Temple of Christ

  One of the goals that I have had since I was almost 12 years old, was to go to a new LDS temple every year on my birthday. The exploration of a new temple has spread far beyond once a year, as I take every opportunity to visit each new temple I can.
While many people have a goal to visit all 50 states, or 100 etc, my goal is far different. Yes, it's great to say that I've been all over the world visiting all these temples, but that is absolutely not the motivation behind it. As I walked into the Cedar City temple this year, I was overcome with the beautiful spirit that only comes from the temple of the Lord.
I love my Savior, Jesus Christ beyond words. I have a testimony of His reality, His divinity, His purpose and His mission. I know Him as my brother, my Savior and my friend. He is my lifeline. He is my strength and my courage when everything else is failing. He is the light in the darkness. He takes my hand and guides me along this treacherous path that I have been given to bear. But because of Him, I do not have to bear it alone. Although yeah, despite those who love me, I cannot share the yoke with any other human being. It is only through Christ that I can feel relief, and only through Christ that I can be made whole.
I feel His strength in the holy temple. I love visiting so many different temples because I feel the intense rush of the spirit through my soul even more so in a new temple. Visiting the temple strengthens my conviction. Through grief and pain, His voice is heard, "ye shall obtain!" I believe in Christ, so come what may! This is one of the hardest things to say at times, but when I put my whole faith and trust in the Lord, I know He will get me through and take care of me every step of the way.

     

What is Happy?

I've always meant to write a book about my story. But the magnitude of the task to capture all of the heartache, devastation, insights, failures, relationships, testimony building experiences has seemed far too overwhelming. So I recently decided to start by writing short stories, but came to the realization that I don't know how to do that because I can't imagine a happy or even meaningful ending.
What is happy? I don't mean the dwarf on Snow White, I don't mean the emoji or the character on Inside Out. I am talking about pure, genuine, untarnished happiness. Every day I wake up drained and exhausted from a sleepless (or at least restless), dreadfully insomniac night. I have to force myself to get up and start moving. Anything and everything I do takes resources by the dozen! I don't look forward to daily activities, doctors' appointments, therapies, or alone time. I don't enjoy any of the "hobbies" that people will throw out - they are typically more difficult than I feel like they should be (and were before) which makes me extremely discouraged.
Happiness has become such a foreign concept to me that I cannot even formulate how it could happen (for someone like me at least). I mean sure, I guess I could write a story where out of nowhere a magic wand comes into one's life but really, I can't do that. I couldn't do that, feel right about it and write with any sort of conviction. It just will NOT happen.
Quite honestly, I don't know what happiness even looks like anymore. I used to dream about things like a husband with kids. But thinking about watching my children go through hell, that sounds miserable. I used to really, really enjoy spending time with family but each year gets harder, sadder, and less internally inviting. I once loved water sports but when I went to the lake on Friday, I was miserable.
So, the long and the short of it is that I'm in a very, very deep depression. One that I don't know I'll ever come out of. Honestly, I don't understand life any other way.

P.S. If you've been around me lately and haven't noticed, don't feel bad, I can put on a very deceiving mask.  If I've shown nothing but misery, it's because I often don't care enough to fake it.

Initiation

Let's be honest, I don't post very often. I don't do vision therapy or physical therapy homework very often; I don't clean my apartment very often; I don't make myself food very often; I don't even shower very often. But why? It's not like I forget, it's not like I'm incapable, it's not even like I don't want to! So what is the problem? While yes, resources do play a large part, an even larger part when I am awake, alert and "full" of resources is the initiation. What I mean by this is that I cannot get myself started on a task. After I'm going, (as long as it's not a difficult feat) I'm fine and I can complete the task just fine. The problem is getting started. I cannot explain it, I do not understand it myself except that it is a symptom of a Traumatic Brain Injury. That first step is just too dang hard. It's as if I'm stuck in a pit of mud and can't get out on my own. But as soon as someone pulls me out, then I can walk forward just fine. But nevertheless, I need that pull out. It is something that my brain just won't let me do. It is so challenging and extremely difficult - especially when you want to do something so badly but you just can't pull yourself up to do it. It is something that is VERY real because of the direct physical injury to the brain.

Work

I do a whole lot more and a lot less than most people all at the same time. I (thankfully) am no longer in school (at the moment). I am not working at a regular job. I am not married nor do I have any kids. I don't tend my sister's kids or work with my disabled sister much either. So how in the world can I claim to do more than most people!?
Oh let me tell you. To begin with, I am often times gone between the hours of 9-5 shuffling between doctors, therapies, and institute. When debate season is in, I'm also gone every weekend, all days long. But that's just the beginning. I'm recovering from damage to the most vital organ in our bodies. This is not something that will heal in a year or two nor even 5 or 10! This is a lifelong process. My neuropsychologist would be the first to tell you that my brain is constantly working on things we talk about all week long. So while I'm digesting how I behave, the interactions I create, and the effects it has on other people, I'm also trying to carry on tasks of a normal life. These "normal" tasks are not easy for me either. I am regularly managing pain, whether that be the direct result of the trauma, the weeks of lying in a hospital bed, or the lack of activity since. I don't know how to do a lot of physical things (like walk properly) anymore - hence why I'm in Physical Therapy.I struggle with simple things that no one in their 20s should have to deal with; things like not remembering how to do exercises, not knowing what I ate 2 hours ago, losing my train of thought in the middle of a sentence or even worse forgetting what I'm thinking about while I'm in the middle of thinking about it. I wonder who will care about me today, who I can talk to or spend time with. Every day I feel abandoned from a number of people. I have problems with sight, not just distance, but double vision, blurry vision, processing, etc - hence the vision therapy. My thoughts run rampant and extremely negative, especially when it's time to sleep. So I never get any sleep, and as we all know, sleep is so important to functioning properly. Especially with all this negative self-talk my muscles get tense and my spine gets all out of whack. Hence the need for chiropractic therapy and for very specialized massage therapy. Oh and this is not all. I have many other doctors or counselors that I see on a regular basis, vocational rehab, psychiatrist, therapist/counselor, primary care doctor, etc. And my appointments do not end there, I also have housing appointments, and employee appointments with a support coordinator, a behaviorist, etc. We also think that I may need some occupational therapy (again) and I really need to get a neurologist.
But despite all of that, I think the hardest part of my "job" as a recovering brain is the greif. I didn't get to walk away when my friends saw that I was not the person they knew. I didn't get to turn around and give up when life got hard. I didn't get to say "my schedule's too full" or "it's not reasonable to treat you anymore." I don't have the luxury of not knowing who I was before the accident. I don't get to say no to the annoying person that won't leave me alone. I don't get to be the person I feel inside. I don't have the capabilities to show what I have inside of my broken head and bruised body. I didn't ever have the chance to grieve, nor do I think I ever will. I am always trying to do, act and be better. While I am mourning in the back of my mind, I have to fight this battle. I don't have the choice but to live with this TBI. I don't have the power to change my circumstances, all I can do is change myself, but changing myself with a broken brain is harder than you will ever know. I cling to the past because it is the only thing real that I can recall.
So yeah, I work pretty dang hard. Do I do any of the "typical" things that you would think of? No. But I think I have a full time job nonetheless. Bereavement is a job in and of itself when it is someone as traumatizing as yourself.

Healing Love

I have unconditional love for people. I always have. While my love for everyone is still unconditional, there are still different degrees of my love. Post-accident, I have been especially sensitive to the way people act, interact, exude energy... just how they are. It takes a certain type of personality to be conducive for healing. It takes a special type of person to promote healing.  And because I have been hurt far too many times by not being told I am loved, or being lied straight to my face; I am sincerely honest, express my love and compliment others excessively. Is this a problem? Often times, yes. I scare people, they aren't used to it, they don't think I'm sincere, they think it's inappropriate, whatever. But when someone helps my lifelong healing process instead of hinder it, yeah, I'm going to tell you that I love you. I love you  because you encourage me, you make me want to do better, you help me strive for higher heights, you make me feel good about who I am today instead of feeling awful about who I'm not - in comparison to who I used to be. These people are invested in my progression. These people love me unconditionally and I could never thank them enough for that. While I have a good handful of these kinds of people in my life, I have recently added 3 more and I want to acknowledge them. These people are Reed Carter, Devin Duval, and Moses Baca. I know that I would be struggling in therapies (might have just given up), wouldn't be coaching for debate anymore, would feel super lonely during the vast majority of my days, without them. So thank you, I'm grateful for you more than you may ever know. I love you guys, and all of you who promote my healing. Of course I love everyone I have ever met, but it's not the same. Either way, I love you, please don't be weirded out by me saying that.

How Old Am I Really?

Life is a beast, am I right? Well it's worse when you have an injured brain that cannot accept that anything has happened to it. (And when you are going through 1 pneumonia 2 sinus infection 3 medicine changes 4 lack of sleep 5 extreme fatigue 6 extreme lack of motivation 7 nutritional changes 8 increased abandonment stuff 9 new series of PTSD 10 so many things that I have to deal with my car 11 and insurance 12 vision homework 13 chiropractic homework 14 physical therapy homework 15 terrible self-perception yet nothing I can do about it 16 perfectionist me 17 learning -so hard- 18 new changes in gospel things 19 changes in my parents house 20 the need to get a new hobby 21 the constant battle between Shannon and TBI) Those are all just things going on right now. 

As for the purpose of this post. How old am I? Well you see, that's a very interesting question. 

My parents always say to measure age in miles not years. If that's the answer you're looking for, I'm probably 153. (Idk, random number, but OLD.) 

If you are asking my biological, chronological, since the time I came onto the Earth age, well that's 25. But do I feel it in any way shape or form? 

If you are asking where I am "supposed to be" developmentally, medically, etc. that's a completely separate question. The answer to that would be 8.

If you are asking where I am physically, well I reckon that would be closer to 100 - 8. (92)

How about mentally, cognitively? Oh gosh, I have no idea. I have a college degree, but I struggle to remember what I had for breakfast this morning let alone what I learned in my Chemistry class last semester! 

What about socially or emotionally? Well, I think those are two different things. But socially, probably 8, but everyone thinks I'm 25, which is extremely unfortunate. Emotionally, probably 100 - 8, so 92. 

If you are asking how old I feel? Where my brain thinks I am? That is 16 and may forever stay there. It definitely has since the accident. (Okay, okay, sometimes I feel closer to 17, but I was 16 1/2 when I got in the accident!) I think that my brain cannot move past the age that I was at that time. 

Overall, it is very confusing and very, very conflicting. Everyone who sees me thinks I'm a normal 18-25 year old. Guess what? I'm anything but! I can't even decide how old I am! 

New Year, New Understanding of Me

Over the last month, I've had the opportunity to do a lot of self-reflecting. I have also talked to a number of different people with different specifications, learned more about my favorite subject - the brain, and come to a number of conclusions. So many of them I feel I need to write about because it is very important to the TBI population. One verdict that I've had to come to accept is that I can get them done because I'm Shannon, but it will have to be on a completely skewed (and stupid) timetable because I have a traumatic brain injury, and those who love me can accept that. So I hope that you can deal with the lengthy explanation of this last month as I struggle with all of my daily challenges. 

I think the biggest resolution is my lack of human. Don't get preachy on me. Let me explain, and hopefully you'll come to see how it's actually a resolution and not a "woe is me."

More than half of me really did die on that awful day in May. I can't explain it very well, but pieces that made me who I was were taken from this body. Cells in brain did die that cannot be regenerated. I can't describe it, but I have felt like not all of me is here. I can't access the rest of myself, but I know that I'm not all here. The TBI loves taking charge. And unfortunately, because the brain controls literally everything we do, an injured brain will run most of the show. However, I was blessed (or cursed) enough to have a sliver of the Shannon spirit still lodged in there somewhere. Finally, the last piece of me is all of the terribly difficult work that I do every single day to try to function like a normal person. And let me tell you, it is HARD! But every part of your body wants to heal, including your brain.

This finding has honestly been such a relief for me. It explains so many things that are "wrong" with me. It helps me understand why I do some of the stupid things I do. It explains why I don't have energy to do anything a lot of the time. It reminds me that it's not my fault. It explains why people walked - and still walk - away. It tells me that it's okay not to be the daughter of God I used to be - at least on Earth right now. It seems so strange to be relieved to discover that you're not totally human, but it feels so right.