I'm making progress. My parents tell me this regularly, but it only really means something to me when my therapists tell me this. I still have a very long way to go. This is becaue my therapists see this every day. My left side is buliding alot of strength (the right cerebral aneurysm has had a huge impact on the left side of my body).

I'm reading a lot lately. It's work that causes me pain, but thre is just so much I feel I need to learn about this aneurysm (especially because the clipping procedure is no guarantee that it won't burst again and cause another stroke and/or death).

My eyes are finally returning to the left when reading paragraphs. It used to take a lot of conscious effort, but now it just happens.

Yeseterday, my physical therapist said I am doing things already that I shouldn't be able to do because of the level of trauma and the relativelyshort amount of time since my surgeries.

The pain is the same as it was when I firstr woke up in th ehospital. There is a part of me that almost wishes I were still there - I"d probably b getting morphine at this point. Oxycodone and Tylenol do nothing for me. I"m in constant excruciating pain, and I wonder why I'm even bothering to stick around.

I know that I will be able to recover and rebuild if I stick to the the program, but it's difficult.

I'm glad that my left brain is doing fine (overanalysis, language, etc.). I don't know how I"d be able to handle this is I couldn't communicate or pick things apart.

I'm beginning to hate my parents. They don't seem to believe me when I tell them I'm in pain. My dad even goes so far as to tell me I am just not trying to relax and fall asleep. I am hating every second in thi shouse. I almost want to die to cause them some pain.

I tried calling a friend I haven't seen in a while earlier toay, but he must have been busy because he didn't take my all. I really needed to feel like it's okay to feel what I feel (an dbecause my parents have told me that that is just not how it's going to be - I am to feel happy and stop being a bitch all the time).

I wish someone would take me away from this crap. I don't know when I will reach my breaking point, but it will probably be soon.

My parents said I need to stop being so stubborn. This was in response to my statement that the medication isn't helping. Apparently, according to my parents, a personality trait is the cause of my pain. I, somehow, must be able to block the natural proogression of chemicals throughout my body just because I am a stubborn person.

Where does this logic originate?

I am so sick of being blamed for things not working the way they are supposed to.

"Unfortunately, healing just hurts sometimes."

A nurse at the hospital said this to me on night when I asked for my pain medication. I'm acutely aware that she simply didn't want to be bothered with counting out my pills again, but the words are, nonetheless, true.

I am at my parents' house, regularly taking my medication, but the pain never eases.

My parents are doing their best to help me, but no one knows what something is like until they go through something similar. Telling me, "Yeah, I know it hurts." does not console me. It makes me feel like they think this can be cured with kind words. That's just not true.

I just had brain surgery twice in one month! It hurts to hear, to talk, to yawn, to smile, to talk, and to think. I can't will the pain away. My dad even said that I"m hining and moaning to "gt attention." That showed me that he's nowhere near to understanding this, even though he watched his father battle to reoover after a stroke, which is quite similar to what I suffered.

I want to be normal again. I want to be able o look back on this and derive some sort of lesson from the universe.

Recovery - Day whatever

I am struggling with the intense pain of recovery. My pain medication doesn't really do anything at this point, and part of me is wondering why I bother to take it at all.

It's Easter, and I feel miserable. There is a part of me almmost wishing for my body to give out.

I don't wish to die. I know there are many ways I could kill myself, but I won't do that.

I jusst really need relief from this. It's unrelenting. It feels like I've somehow been caught in a vice.



I keep wondering what I did to deserve this, and then it hits me that no one deserves stuff like this. It just happens.
I have no idea when I will feeel like myself again. It could be a month. It could be a year. It could be never. Having absolutely no control over any of it makes me feel weak and useless.

Crying about it and feeling sorry for myself don't help, either. I need a new plan.

The aneurysm

I am just returning to the world after a close call with death.

I didn't know I had an aneurysm developing. It ruptured in March. My school called my emergency contacts (my parents) when I didn't arrive at work. I guess that is what perfect attendance will earn you - a concerned phone call). I have no recollection of the event. I don't even recall the day prior. I think I hung out with Wes, but I'm not sure. I spoke to my sister on the phone until midnight, but I only know that because she told me that while I was in the hospital.

I don't recall anything until I woke up in ICU. This, apparently, was after a couple of weeks. I had had surgery the first day and then again a week or two later. The first was to clamp the bleeding aneurysm; the second was to replace the chunk of skull bone they had ripped out to find and stop the bleeding aneurysm.

I don't recall much of the ICU. I don't remember who visited me. I spent most of the time unconscious.

I remember going in for brain scans.

I remember feeling like I could have made a mental decision to die there and escape the pain I felt even while unconscious, which didn't seem logical overall. I almost made peace with leaving my mortal coil behind. What made me want to live was when I became aware that nurses had placed restraints on me. This only brought out the fighter within. I think I decided at that moment that I would not be letting anything or anyone make my decisions for me.

I recall moving into my room on the rehabilitation floor. I was not pleased about sharing the room with a woman whose family couldn't be quiet. Therapy started soon thereafter. It was painful to move, think, and, even, to rest. My therapists were fairly understanding of my plight, but they wouldn't let me use it as an excuse to get out of any work. While I wanted to rebel, I recognized that what they were doing was actually good for me.

I had trouble keeping sequential things in order, especially my days. I can't tell what's happened first, second, third, and so on. It's really frustrating. I also don't interpret visual input well. I have left visual neglect, which outpatient therapy is going to really help with. I just started seeing faces in everything. They aren't always pleasant, human-looking faces, though, which, at night, frightens me. I feel like a stupid and scared child. I am hating almost every second of recovery, even though I know it is leading to my return to full health.