Sunday, March 13, 2011

Writer with the Broken Brain

I hurt.

My eyes hurt.

My mind hurts.

266 pages. Is that all? Not enough for three features. Yesterday I passed out in front of my 82 year old mother. I hurt.

It was a nightmare of writing and I was awake and trapped in it. I can't spell. No that's not true. I can spell when I'm very angry.

I'm a Grand Father and can't be angry anymore. I hurt and the pain is more than I can bear but I must bear it for I am a Grand Father.

"You are retarded". How many times have i heard that?

"You are a Genius." How many times have I heard that?

What I am, is a human being trying as hard as he can. I am the smartest dumb person I know. I do my best. Its all I can do.

"You're not trying hard enough. You use your car wreak as an excuse. You just need to try harder."

Said to me by someone I love. I hurt.

The 'p', 'd', 'b' all look the same to me. My field of vision flips. My head feels like it's going to explode. My chest feels like it's going to explode. I pass out in front of my 82 year old mother and she cries. All because I write and it hurts.

I'm not a writer, I know that. I am a storyteller, but I must write to tell my stories. God it hurts so much!

Its not that car wreak I have flash backs to but the operation.

The doctor puts his knee on my chest as I lie on the operation table. I am awake as no drug can put me to sleep. I keep quiet as I need my nose pulled out of my brain. The doctor raises a pink rubber mallet and slams it down on my nose. I don't care because I feel no pain. The doctor breaks my nose over and over again.

"Why is that rubber mallet pink? It looks like my auto body mallet that is white. Could they use my auto body mallet? They could cut my left arm off now and I wouldn't care. Maybe that's how I lose my left arm. The doctors find out I'm awake and it makes them mad and they cut my arm off to teach me a lesson. Why is that mallet pink? I've lost count how many times he broke my nose with that mallet. Why is that mallet pink? I'm bored, I should take a nap."

In the darkness is the other me. The dead me.

"Stay asleep. You don't need to watch this." says dead me.

"Are they cutting my arm off?"

I wake up but is is hard to see. My nose is wide. There is metal on or by my face, no both. The doctor has a chisel in my nose.
I hear the sound of the doctor cutting my nose lose from my skull. The doctor is finished.

"I'm stepping back to let the neurosurgeon have access."

A doctor I never met before steps into my field of view. He has what looks like needle nose pliers but with flat paddles. He reaches into my spread out nose. Stretched out by metal re-tractors the doctor has no problem pulling the inside of my nose out of my brain.

After I am released from the hospital I have an appointment with the doctor.

"You will for the rest of your life have a chance of having strokes."

Not something a 17 year old wants to hear.

Before I'm 30 years old I have a massive stroke. The left side of my body is paralyzed for 8 hours. The two doctors that gave me the drug overdose that caused the stroke discus who is going to take the blame for my death but I don't die. For years the left side of my body is numb. Sometimes I get cuts on my left arm or leg and don't feel it.

2002, I have a stroke and forget everything. For three minutes I'm little more than a animal and have no words to think with.

2010, I have a stroke two days before Christmas.

I forget how to draw and write. I must learn everything again. I must finish a script that is three scripts. I can't do simple math even now.

I call it a memory drop because I am ashamed that my mind is so weak that I have strokes. I don't take drugs to repair my mind. I use my imagination to heal my mind and rewire my brain as best I can.

Nothing hurts more than writing. It is a dagger in my mind but I write anyway.

"You're not trying hard enough."

To the the person that said that to me; I forgive you and pray you never know how wrong you are.

I'm a writer with a broken brain and I'm trying as hard as I can.

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