Dear Concussions,
You entered my life when I was just 11 years old, still in elementary school during the championship game. I had a breakaway layup, which you had something to say about because I landed face first on the ground after I was fouled from behind. Jokes on you, we still won. You stuck around for about a month and a half, luckily it was during the break between school ball and AAU. A month later, you returned, ruining AAU season for me, my favorite time of the year. I graduated from 6th grade with you and all the pain you cause.
The next year, I thought I was rid of you, but you showed up in the form of a knee to the head from my teammate. I was in 7th grade, so missing some work wasn't that big of a deal, but you made me dizzy and nauseous anytime I moved, so thanks for that.
In 8th grade, there were a few spooks, but you stayed away until the end of 9th grade. You decided you’d make a terrible vacation even worse in the form of a basketball ricocheting off the backboard and hitting me square in the head. You ended basketball for me, my one love, and that was the last straw. I didn’t care if I was without pain anymore because I could never do what I loved again.
I couldn’t sit in classes all day, so I fell behind in school and had to finish it over the summer, taking finals in the non-air-conditioned building in the blazing heat. You were so bad that by the end of the summer, I was still suffering as I started 10th grade at a new school. I spent days hiding in my room in the dark, avoiding the light. No one seemed to understand the pain I was in, teachers, doctors, even my parents.
In the first two weeks of school, I spent hours in the nurse’s office because I couldn’t tolerate any noise, lights or learning. The doctors just chalked it up to me being lazy or not wanting to go to school, and that was when I started hating high school. I hated that no one believed how terrible I was feeling. I have a high pain threshold and I was crying myself to sleep until finally my parents talked to the school and I was put on homebound school with a tutor who came to my house 3-4 times a week.
Halfway through sophomore year, you were still killing me, but you got put on the backburner, which is where you stayed for the months that I had cancer and my junior and senior year of high school.
I couldn’t wait for my freshman year of college because there was no way you could touch me here. A month into the school year, I slipped from my loft bed, fell on my desk and landed head/neck first because you apparently have no boundaries. I became very familiar with the health center and their nurses and doctor until the doctor sent me home for break early, hoping I would recover better in the comfort of my home.
I did recover, partly, but not until the end of winter break when I came back to school with everyone else. I had to medically withdraw from my first semester of college and that’s unforgiveable. You made me question my future and worry that I would turn into a college dropout like other people I know. I cried day and night because of you until I realized that I’m not one to give up, ever.
Now, I’m back at school, but you still couldn’t stay away. I hit my head less than a week into the school with the closet door and I’m back to square one, doing vision therapy and taking it easy in and out of classes.
You have destroyed my life since I was eleven and caused me and my family so much pain and fear. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you, but I do want to thank you for toughening me up over the years.
Sincerely,
The Girl You Can’t Keep Down
