The Dawning of Age 12 (6th Post)

I struggled with undiagnosed Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBI) from 1955- 2019.  Sometime after the first forehead injury at age 5, I concluded something was wrong with me.  This concern evolved from the negative reactions of both my peers and adults to my mood swings and the intensity of my anger. My conclusion resulted in a decision to find out exactly what was wrong with myself.  And no matter what it took, I was committed to “solving the puzzle of me.”  At age 5, it never occurred to me the source of my problems may have been from my forehead injury. I had tripped over a tree root, fell, and hit my forehead on a piece of cement. My parents treated my head wound, as back in the day concussions were viewed as minor medical issues. Therefore, my forehead wound healed I was deemed fine. The forehead wound was never examined by a doctor

My second forehead wound at age 10 increased and intensified the undiagnosed symptoms of TBI -  a sleep disorder, extreme rage, spelling, pronunciation, math challenges, executing tasks, following directions, and auditory hypersensitivity. As a result, I became not only more committed to solving the problem, I also became very desperate to find an answer and a solution. I had surgery for the second forehead wound.  However, after I recovered at home, I was deemed fine....again. I never underwent a follow-up medical exam or tests. There were no medical recommendations for my sleep issues, intense anger, or spelling and pronunciation issues. Consequently, I and others blamed my personality as the cause of these issues. No one suspected my new personality issues were due to brain damage from the concussions. The 2 scars on my forehead were simply seen as the remnants of physical injuries that had healed. Lacking the knowledge I had had TBI’s, made me frustrated. I was operating in the dark on my mission to solve the puzzle of me.

 From age 12 onward I have memories of the impact the undiagnosed TBI symptoms had on my life. Accompanying these memories are other memories of how and why I created each “desperation skill”. That is what I call the skills I developed to help me cope. I chose the name “Desperation Skills” as I was always feeling desperate to find ways to cope. At age 12, I did not know that it was not “me” I had to fix. It was the damaged brain that needed help and healing. By age 12, I had developed a tiny set of desperation skills to manage my behaviors deemed disruptive by others. In all honesty, I did not comprehend exactly what I was doing wrong. From my perspective, I truly thought I was acting the same as everyone else. However, I did not enjoy people being upset with me. I did not enjoy cleaning up the messes my anger created; thus the need for my desperation skills. 

At age 8 I became enamored with trees. By age 10 I was a devout and skilled climber. One climb with a friend somehow resulted in my falling to the earth and injuring my forehead....again. After the wound healed I was eager to return to climbing trees. However, to my complete shock, my parents would not sanction the idea. Their decision devastated me. I was sad and felt lost for a very long time. Perhaps, that is why I have no memories of my experiences at age 11. By age 12, my parents finally relented. They granted me permission to once again seek refuge and have fun  

in the trees. My sadness morphed into joy. I was so happy to be back in the arms of my wonderful tree companions. Upon returning to climbing trees, I realized trees needed to be included in my collection of Desperation Skills.  Sometimes, I would climb trees just for pleasure and fun. Other times, I would seek out the comfort of trees due to being consumed by feelings of desperation. When feelings overwhelmed me, the solidness of the trees grounded me. I felt safe among their branches. The amazing views were also calming.  At the top of a tree, time seemed to stop, and all the painful feelings that smothered me melted away. 

One tree, an oak, was especially helpful whenever I was sad and alone in my childhood bedroom. This “savior” lived in the backyard of my family’s house. Our backyard was large. My mighty oak tree stood15 feet from my bedroom window. A clothesline was strung between another large oak and a red slender man-made pole stuck in the ground. Long grass and pebbled driveway ended at a shabby green painted garage. At the back of the yard was a small swing set for two. And there was an assortment of various seasonal flowers, bushes, and trees. Our backyard was hemmed in by all the surrounding neighbor's fences. My tall and mighty oak dominated the backyard.  The oak was almost impossible to climb because there were no lower branches on her trunk to assist an ascent. The crown on the top of the tree was a mass of finely sculptured branches and twigs. Depending on the present season, the crown was either barren or decorated with a plethora of green leaves and acorns. I loved this tree.  When I was in 7th grade I wrote a poem about my mighty oak. To my surprise, the teacher selected my tree poem to read to the class.  The oak was steadfast, safe, and constant in my life of desperation. I would visit this oak often standing with my back against her strong trunk exploring the branches, leaves, and twigs with my eyes.  Other times, when feeling overwhelmed, I would stand at my bedroom window, look out at the oak, and silently send the tree my thoughts.  My internal world was in chaos. I was floundering in the external world. I could not understand my own personality. Life felt overwhelming. However, when I either stood near or looked out the window at my mighty oak, in those moments I felt safety and comfort. I did not feel alone. There was some magical connection between us. I felt cared for. I felt important to the Oak. She was the one friend who was always there no matter my disposition. After connecting with her I always felt better and able to return to my life.  To this day I am still enamored with trees.  Wherever I live I find trees to connect with. To have such solid and mighty friends is a blessing from the earth herself.

And so my journey to solve the puzzle of me continued.