Why me Lord?

I posted something without realizing that it was an epiphany. A flash of insight of my marriage and who I am... now. It is hard to help people understand the struggles I face, day in - day out, when they have no basis for relativity. Even my relatives!!

"sat there listening to my wife answer the questions where I don't have memories of my accident."

My wife, my partner, has had her life drastically changed. And not for the better. What she must endure for, and from, her husband is of almost epic proportions. She shared with me some memories from my trauma room stay. Her initial perspective was covered in blood.

My clothing, which had been cut away from me, was saturated in blood. I was naked and had IV's running in and out of my body. Life support was being pushed into places it need to be pushed into. I could not be laid horizontally so they splinted, as much as they could, my forearms and used what IV points still existed. Eventually they had to use my legs for all of that but that came later in the day. This is what my wife drove 2 hours to come and see.

The struggle to keep me alive.

I have memories of my own struggles to stay alive. Jumping from Airplanes, working around helicopters, Desert Storm, purple heart, North Philly, memories galore. However, I have no memories of my accident nor of my initial recovery. And that being the first 3 months after I slammed my head into the asphalt at 30 mph.

Each day I go through my day struggling with the dichotomy of self-actualization and remembering I am not who I was. The pain of that realization hits me several times a day. And pain it is, truly painful down to the bottom of my soul.

I will be going along thinking myself sufficient to the task(s) in front of me and >BAM< I realize that perhaps I am not. And OMG what she went through and endures with. The feelings wash over me like waves from the ocean seeking to reduce the island of calm that I so desperately need. Calm so I don't sound annoyed, so I am not annoyed, and depression is held back as far as it can be.

The guilt, and I do feel guilty on several levels all at once, is almost more than I can bear. No, I am not suicidal - not even close. But I must confess that in my prayers, sometimes, I ask the Lord why? So many fine opportunities to call me home has passed but this one is the hardest patch I have ever had to hoe.

Why Lord? Why?

Who Am I, What Am I... ... Now?

This is a question that "damages my calm".

An interesting point, one that demonstrates my geekdom. That is a phrase from the movie Serenity written and directed by Joss Whedon. A phrase that came out of the mouth of Jayne.

Now, I see myself in Malcolm. Handling life with all of its (sometimes) unwanted gifts & (!=) delights. Captaining this chaos called my life has never been exactly easy. Sometimes painful, physically - emotionally - spiritually. That last sentence describes the Malcolm of me however when the cause of that distress is by the hands, or actions, of another human being - then I am Jayne.

I am a kind soul, however, so I don't keep any weapons other than myself handy. Which can be a source of humor, which I have readily used, yet it is absolutely true. I still have the one weapon that the military put to use, trained me with, encouraged where it could but for a time I had it was taken away.

"My brain"

Who Am I?

My vision has been tested. My eyes changed however one thing that did not is my peripheral vision. I absorb every visual movement around me. Being a Mensan, my brain quickly processes everything I take in. Visual, audibly, even smell and touch.

Which is very trying as my brain has lost its filters. I am slowly regaining the ability to assess the value of incoming data. I used to be overloaded from emotions and data at times. So much so that my brain would just up and quit. It would reach a limit and then just shutdown.

Now that would mean a lot of trouble however the first filter I developed was emotional. Now, I can seem a bit weepy and happy in display. The truth is that is not quite right or accurate. If there is emotional weight to any situation it becomes apparent on my face - without any choice on my part. Yet, that is not what I am "feeling".

What Am I?

For instance, I am so humbled and overwhelmed whenever I go to church. The people there have been so supportive and so giving that I am now, even now, starting to cry just thinking about the level of gratitude I feel towards them. Which makes my visits to church hard to bear.

Whenever I go there I can't NOT feel what I feel towards them. However, they in turn get worried when emotions wash across my face. When the strength of my feelings wash across me, so plain to see, they react. And in reacting, strengthen my gratitude making the emotion even more powerful.

Going to church is wonderful for me, so much so that I sometimes go there when there is no one else there. I walk the backyard path to the outdoor altar and I commune with the Lord. I'd say by myself but that is where all divine communications begin - inside our own hearts.

So, in talking about this I think I am becoming Sheppard. In fact, I did ask about the process of becoming a Minister. However Jayne in me created safe limits. I don't want to be a Pastor. That is a job whose burden I am not yet sufficient to meet. A job I once had many years ago however one that I put at rest but was tempted with. A feeling that was growing, leading up to my accident.

Who Am I? What Am I?

Now.

Why I joined the U.S. Army... ...

First, because the foreign legion did not take Americans anymore. Being that the U.S.A. was the only country in question, that country's army I joined. Second, for the G.I. Bill. This is, truly, the primary reason I joined the U.S. Army.

I went to Philadelphia public schools. At various times, I was assigned higher education classes. Which meant that at times when everyone else was napping, or writing some awful task, I was escorted from the class room and sat with a tutor in a separate room.

Now, this may sound nice but all it did was target me for childhood angst felt by others. They wouldn't believe me that I had school work to do also. They wouldn't accept that I didn't have it easier than them. Added to one of my initial complications, this just got me attacked more regularly.

Initial complication: A white boy growing up in the Ghetto. Black kids didn't like me because I was white, White kids didn't like me because my dad was black.

The worst fights I dealt with were, in fact, from the white kids. I am not small, in fact I am just a tad shy of HUGE. My chest measurement is 52" around and I am no longer fat. I hit 6 feet at 16 yrs old. My size almost disqualified me from Airborne service since the door you jump out of is only so damn tall.

My father, the man who raised me, was a Minister. He wanted me to always turn the other cheek and I tried. Oh god did I try however when I was 14 I had had enough. I started fighting back... it was during an attack by two guys who had gotten used to slapping me around since they thought they could. Irony being  what it is, my father (and his side of the family) were childhood boxers and tried to pass on discipline. (They were also all Marines!) So when I had enough I open not with a Jab (my jab is weak) but with one of my strong suits. An Uppercut the likes of which only Tyson was better with.

So after one brutal encounter my parents took me out of public school and sent me to the Jesu Catholic school. The school accepted me because I was so baptized as such however I had been raised a protestant. The one year of catholic school I had was just before High School. Even though I had to catch up in G.P.A. for a passing grade... I so excelled that I not only graduated 2nd highest from the top of my class but I was offered a 4 year scholarship to Roman Catholic High School. I'm sure the gym teachers  were salivating at the idea of me as a freshman linebacker.

However, I was given a rare opportunity. Apparently my test scores, my school records, and my i.q. tests identified me, to the Philadelphia School System, as someone to invest into... ... so they did. I was offered a place in the High School of Engineering & Science without any kind of entrance exam or orientation.

My first year there was a personal disaster. I was not prepared for how High School is run, at all. The classes I had previously were handled just like elementary was even through the Junior High School years. Added to which, my freshman year I was one John of twenty two (22) Johns. The teachers did solve that problem. We sat down in a classroom, all of us John's, and the teachers went through by desk order. "You are John A, You are John B, You are John C," on and on until I got my letter. My letter has been such a part of my life that it is my real primary name. If you go to any old Job of mine and ask for my name, they'll be like "who?" but if you ask for my letter... "Oh he used to work here but he's moved elsewhere to move upward".

So it was when High School was done, me without WOWzers GPA, that I started looking at college and vocational schools. Many offered scholarships but you had to have not just the right GPA but come from "other than" public schools. Sadly, any scholarships for inner-city youths required me to be black. (???) So I found the only vo-tech program I could afford (free!) and that was the Keystone Job Corps Center. I got there and completed their "prove your scholastic potential" 1 year program in 3 months. I even got a G.E.D. in that time, yes I dropped out of High School because that diploma was getting me nowhere fast. While doing there scholastic program I also excelled at learning to be a filing & accounting clerk.

After the G.E.D. test I started looking at where to go next. Filing and accounting clerks don't get many opportunities to excel, at anything, so I looked at the military. So I took the asvab entrance exam and waited to see my opportunities. BTW I should add, that my GED score was so high that the State issued me a High School Diploma, not a GED. It also identified me and qualified my entrance to Mensa. My asvab scores so shocked my recruiter that there was almost nothing not offered to me.

However I would only agree to 2 years. Two years, if they don't like me - I'm not there to long. If I don't like them, again I'm not there too long. Long story short, I didn't like them because they did not like me. In fact, my first discharge papers have the code "Served Honorably, don't want him back". My second papers say the exact same thing, "Served Honorably, don't want him back."

My enlistment was complicated by scoring to high on the entrance exam. See I scored so high that I got tagged as "worth investing" in. >sigh< So during Basic Training I was required to take the SATs. No practice of any kind, in fact the day of the testing was a field day. Field day meaning we slept in tents and were messed with by the Drills to simulate possible field conditions. So during the breaks between SAT sections I napped. In fact, I was so sleepy I drove myself to complete sections at least a half an hour before they ended so I could nap. I scored around 1200.

So, here is the Army with a Ghetto Kid of zero scholastic background banging out High Fives in scholastic areas... what to do? Ah, Fort Monmouth New Jersey is a good answer. So I was being prepped to go to the United States Military Academy Preparatory School... with West Point being the end goal of that track. I was excited about the possibility, going to college at a price I could afford (free!!!).

I called back to talk with a friend at the Job Corp, sharing my successes, and I found out something wondrous. A sexual te'te' that I had with a troubled young lady resulted in conception. So being, I reported such to my Senior Drill Sgt. Later the next day the boom dropped - West Point Cadets are not allowed to have any dependents. >BOOM!<

So, back to being a grunt. Made it through trainings, made it through airborne school, and got to permanent party. All the while I noticed that I was being treated "oddly". It wasn't until I befriended an NCO, in G-2, that I found out the horrible truth. In my records it listed me as being a disqualified West Point candidate. No reason given, of any kind. My friend asked me, "What pooch did you screw?" I can only imagine the ongoing speculations from the way I was hostily treated during my 1st enlistment. And, truthfully, I was disqualified for having integrity enough to put forward my issues.

So, eventually I got out. Was glad to get out. I went home to Philadelphia, got a job as a night time Security Guard at the ARA towers, and was enrolling in Community College. CCP was happy to get me after my entrance exam, there were a couple of avant garde course they want accredited so having me enroll, and succeed, would go far for them. While that was going on I realized that I still had service in my heart. So I joined the 324th Medical Reserve Unit in West Chester, PA. I did a couple of the monthly duties and then one day I was called by the clerk.

"Would you volunteer for active combat duty?" She asked. At that moment my brain flashed through issues and I immediately answered, "Yes." I was activated to serve with a Medical Inspection unit, that was brass heavy!! I was one of 4 enlisted men in the unit! And I would be acting jack sargeant for the occasion, which I knew would be confirmed during service. Hoorah! Another good day thanks to the Army.... >errrrr< wait. I got activated for that unit and then the very next day I was cut from that unit and assigned to the 300th Field Hospital out of Wilkes Barre, PA. Apparently their motor-pool guy was still in A.I.T. and they needed one. Add to that I was combat trained for desert warfare, someone liberally threw me at the 300th. I was to arrive there the Wednesday before Thanksgiving (???).

Let me say now, that did not happen. Yes, I went a.w.o.l. after a fashion. My telephone suffered a remarkable flaw in transmission and the Army did NOT have my parent's address. So I got to spend that Thanksgiving with my Mother and Father before being shipped off to war.

Of course that ingratiated me to command like you would not believe. They sent a sergeant down in a vehicle to my apartment and I answered when he knocked. He then drove me up to Wilkes Barre and deposited me into a motel. A motel, irony, that I had stayed in almost 3 years prior. The Keystone Job Corps is in Drums, P.A. Next door to Wilkes Barre, the military entrance point I used for my first enlistment was in... yup.... Wilkes Barres, PA.

So here I am already well liked my my command structure when a couple of irritations arose. First one, the guy who was in A.I.T. - wasn't. He was home on leave. I asked if I could return to my unit. I was asked, "What don't like us?" They told the young man, whose parents they knew, to go home and finish his leave. I got shang-haid to Ft Indiantown Gap. While there, we were all instructed pount limits of our duffels. I instructed my men, and widely advised the 300th, that sweaters and field jackets were of the order. First Sergeant pulled me into his office and asked me if I was f-ing nuts. I explained to him that with the 101st Airborne I had spent many months in NTC (Ft Irwin, CA. "The Mojave Desert") and that this equipment would be vital. I was ordered to stfu with my nuttiness and proceed to getting gear ready for deployment.

Let's be clear here, my 2nd enlistment turned out as much fun as my first one. That was the problem for me. It was essentially a peace time army filled with people who got ahead by who they knew and what they could explain instead of ... doing it.

Am I a Gulf War Veteran, yes. Am I proud of it, hell yeah. However I almost always say, "I did not serve with honorable distinction however I had the distinct honor of serving." That is all this purple heart soldier will say about this.

16 Months and counting... ...

This is a period of milestones, or at least understanding of recovery milestones. Fifteen (15) months is a significant milestone in brain injury recovery.

The first three (3) months after brain injury there is, apparently, no recovery taking place. The brain is stabilizing after receiving such a shock. The different parts of the brain have to figure out how to work together... Again. Re-learning basic life functions is of the order. Recovery happens after that time and last for one (1) year.

This, to me, makes great sense. I think about the issues and troubles I went through this past year and I can only see how insufficient I was during them. And, I have to admit this, I am such a well practiced liar. That is being honest about how skilled I was, and still am, at being dishonest.

Now, I am not nefarious in any way shape or form. I never withhold vital or critical information. In fact, my lying has nothing to do with information that belongs to anyone else. However, it is directed inward at myself personally.

I have not had a good life. Some of the disasters of my life were partially self inflicted but, truth be told, I have never sought out my disaster. I've just weathered them as good as I can.

These disasters started very young, in fact.

When I was a toddler I, through opportunity and exploration, totaled a car that was parked on a hill. Now, that should be a lesson to the adult don't leave a toddler in a parked car on a hill. A parked car without a working parking brake at the least!

So accident away! Of course being of toddler age and growth I think I may have brain recovered sooner than three (3) months but, tbh, my memory of that time is very vague. What I do remember, to my mother's horror, is the punishment I received. I was abused, physically & sexually, in retaliatory manner for my "oops". This is troubling for me as I lived up to what happens to abused toddlers: they grow up and cause abuse around them if not prevented and dealt with!

As a teener I caused abuse in some around me however my mentality and philosophy shifted away from evil towards good from the efforts of two wonderful men. Wayne B. Fields, my stepfather, look of disappointment shattered my world. I love him so much, then & now, that having him look at me that way destroyed my psyche. Sherwood Nichols, a psychologist at University of Pennsylvania, spent many an afternoon after school exploring my thoughts and helping me to explore them as well.

And while this was going on, ghetto public school life for a white mensan was going on at the same time. As an added complication: My mother was dealing with her undiagnosed bi-polarism. Imagine, if you will, a little mensan toddler being raised at the knee of a raging bi-polar individual. The lasting impact of my step-father is here. His stabilizing personality, his enduring nature, gave me comfort so that I could weather the changes.

In fact, I have learned to be my father (step-father). Nothing shocks me, nothing upsets me, nothing affects me unless I choose to react to it. I react to nothing without a moment's thought BEFORE reaction. This aspect of me has saved my life many times over. Many more times than my parents will ever be aware of and I have striven to make it that way.

So what or where do I lie?

Body Language.

I lie with my body language. Quite well I might add. Mostly I exude confidence (self) and an air of respect. Like a cloak or jacket, I put respect on every times I get out of bed. (Like my father.)

Why? Initially it formed as a defensive measure to avoid my mother's insights and responses. Later, it was developed by Wayne B. Fields (through imitation) and Sherwood Nichols (through psychology). Life just reinforced the value of such practices until eventually it is simply, who I am.

What does this mean? I, at times, really don't know what the hell I am talking about. Yes, I am quite full of BS though you won't feel that as I talk through a situation.

Am I phony? Heck no, however I never want you to see any side of me for you to start wondering about what might be there. I am "apparently" open to the eyes, gregarious to a fare the well, a man without a hidden though of any kind. A well meaning and likable buffoon most of the time.

That is the impression I develop to avoid having to deal with  insightful others. Mensans make this extremely hard however there are many just plain "Joes" out there that are painfully swift of mind. It is not easy avoiding inspection especially in today's hyper-sensitive world. Do something out of the ordinary... "What's wrong with him"?

"You cannot strengthen one by weakening another; and you cannot add to the stature of a dwarf by cutting off the leg of a giant"

My life has been surrounded by zero-sum game players. My mother, her side of the family, my schools, my military units, my jobs. Every time I have risen up from the crowd... I have been hurt be those around me. That is why I have developed such a good technique of lying. That is what makes my marriage so special: I turn it off when I am with her. Actually, my time with her made me realize how much I was doing it and lead me on the introspection to identify and assess it.

However, the recovery process of this Tall Poppy's brain has been roughened up by parts of our society. The list goes on of the abuse I have received from organizations. Heck, just even mentioning brain injury excludes me from rational conversation apparently. The talk goes on around me but never at me unless someone demands an answer for something their poor minds can not wrap around. I.e. Explaining why I did what&what at such&such time 6 months before my accident(!?!). Apparently my brain injury has, in many minds, created a doorway that any fool can just barge on through with enough verbal force. Sadly people tend to forget several things about me that a smart person would never, ever, forget:

I grew up in the Ghetto of North Philadelphia,
I was trained in their public school how to survive ... And fight.
I was further trained how to survive, and fight, by the 101st Airborne in Ft. Campbell, K.Y. (red neck heaven for the black man's kid).
I was tested by fire in Iraq during Desert Shield/Storm/Scram.
I have outlived three daughters and I don't walk around with a wet face from tears.
I worked in Silicon Valley as a highly sought after consultant.

What in the Good Lord's name can any of you bring into my life other than more of God's wondrous variety? Not fear, not trouble, not discord. Not of any kind that I have not seen before and survived. That is, in the end of it all, what I am:

The truest Survivor of any kind.

My nick name is "Q" however one that was thrown at me that should have stuck: Bounce Back Kid.

PS: My wife was listening to the radio the other day and she heard a song and said that song clicked for her. In her words, that song is me. I am right now practicing the song through a wave a tears. Some day I will sing it myself however I can only share it with you via youtube with performers far beyond my skill.

I am torn between acceptance and anger

I accept that I had an accident, I accept that I am disabled however what makes me angry is just how small a "box" being disabled forces me into.

I am NOT disabled enough for a handicap placard or recognition from Social Security, oh no, that would make sense. However I am disabled enough that Habitat is worried I might now be insane or, Civil Air Patrol thinks I might be a liability in practical exercises. Habitat I understand, the guys running it here in NH are petty. C.A.P. I don't understand.

When I was a teenager I was in C.A.P. though I was growing up in North Philly. I have since served in the 101st Airborne and as a combat soldier in Desert Storm. Yet, somehow my accident give the part time Boy Scout Pretend-2-Be Soldiers pause..?? Of the two of us, which one amongst us understand the physical and mental needs to be at the needs of the military?

Add to which I almost made it to West Point... just off my abilities. My disqualification had nothing to do with my abilities or integrity in any way shape or form. If I had just one iota less honor, I would have made it to Ft Monmouth, N.J. and from there university and officer school. All just based on my entrance exam and the subsequent S.A.T. Taken while in Basic Training on extended physical sleep deprived exercises. I did not just pass, I excelled....

There in lies my distress: Who gets to define my handicap for me?

People seem to think my cognition should be impaired so they do my thinking for me. Regardless of whether I want them to or not. Supposedly I should be upset about what happened to me, so I am a bundle of unexpressed anger if I can ever think hard enough to tap into it. My problem is that I am only obedient to the Lord... and my Father. Therein lies the difficulty with some of the support groups. They would like to me have a lazy eye and do a bit more drooling. Be sympathetic in appearance so that people will feel sorry for me and open their wallets to fund the support group's marketing program.

At what point are people taking advantage of my disability for their own purposes?

The inability of the medical establishment to specify exactly what I will have to deal with, to face, in the long term recovery makes me the unwanted child. Ambiguous enough to speculate, and using that speculation for financial gains, however ambiguous enough that I am to be disregarded.

In fact, just by not kowtowing to assumed authority, not my wife, got me into trouble with the Police. Did not raise my voice, made no gestures of any kind, but because I won't let someone else define my disability for me... I am a threat.

Sapience Returning... ...

Recently, I got the urge to write about "something". This "something" was a major factor in one of my favorite books, which has rested upon my cheek as I fall asleep many recent nights. It is not that the book is that hard, oh no. I used to consume books like they were going out of style. After my injury, I have trouble consuming books like I used to although I do try.

The book in question is called "Little Fuzzy". I've searched the internet and apparently people seem to miss the, in my mind, one of the most important aspects of this book. In particular, the book spends time defining (and debating) SAPIENCE.

Sapience is generally defined: Having great wisdom and discernment. (taken from freedictionary.com) Not to plagiarize in any way, this definition is used by most dictionaries. Words used change from book to book, legalese being what it, however the essential definition stays the same.

The reason this is important to me?

For a solid part of a year my sapience was suspended. In fact, it is still reforming. Let us consider that my wisdom, what I had, was completely rebooted from scratch. Stuck with the memories of a Mensan Combat War Veteran who grew up in the ghetto of Philadelphia.... but zero wisdom in all those memories. Naive like a newborn child.

That is not to say my cognition was suspended. Oh my, was it damaged, still is to be honest. As an example, I know that I am a Tall Poppy. Knowing what happens to Tall Poppies you would think that I would not be so obvious in my Tallness. But no...

Going with this example: I got to enjoy watching two Tall Poppies interact. One Poppy is trying to rehabilitate something by getting the other Poppy to get involved with the matter. I watched the uninvolved Poppy shirk and shrug, negatively about himself, while the motivated Poppy continued on. Eventually I was noticed and accepted, as a spectator (?), while this continued until I could not keep my mouth shut. I pointed out the issue for uninvolved Poppy, basically pointed to the cross we all bear while alive, while explaining the essence of motivated Poppy's intentions.

Three Tall Poppies talking forming an interesting trinity. I can't seem to avoid the trinity in my life. So daring to open my mouth, I am now on the list of potential resources for motivated Poppy to consider. Which brought me to a stress relieving epiphany.

My life has recently been plagued by the actions and intentions of people without good intentions my direction. Challenging their behaviors has created a butt load of work for me. Painful, stressful, work. And I am no closer to having things solved. However I realized that not only should I stop trying... trying to solve their problems/issues grants them more power of me than they deserve.

So instead of investing time and energy into correcting bad behaviors... I am just going to invest my time and energy into motivated Poppies agendas and goals. After all, I voted "for" him, the least I can do is make myself available for the needs of my local Mayor.

PS: This button is so you can donate to my ongoing blog. However, those that purchased my autobiography are getting them. Virtual first, of course, those that wanted printed will take some printing time.

Christmas on the way...

I recently discovered something that may help me with my recovery. That being said, it is not cheap. Being "not cheap" convincing my Commander-In-Cheif is not going to be easy, at all. My finances are in flux or I would do this outright myself.

That being said, if you click the link you will be purchasing an advanced copy of my autobiography.As an added bonus, please include your name (or however you wish to be remembered) so that I can personally sign a physical copy for you when physical copies are available.

Here is the post I made on Google+ and on Facebook:

• I am looking at Google Glass as a tool to help me with my disability. It is hard to explain where I am now insufficient without touching on the subject of alcohol or drugs. But it is the simplest way to explain: Get drunk, or high, and try doing math. Or juggling, or swinging a hammer, or thinking this paragraph out. That is the problem with my mental capability.
  
  Vertigo? No. Cognition decreased? No. (Actually my IQ is better now!) Memory? Um.... I don't remember how bad my memory is so ask another question, please.
  
  That is why Glass will do me some good. My life has turned into a working case file requiring me to walk around with a bag to hold wallet, keys, paper, lists, tools, etc., etc.. Glass would removed a lot of baggage I need but, more importantly, it would help me to remember tasks without having to dig around for my tasks list. Where I may have put it... if I can remember where I put it.

So if you want a copy now, digital, please include an email address with your name. Thank you and may you have a nice & Merry Christmas.