Writing as an Outlet

I’m not the kind of person who can remain idle for too long. This is especially true after my stroke. Before my stroke, I was always busy with work, music classes, daughter’s, or school/work’s activities.

After my stroke, and after finishing my Master’s, and even before, I noticed I had to keep my brain constantly engaged physically, socially, and intellectually. That’s why I volunteered at my local elementary school and hospital. I was helping adults and working with students, and I was walking to and from both places most of the time. I was doing what I needed and liked, and what research shows people with traumatic brain injury need to do in order to heal and recover. Unfortunately, like a couple of years before, and after my stroke, another psychiatrist messed up. He told me I’d kill patients at the hospital and would poison my family with contaminated food when I did chores at home. This sorry excuse for a human not once asked me why I was doing what I was doing. Well, it was to stay alive! I was afraid about what he’d say about me working with children, so I quit everything! Looking back, I shouldn’t have quit; I went into severe depression, again, and had suicidal thoughts. I ought to make his and others’ names public. In order not to do that, I write about everything I do and go through.

I especially feel that familiar sadness at night, and I talk to myself so as not to lose touch with reality, but sometimes I think   it may overpower me, and I find ways to keep keeping busy, smiling, writing, living.

It’s true that there must be a reason I didn’t die when I had the stroke and wasn’t expected to pull through.


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