Today marks 2 years and 9 months since I injured my brain.

I am doing much better. I walk well, run a little, cook, listen to music (easy listening only – mostly simple piano compositions), drive for 25 minutes at a time. I also use screens for several hours if necessary, eat almost everything – except lactose and gluten, participate in intense conversations without a problem. Most of the time.

But there are times and there are days, days like today, when I feel like I will never recover. I get a feeling that I will always be a slave to this roller coaster of irregular brain function.

Yesterday, I drove for almost a total of 2 hours during the day, including two trips of 35 minutes each. This was my record and it tired me out quite a bit. Then, I coached girls soccer for 2.5 hours, made dinner, and stayed up until midnight. This morning I woke up at 7:50 and couldn’t cope. I dropped our exchange student off at school in the morning, drove home, and decided to cancel my day’s appointments because…my eyes and brain were just too tired.

I know this can happen, but I was also convinced that I had planned the week well to modify the pace of my activities so as not to overwhelm myself. The disappointing physiological result showed I’d overplanned. I feel incapable of managing even my limited life. I feel weak, small, irresponsible, useless.

And then I got angry at the oven’s drawer that wouldn’t close…but really at all the constant inconveniences of this circumstance. That I don’t have enough brain energy to finish the bread I started to make, that I can’t be a support for anyone, that I can’t contribute much financially to the house, that I’ve been on the defensive for 3 years against possible misunderstandings from people I’ll have to help to understand what’s going on, that my eyes get tired before I figure out how health insurance works, that my eyes get tired very quickly in the sun and also in the car, that I had to cancel a plan because my nervous system was overwhelmed by the noise of the garbage truck, that I can’t go to my nephew’s game because he’s in a noisy gym, that I can’t go to my niece’s birthday party because of the noise in the house, that someone young I met in the last few months laughed when I said I was smart.

And I cry for the many indignities I’ve suffered.

I used to cry, cry, lament, suffocate with the fear of never getting out of the low, dark cloud that stuffed its unwelcome presence into my mind and body.

Now, after crying and letting the tears flow, I think about how much I can do, see the physical and emotional progress, and slowly go about my day. I make a list of things I would like to do, and I do only what makes me feel calm. I ask my body if it wants coffee (decaf) or not and I listen to it. (“Not.”)

Now, I treat myself with kindness in these moments.