The new me knew little about the old me. The two became acquainted on Twitter. Back in the day, Twitter felt like a battleground where certain words caused explosions. Nearly, every day online, I wore heavy armor and came equipped to withstand the explosions and throw a few grenades. I got caught in a vicious cycle.
Immersed in anger, disappointment, and frustration, my mind lived in a world of delusions, hallucinations, and paranoia. Oddly enough, I felt connected to the universe. I heard voices, and other times I saw images. I could see apparitions of people despite not ever meeting them or knowing how they looked.
There was a force guiding and possibly protecting me. Tapping into the universe’s collective energy was a powerful experience– almost like a god, I could spiritually communicate to others. The God we seek was definitely within us.
These out of body experiences were from TBI. The old me was attempting communication. But she was severely injured. Her voice was not like mine, and her appearance indecipherable. I did not recognize her. She fought hard to gain control of the new me, who over time became resilient and confident.
Without filters, I said what came to mind. There were instances where I heard myself using paragraphs full of expletives to vent anger. It was weird. I felt a presence watch in disbelieve, unable to control the involuntary outbursts of words and emotions. A blessing or not, a lack of short-term memory meant I moved on with ease and without remorse. Sometimes, that kind of venting was therapeutic in quelling a surge of rage triggered by stress.
Had TBI split me in two? The new me learning to walk again, and the old me dazed, cynical, and critical. Was I going insane? I made excuses for awkward responses and repeatedly asking the same questions. It was defeating to accept the old me would never be. But like an artist inspired puzzle, pieces of the old combined with the new to create a whole new me. And that started the healing process.