Empty Eyes

This picture scares me.  I don’t actually remember it happening - its from before my memory returned, but what scares me is the emptiness in my eyes.  I know I’m there - that my mind is working - and I see a hint of awareness in those eyes, but they also look so blank - focused on simple repetition.

Despite not remembering this, I include this under the category of “memories” because I do remember having a sense of emptiness - something is there, just below the surface, but that - that something - for whatever reason, can’t be accessed.  I was able to verbalize this a few times - I don’t remember how I said it, but I do remember talking about it with my nurse, Morgan (see the earlier entry “A Good Memory from Magee Rehabilitation”), and my mother.  It felt that there was this river of potential boiling just beneath the surface, looking for any fissure so it could explode into the world - a creative volcano - but I couldn’t find where the opening was.  I used to know it - I remembered knowing it - but now it was lost.  The memory of feeling that emptiness is what terrifies me about this picture - that I might loose any creativity and become a slave to repetition.

Over the 15 years that followed that picture, my cognitive and creative abilities did return, but there was no “Eureka” moment, they just drizzled back into my brain.  Sometimes I wonder if my mental abilities are as good as they would have been without the accident, but I also recognize that this question is irrelevant - they are what is part of “me”, and that “me” experienced brain injury.

I believe my mental processes retuned in such a full manner because I was encouraged to be creative - not always to be correct or even create good work, but by encouraging original thought my mental muscles were exercised.  To prepare for a marathon, a runner slowly builds up stamina, running a little more everyday - not by being criticized for only running 5 kilometers one day.  Similarly, by encouraging me to try my mind was allowed to find new ways to run its creative marathon - not being limited to the previous paths, but forging new creative trails.


The memory brought up by this picture does scare me, but as I write this, I recognize it also provides a message of hope - a reminder that there doesn’t need to be a grand revelation when past skills return.  Any climatic event will cause changes in a person, and at first these can seem devastating - but they don’t need to be damning.  Know that it will take time to learn how to do this, and that’s okay - take your time.


Those are my thoughts, but I’d love to know yours.  Any stories of the rediscovery of old skills or the discovery of new ones?  Please, share in the comments below.