This mornings' chilly sunrise found me snuggled into my favorite chair. I bought it with my own money when I was 12 years old, and haggled the thrift shop owner from $50 down to 35. It was my first piece of furniture and has been one of the few constant things since then. It's an unremarkable rocking chair; leather cushion seat cracked with age, It's Oak arms scored with the scratches and dents from careless play and a dozen moves. Its springs creak and groan in protest, but never fail to rock my mind to a quieter state. I've been taking my meds, getting sleep, reducing stress, but my mind has been racing. The thoughts fly by too fast for me to grasp. I snagged a few here and there when I'm struck by the beauty of a moment, but before I can write it down or audio record it to remember it, they slip away as though they've never been there; mirror holes in my mind where a memory should be. This comes at a time when my post concussion syndrome symptoms have come back with a vengeance. The bruised and battered brain matter inside my head has been creative despite headaches, dizziness, and nausea; the smell of something burning has been accompanied by a constant ringing and buzzing in my ears. At times it gets so loud it hurts and I cannot focus passed it on conversations. I have particular interest has been the new symptom of visual anomalies; which I guess is just a way of avoiding the word hallucinations. My mother has tried to explain it away; "honey maybe it was a buzzard in the road, or a leaf."
appreciate it, but, no, I know a Gang Gang Cockatoo hopping like a bunny rabbit in the middle of a rural Road at midnight when I see one. That's not an easy thing to confess to hallucinations. Though they may not say it, many people already think of one differently when they are open about having a mental health issue. As far as they're concerned when one starts seeing things that aren't there, it's a loony bin time. Most wouldn't bother to consider that I've sustained quite a bit of head trauma over the years. The back of my head was slammed on the bedpost during an assault when I was 12. At 16 my face and four head smashed into the windshield and searing wheel of my car when I wrecked it. That was my first documented concussion, As well as PTSD diagnosis. There was the fall from a horse when I cracked my head on the jump itself; the same horse knocked me out later. Last year while trying to help a loved one whose face was being smashed into the concrete repeatedly during a beating, I was attacked from behind with beer bottle and fists and beaten in the back of the until unconscious. Taking the time now to think back on those things from the safety of my chair, I guess maybe the surprise should not be that I'm having any symptoms, but that I didn't have them earlier. I finally opened up to my therapist and psychiatrist about it, and both of her to me to see my doctor for head scans again. I will. In the meantime, at least I can try to keep a sense of humor about it. I asked the therapist if the copper two and other images were random brain pictures, I didn't think so. He believes my brain was making a bad joke about the lack of physical intimacy in my Rasta Man's two month absence. Perhaps brain says that we could use a cock or two. Ha ha ha, brain. Very funny. Sometimes funny is all we got. When life is throwing shit at you and your brain is turning to mush, sometimes all we can do is sit back in our comfy chairs and laugh at dirty jokes are brain makes up. Oh and there's painting lots of painting. Painting has been my solace during the time that words have left me.