A curious way of explaining Brain Injury suddenly came upon me:

Each day you and your mind is in a room. A room that you are comfortable with, familiar with, and confident in. You spend your days helping your mind walk in that room endlessly, even when sleeping. As you grow up, as you age, as you gain experience, the room expands. You and your mind walk the new expanses with delight (I hope) but on and on the walk in the room goes on. 

My Brain Injury has taken my room and changed it from an exploration of strange new expanses to a prison that some days shrink without warning. On a daily basis, I can never tell what the dimensions of my mental prison is until I try to walk it but when I hit the boundary my mind wants to shut down and sleep.

Now, saying prison could be taken negatively. Just representing the annoying aspect of my new limitations.

I am a burden

I recently wrote a poem describing who I am, or more about what made me "me". It proudly declared many things that I should be proud of but like most poems it boiled down moments of my life to far too few words. Instead of a novel it reduced moments of my life to simple sentences but it also removed many of what made those moments difficult, trying, and in the process stripped down what made them worth being experienced.

Philadelphia Ghetto I survived,
Fast Fighter I am.

This is more significant than given credit. Philadelphia was the forge that gave my backbone the steel that it is. There are many events during my growing up that like many of us our parents and siblings don't know and those that know some of them don't speak of out of respect, not embarrassment.

I learned to fight. Not just mentally facing a difficult troublesome environment but physically as well. I joke about the appearance of physical threat: My hands come up but my feet, at the same time, swing into reverse ready to move as fast as I can.

I learned how to throw down with the best of them but I also learned that running is, at times, the best answer.

Troubled Family I survived,
Big Brother I am.

What family is without trouble? My extended family is one that was dominated by spite and anger. My parents did what they could to protect us from this problem and in many ways they succeeded yet within the intimacy of close family some issues arose. It was living and learning through those that was an aspect of that steel that I was forged into.

The love I feel for my family has been a major motivator throughout my entire life. My Mom, delightful terror that she is. My Dad, the Marine he will always be. Peter, the weasel. Elizabeth, the beautiful woman with the heavenly voice. Wayne Robert, Bobby you have the heart and passion of a gentle giant. Nicole, filled with love for her family, even me. And Justin. I can't properly express how proud Justin makes me.

The love of my family consumes me.

Army Jumping I survived,
Airborne I am.

A joke about this is: I'm afraid of heights. So lining up at 1,200 hundred feet and getting out an airplane is something that can not be explained. People commonly ask, "Why jump out of a perfectly good airplane?" My joking response, "Why do you presume it was good? You don't know until it successfully lands. If there is trouble with that, you are too close to the ground to jump so you've waited too long!"

This ignores the military hell that I lived through. I am a disqualified West Point Cadet raised by a Marine who served in the US Army. Four things about me my 1st Sargeant hated, the KKK nut that he was. I was almost an officer who could have told him what to do and he'd have to do it. I was Airborne which was something that he couldn't bring himself to do and hated those of us who could face that stress successfully with a passion. I was the son of a Marine, which many Army guys don't like by nature. And I was the son of an African American Marine who I would not denounce, so he tagged me as a "Race Traitor", a silly KKK label. So for a couple years of my life I was dragged through as much mud as possible encouraging me to quit.

I didn't.

Desert War I survived,
Soldier I am.

Got out of the Army and went back to Civilian life. Not quite a year later I was reactivated for Desert Service. One of the accomplishments I made during my military hell was becoming Desert Trained and qualified in a combat unit. A reserve unit from the Poconos was activated and they had no one desert trained or with any combat experience, so the Army stepped in and tossed me in as a life preserver for that unit.

For 18 months I endured the slights and mismanagement of medical command structure in a war zone where they had no idea what was what and by Geneva conventions had no weapons. I, and my guys, had weapons but that was ignored with the way they badly talked at us and treated us.

Not one casualty in my unit, period. Heat or weapon casualty. My guys followed my guidance, those under the command structure realized my guidance was right on target and adhered to my suggestions. I proved what a leader and soldier I am regardless of the disdain from those above that was dump upon me.

In essence, my sin - my shame - being right.

Our Society I survived,
Civilian I am.

Being of a humble and gentle nature, NOT, I have continued being shameful to be around.

I have not learned the method of being right quietly. I see something wrong, I speak up. I don't slap wrong and right around like a club over people's head mind you. But when things fall apart it is commonly remembered that I was the one who said, "Wait a minute..." That at times has propelled my career forward but outside of professional settings has branded me as "trouble".

Our Society has a flaw: They don't like reminders of their failings and seeing someone who defined their failure, no matter how succinctly, is not desirable. Thus, by those standards, I have never been quite a desirable commodity to our Society.

Bicycle Accident I survived,
Disabled I am.

Boston Hub on Wheels! I signed up to do 20 miles, most people only did 10 miles, and at 15 miles something happened. What? I don't know and my accident report is ... ... gone. The only thing we do know is that I did a 30 mph face plant on asphalt. Broke my face, mangle my forearms, cracked my skull and chipped my spine. The horror is those were my lightest injuries.

Physically and mentally disabled,
Brain Injured I am.
My brain took a beating. So much disruption and injury my forearms waited a couple of weeks before being repaired as I could not be laid down for the operations. Could not be laid down must have been an annoying complication because holes were drilled into my skull, tubing inserted to control the swelling and bleeding, and maintaining life in this broken comatose body.

The outcome: I am changed. Not so much as to be horrified but in mental capacity and spiritual burden a lot. My memory is returning but it is damaged. It is there but I don't have ready access to memories that keeps things in line. My ability to think beyond the level of most teenagers is also now beyond my capabilities.

Regardless what people think,
Crippled I am NOT.

A lesson I lost sight of for a time of my life is: A special forces soldier strives to be more today then they were yesterday. For me, now, this means sometimes I over-commit myself. I'm still learning what I can do ... now. You don't learn if you don't try but sadly in decision moments I forget some of my new limitations. (Refer back to memory issues.)

It is in this that I inadvertently make myself a burden: To those I awkwardly support (and let down) and to those who support me, and again let down. My life continues due to the unwavering love of a wonderful woman. My condition wears on her patience, tries her soul with the complications, but her love for me which I gained before my accident has never wavered.

The personal demon that plagues me is am I worthy of this love? I strive to be worthy of it but in the striving I inadvertently create drains upon it, not support for it. It is in this that I face the reality that:

I am a burden.

Shar Tegral

People are becoming more accustomed to virtualizing their identities. Some for misbehavior but most because it is the requirement/standard of the virtual environment. Using real names is a big no-no so subsuming who you really are under the name of a virtual avatar is the way to go.

However many people don't realize how much the name they pick speaks about who they are or what they were experiencing at that time. Granted there is the common situation of inspiration #2244 as your inspirational spark struck someone else. Probably for completely different reasons but well there it is: You were not the first.

There is a small story behind my inspirational spark but that's really nowhere. But the gist of the name Shar Tegral is that it spells the words Large Trash. Almost backwards, Hsar Tegral didn't work in my mind so I swapped two letters. The joke lasted for 5 years, and that is an eternity in the Eve Online Universe, until I accidentally sent an email from my Shar_Tegral@ account to a family member. In one hot minute she replied, with utter disbelief, "Large Trash!!!"

That might explain something about me and my family. We are clever, swiftly clever, and unbelievably creative in many ways. I commonly joke poking fun at Marines (I was Army after all) but regardless of mistaken popular opinions the smartest & wisest man I know raised me: He is a Marine.

My siblings are truly his get as they are smart and generally of high moral fiber. Which is honestly the truth of every Marine I have ever known. Mistakes happen, yes, but a Marine always adhere to Simper Fi or beat themselves with guilt if, or when, they realize they missed that mark.

So, I started Eve Online when it was in Beta. Connected up with some good people and spent time in that environment. Some of those people failed, some aimed for discord and failure, some succeeded at that beyond belief. However whenever I logged into that game my name was a constant reminder of who I wanted to be: The opposite of large trash.

That being said, I never cut a dirty deal. Sometimes I found people making silly actions, the marketplace is anonymous till after the transaction is completed. Whenever I found someone made a gawd awful mistake (usually where their resources fell into my pocket) I'd contact them and ask, "Did you mean to do that?" If they didn't we'd work out a fair exchange and I'd send them back the difference.

That is just one aspect of my virtuosity.

I became huge in the manufacturing, research, financial, leadership environments. Also, unsung to many, I was also huge in the warfare aspects. After all, I know warfare. I was schedule for West Point at one spot of my military career and I did serve under arms for 18 months of fun in the sun in Southwest Asia.

I know challenge.

But one thing I learned about myself along the way was my inner-journalist. An opportunity opened up at Eve Guardian and I was given the chance to become a Reporter. The man who helped me, my mentor, was quick to point out word trash and verbally chided me until I produced what the situation required. I learned and I loved it.

Eventually Eve Guardian management had a scat and disbanded but I was not in that meeting. So, having nowhere else to go I re-branded it and opened Eve Guardian.Net not .Com. And ran that for several years while at the same time growing in stature and abilities in the other Eve Online aspects.

I started as a diamond in the rough. Those years chipped away at me until the cuts revealed the shining aspects contained within me. Now, granted this may seem like a bunch of ego wash but not only will I provide links so anyone interest can look around at my history but as an added joy I get to share the people contained within each of those moments again. Some to honor as they honored me, some to public disdain considering the disdainful manner in which they acted but mostly just to confirm that pre-Brain Injury I was hot stuff.

Closing this up, I am still hot stuff.

Yes, I am physically and mentally disabled.

No, I refuse to be crippled.

Letting Eve Online Know What Happened to me.

The gobs of posts I made in Eve Online.

My Old Guild/Corporation (Miss you guys!).

My old Combat Guild/Corporation.


My testimonial about that Combat Guild/Corporation.

PS: When I joined Ingress spaces weren't allowed in the name so I thought up a quick solution, SharQTegral. Shar Tegral as that is how my virtualized minds think and Q as that is my real life nickname.

Ice Creamed Man!!!

Yes this did happen.

A military camp has several setup requirements. A motor-pool can't be near main camp as we store fuel and other volatile liquids. So to protect the main base from any accidents (intentional or otherwise) it is a couple of hundred yards away. As a member of the motor-pool (Acting Jack Sgt I was) one gets used to living off to the side of the normal(s).

One night I was down at base camp enjoying dinner at the KP area and stuck around at the R&R tent watching a movie. After the movie I proceeded to walk "home". Being mostly cloudless but a waned moon night, I could mostly see the ground I was covering. I could even see some light sources, a touch, here and there as my motor-pool guys worked. So I started walking home.

As I was walking I then saw a wave of fluid washing my direction. "Crap, who burst the fuel bladder!!!" was the thought in my head. I then proceeded with ominous vigor to find out who did it and what we'd have to deal with in that case. I wasn't worried though as we stored diesel on hand and it takes more than open flame to ignite diesel.

I continued to "Home" and let the fluid wash over my boots. Continuing to walk I heard the hish and sizzle of fluid washing over sand. Wasn't worried until I heard a lot of click-click-clicks. I then looked down and say that it wasn't fluid - at all! Apparently our construction activities disturbed a huge scorpion nest and they, as a group, were moving to a new home.

Here I was surrounded by about a million scorpions, late at night, without a flashlight or surrounding light source and all I could imagine was falling down and disappearing under stingers and claws quick. So I then launched into a run... through the scorpions they way they came from as that was the shortest distance to get the heck out of there. I ran with the balls of my feet the only thing touching the ground and my knees hitting my chest I was so scared.

And the entire time I ran... I screamed like a little girl.

The guys don't get it...

... and to be honest I hope they never do. The only way to understand this is to experience it first hand. I don't like it, no one in my life really likes it, but I would not wish this upon my enemy.

A few days ago, I went out and assisted my brothers in a task. During this task, and they are aware I have thinking shortages, they never told me what to do. Anything I did was either from choice, involving myself in the activity because I wanted to do that, or from a polite request if I'd like to try doing this? Never was anything placed upon me, never was I told what to do.

They don't understand the phenomenal level of respect I was presented. Never was I treated like a cripple, never was I discouraged from using my hands or to keep quiet. In fact, at several points I spoke out about possible upcoming difficulties. They not only listened to what I was pointing out but eagerly discussed the validity of my solutions to the problems so presented. The level of self respect and self confidence such honest & valuable interaction is even now awe inspiring to me.

And while at some point they may read this and mentally toss off my gratitude not realizing the every day devastation my condition does to my psyche perhaps one day they will properly appreciate my level of gratitude for such interaction. It is because of moments like this, from an unlikely support group/system, that I am so motivated to do right by them, individually and personally, and by my Post of the VFW.

Brain Injury support and assistance from them, who'd of thunk it?

This my life now.

This is one of those things that everyone has experienced but don't remember. We all start life and have to learn what sensations, feelings, and issues there are with our new bodies. Our brain is the interpreter of all of these information points. It learns and develops neuron pathways to understand, to react appropriately to stimuli. As we grow, we (and our brain) learns what is what. But what happens when the interpreter is disconnected?

What happens when those pathways are disrupted or shutdown, even for a hot moment?

This is where a lot of us exist. Relearning, re-experiencing, understanding our bodies all over again. Sometimes from scratch square one.

Trying to explain to others how I don't know my body anymore. To explain that my body, my skin, is NEW to me. I was reduced to infancy and life is not easy. Society just doesn't understand this anymore. In fact, Society which is all around me are bad parents. The abrupt lessons it has taught me are just that, abrupt, unkind, and hostile in many cases.

I am now really the odd man out and Society does not appreciate that. It is disheartening in many ways. I've fought for them, I've sweated for them, I've made some bleed for them, and I've bled for them. And, at times, they really don't like me becuase I don't fit into what they expect or want.

Here is a nice way I described some issue:

"however since I am disabled many employers don't want to touch me. Nothing obvious mind you but brain injury does make my memory unreliable and my social skills less than par.  Add to the fact that I am built like a linebacker, I can understand hesitation and reluctance regarding my possible misadventures in the workforce."

So here I am, a little mental kid slapped into the body of a line backer. Trying to live, to exist, to be productive while at the same time my Interpreter (brain) is re-wiring itself. Signals come in and have to find out where to go. To seek the recipient, to be understood, to be. Added to which my Interpreter has to find new pathways to express itself. Pathways that are new, or broken, or just not quite healed.

This my life now and sadly I'm trapped in the same ruts over and over again. I remember, kind of, who I used to be. Where I grew up, my extended family, my service and I'm still trying to make sense of the things I remember. The things these memories make me feel, not all of it is good nor is it comfortable. I know that I might be repeating myself, good Lord my hindsight works great but is disengaged during any experience. I know that I'm trapped, stuck in a rut, going over and over the same spot again and again but I can't stop this ride.

Misunderstandings and Misbehavings

One thing misunderstood about my accident is that a 44 year old man was instantly reduced, mentally, to infancy. I had to relearn how to swallow (from life support), had to relearn how to feed myself (just by hand), had to relearn how to walk (while wearing depends), and had to relearn how to go to the bathroom (BY MYSELF!!!!). Now during my recovery I have been regrowing up.

Self assessed but I think I've grown up 4 years every 6 months. I am now about the age I was (mentally) when I was a Sgt serving under fire. If this rate continues, I'll be my correct age in about 2 and a half years. I really hope the accelerated mental aging stops then as I don't want to be 90 years old in a few years. I'll miss the landscape that travel would bring me if I do it normally. But this might explain some very embarrassing moments I've caused and experienced.

Here I was a mentally 8 year old adult driving back and forth. Here I am a mentally 12 year old interacting with very grown men and trying to be involved. Here I was a mentally 16 year old boy striving to do well with a project being rudely dissed by a grown woman in my church. Now I know, dealing with annoyances is annoying but that is not the point. The point really is why were you annoyed in the first place?

People have far too often leaned on my brain injury as their excuse for their own bad behavior or day. Instead of exploring the true question: Why were they annoyed to start with, they misplace their hostility my direction like poor parents. After all, I have no defense. I can't properly speak under stress and no one really listens to me any more. Even those who have sworn that they'd be there for me are the most guilty of misunderstanding and misbehaving.

To find a place that will help me properly grow up I've had to develop my relationship with other people who get it. Many of them are brain injured (un-diagnosed) and the others deal well with their brain injured fellows. They understand I only speak when I have to say something and the other noises that sometimes come out my mouth are mental farts that blurt out. They still accept me for my prior services instead of weighing what I can do for them now or what burden I present to them now. (Which might explain why I got fired from the Krempels Brain Injury Support Center!)

But all in all I refuse to demit from life. I will be engaged, I will be involved, if that is uncomfortable for you or you make me feel uncomfortable in that process.... we will, we MUST, go our separate ways.