"Better"

“How’s your head?” 

My least favorite question to answer since June of 2016.

It still hurts. 

Every day. 

Every day my brain reminds me that it’s not quite right. 

That it hasn’t gone back to “normal.” 

That it probably never will to some extent. 

But people don't want to hear that. 

People don’t want to hear your struggle. Everyone struggles. There's people who have it worse. 

But that does not mean your pain is not real. That does not mean your pain does not matter. 

‘Just try not to sound like you’re complaining,’ I tell myself every time I’m forced to answer that dreadful question. 

“It’s okay,” is the safest answer that comes out of my mouth. I always manage to say it with a smile, you know, to trick ‘em.

Those who know me read right through the lie. 

Those who don’t at least get the idea that we don’t have to go any further. 

“Glad you’re doing better,” they’ll say.

Ahhh yes, “better.”

Let’s analyze “better,” shall we?

Did I work out this morning? If so, I’ll probably have a headache by 7am. 

Did I sprint, elevate my heart rate too high or put my head below my chest/butt like a burpee? If so, that headache will last until I fall asleep. 

Sleep – the only true recovery for concussions and post-concussion symptoms.

Did I drive too far?

Listen to music too loud?

Read too much?

Did too many people try and talk to me at once? 

Have I stared at my computer for too long? 

My phone too long?

The TV too long? 

Did I focus during a conversation too hard?

Did I happen to do one or more of these in the same day…? 

*grabs an ice pack, shuts off all the lights and sounds, pulls out my emergency pill bottle, goes to sleep at 7pm two and a half years after I hit the fence.

Ahhh yes, “better” they say to me, as if walking, talking and smiling means people are pain-free. 

“Adjusting” I say to myself, as I continue working toward acceptance in my new “normal.”