Personal Blog Posts

Quiet Tears: The days when living with a brain injury become…too much

Quiet Tears: Written after a noisy and frustrating afternoon at the swimming pool (written on my phone: unedited)

Quiet tears as I’m sat alone half naked in a swimming pool changing room because being in that pool with all that noise was just too much today.
Quiet tears because I had to get out of the pool early, meaning Stephen had to as well.
Quiet tears because I’m having a bad day and can’t seem to shake my mood. 
Quiet tears because I treat the one person I love most in the world like complete shit sometimes.
Quiet tears because he didn’t mind getting out early, he just wants me to be ok.
Quiet happy tears because despite how horrible I’ve been he still made me a cup of tea when we got home.
Quiet confusing, happy tears because this is his life now and he doesn’t mind.

2 thoughts on “Quiet Tears: The days when living with a brain injury become…too much

  1. Quiet Tears: I have had so many of these, hiding away, swallowing the sobs, because I am a nuisance with this brain injury. I feel like I am odd, I don’t have a fit anymore, I see the pity, I see the panic in others eyes if they catch me in my wobbly, slurred, emotional state. I hate the effect I have on others now, instead of the joy and the jokes there are quiet tears too.
    But hang on a minute, this is not my permanent state, the quiet tears wipe away, I get on and do what I can. I talk about it sometimes, to those who I feel safe around, I apologise for being dysfunctional for ruining their day, I get back, ‘ er no you’ve not ruined anything, we love you, we love that you keep trying, we love that it matters, we just love you as you are’ wow !
    You see you are more than the injury in your brain, I think we forget that, we are just doing this hard day to day managing, there is so much more to you and me than our brains, so when Steven makes you a cup of tea or leaves early because it’s enough for you, it’s actually saying that’s not important, I see beyond the brain injury and it’s limitations on you, I love that you still have possibilities that I can share in. So have your quiet tears, wipe them and get on. Great you have a supportive man, I salute you Steven!

  2. Oh…this post breaks my heart with empathy for the whole of it. The “losing it” moment; the crashing of quietude; the descent of what I call the anvil –> the weight, the sense that my entire brain (thus all sense of normalcy and decorum in a public place) goes TILT … the thoughts that we attack ourselves with … the astonishment that someone treats us with kindness, likes and loves us through those moments of chaos … the gifts of a cup of tea and loving presence. Thank you.

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