Confessions of a Concussed Cyclist: 9 years

August 19, 2023

Today marks nine years since my life drastically changed. 9 years. 3,287 days.  This was the first year that I almost didn’t write a Confession on this “anniversary”, but somehow, not writing felt wrong, just as wrong as calling this an “anniversary”. 

I told a fellow TBI survivor recently, I don’t like calling this an anniversary but yet I’m not sure what else to call it.  To me, an anniversary is a special occasion and this date is not special.  It haunts me.  I guess I could celebrate that I survived 9 years ago, but I don’t look at it that way, I look at it as 9 years ago, my life changed in the blink of an eye.  

I prefer to be alone on this day and let my feelings flow how they want to flow. Typically anger and sadness are right in the forefront and ready to burst at any second. I reflect.  I try not to, but I think about where my life would be had I not gone on that bike ride. I think about this new life. I just try to survive for 24 hours.  

I still hold a lot of anger towards that driver (I’m working on it). 

I still have migraines all day every day.

I still get overwhelmed and overstimulated very quickly/easily.

I still have a form of seizures with flashing lights.

I’m still very sensitive to lights and noise.

I still deal with PTSD.

I still need to sleep a lot.

I still tire easily.

I still can’t work more than a handful of hours a week.

I still have post-concussive tremors.

I still have difficulty multitasking.

I still have difficulty processing. 

I still have trouble with my short-term memory.

I still have trouble with word-retrieval and stuttering. 

I still have trouble blocking out noise.

I still have trouble focusing.

I could go on but I think you understand.  

9 years of this.  9 years of feeling fragile but holding strong in public.  I’m still new enough to this world that I can easily remember my old life, but when I think about it, it almost feels like a dream.  I’m non-functioning after working 13 hours a week at work but in my old “dream” life it wasn’t unheard of to work 13 hours a day.  Did I really used to exercise twice a day?!  Or was that a dream?  Did I really used to enjoy going to bars and restaurants and not be fazed by all the noise and commotion?  Or was that a dream too?  

I was at the doctor’s office a few days ago and she asked me the date I had knee surgery.  I thought about it awhile and could finally come up with the month and (what I think was) the year but not the day.  Then she asked me when my TBI was and I didn’t hesitate at all…August 19, 2014.  Should I also tell you the time and exact location because I remember that just as clearly too.

9 years down.  A lifetime still to go.