Blunt Force Trauma - Foreword

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I have not edited this blog in anyway since it was written. Because it is an account of a person recovering from a trauma, I wanted to keep it raw. I have made some spelling corrections along the way but nothing more than that. What you read here is what I wrote at the time. In this way it is an authentic account of my situation and my perception of it.





I wrote this blog series a couple of years ago now. Looking back over it, I cannot quite believe how affected I was by the injury. The symptoms are still with me, but like footsteps on the beach, each daily tide, blurs them just a little more.


There are still aspects of myself that I am aware of by virtue of their absence, and now and again, I find it is necessary to allow myself to grieve for these pieces of who I once was. One of the most profound changes that I have experienced is my fondness for solitude and my comfort with sadness and loss. I do not consider myself lucky, and I would gladly trade all I have learnt to have never had it happen. But I am here, and I choose everyday to be true to my own heart and mind.


Earlier today I was reflecting on the nature of infinity, and how tangible it is, when compared to its darker brother: Oblivion. I had always thought that oblivion was a kind of abstract concept, but I now know that it is a reality, or rather an unreality. If infinity is never ending then, oblivion is never having existed; and there is a part of me that now resides in that place called Oblivion, swallowed by the devourer of worlds and removed from all existence.


Something else has been taken though. Fear. That mortal fear that creeps in with age. The certain knowledge that one day we will stop breathing and cease to be. In place of that fear, there is only now an endless wind blowing through my fractured mind. I have been broken, but yet feel more whole than I ever have done. I have lost so much, yet am enriched beyond reason. But before you start commenting on how good often comes from bad situations, consider my part in it all. In fact not just my part, but anyone who faces these barriers and worse, has to slog through it. It is they who make the good things happen through their own sweat and effort and grief and guts. The event itself was a catalyst, nothing more, just an event in the narrative, the story, this story, is mine.

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