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431 Days With A Concussion
I am not free,
Instead, I am a prisoner in my own mind.
I am not guilty,
I am not weak, I am not defeated yet, and am not a giver-upper
I am not healthy, healed, nor properly functioning,
Instead: I am a soldier, battling a constant internal war, tortured in a stalemate.
I do not have a flawless brain, mind; I have one that hurts to use:
painpainpainpainpain that I am accustomed to.
I am not the same,
But hardened: I have seen pain,
Lived with constant pain,
Seen the ghosts of a past without pain,
Appreciated what it’s like to have a lack of pain.
I am not an innocent child, walking carefree through the high school halls.
I am not a teenage girl whose biggest dream is to be looked at by a senior guy.
I am a teen whose biggest dream is to be healed.
All that I have to hold on to is a wisp of a memory of what it was like before,
a wisp of hope that things will be like they were before,
but even now I’m losing a grip.
Because my mind is unpredictable, and even the important
Are blending together
f a c t s/ m e m o r i e s/ h o p e s/ d r e a m s
are sli p p i n g out of my reach.
But I am not giving up. I am not submitting myself.
I refuse to surrender.
I am a fighter.