of my way for it.
And suddenly. Wham. Episode 8. All the time. I watched some 7 and 9 as well but it was like it was entierly because eit was connected to 8.
I cannot even.
And while this is happening, *I know*. I know. I really do. I know this isn't my normal behaviour. I know this isn't my wheelhouse. I know something is deeply, deeply wrong in my brain.
I think it might actually be an ok movie, honestly. But not THAT good. And now it's one of my favourite things. Forever. I have no idea if it's actually good. Did I not give eit a chance the first time? Is my obsessive brain simply emotionally hooked up how? Fuck, I don't know.
So that's why I'm posting today. On this day. May 4th.
I'm seeing a lot of star wars today and it's making my brain tickle with it's own ridiculousness.
Not the whole point though. Because it lasted 72 hours (I watched dit one more time after that and if wasn't near as intense).
But what happened AFTER my 72 hours as an obsessive raylo (oh yeah. I went there. I'm not even ashamed. I am also compeltely content with the end they got, because I do not see that shit working out).
Brains don't regrow. They rewire.
And suddenly, I'm drawing. Like... A lot. I filled pages of doodles. Sketches. I redrew a peice I'd been working on for about a month in a few hours and damnit, it was good. It's not professional quality but I'd never down anything that well before. This goes on for another day. And then I started a story, and I wrote 2000 words all at once.
I'm dyslexic. And words are severely impacted by my brain damage to the point it can cause me phsycial pain to force my thoughts in to words.
And here I am. Going nuts on my phone. The words just spilling out and again - damnit, it was good shit.
My brain was abstracting. Where the concious sort had been shunted, it wasn't directing the abstracting aspect of my mind.
And I was making cognative leaps. My brain was wiring itself together for creativity.
For another 24 hours.
And now, dear reader, we get to now.
I have written 200 words in the last 2 days. They feel wrong.
I started and stopped a dozen images. None of them feel right. And there are objective quality differences.
I can still draw a bit. If I'm not tired. I'm almost always tired - it's neural fatigue, it comes with surviving a brain damage.
I have somehow brain damaged my way in to better skills.
And it's... It's not a good feeling.
Doing it the first time and watching something take place in front of my eyes I don't recognise was like magic. It was euphoric. Amazing. Exciting.
Realising as time wears on that the ability to do this is intrinsically tied in to the way ones brain handles brain damage and sensory processing issues?
Not a great feeling cats. Not at all.
I find myself staring at a document willing words on tot he page that just aren't there anymore and feeling so frustrated I could scream.
Whose idea was this anyway? Why can't I keep my rewiring?
It's so hard dto explain the feeling of loss.
It's not me who did these things. A version of me, yes. But not the one we are keeping.
The one we keep struggles to hold a narrarive in her head and the narrator's tone took 3 rewritten to preserve for a single paragraph.
I don't want to stop. But how do I keep going? I'm not the author anymore and I've always struggled with adopting the tone of others.
So yeah. That's where I'm at. And I wanna talk about it. Because I don't want to be alone. But I can't escape the feeling I'm being dramatic. Terribly dramatic. And so talking about it is hard. How much is my own spin and perception and how much is real?
Did this really happen?
I think it did. But like every story I tell, I don't know. Memory loss. Cognetive issues.
I just wanna tell stories and draw. But the words hurt and the art makes me tired.
It's frustrating is all.
I hate being lighting geletine.
In case you're wondering what kind of cognative leap happened:
That one is april 4th.
And that one April 28th.
🤷♀️
Fucked if I know, really.
