It’s astonishing how verbose I can become, often getting ensnared in my thoughts. This isn’t a choice; it’s a symptom and a consequence of the type of stroke I experienced. When I refer to being long-winded, it’s ironic, as I struggle to communicate effectively. I find myself becoming fatigued and needing rest, often feeling no desire to engage in conversation. The disconnect between my thoughts and my spoken words is frustrating.<br/><br/>I still grapple with the effects of the stroke, particularly on the left side of my face, my hands, and my tongue, which leads to slurred speech and drooling. Recently, I had a brief conversation with my father, expressing how focused I can be now that I no longer have ADHD. I can concentrate on one thing at a time, and interestingly, I feel I’ve become significantly smarter post-stroke. The extraneous thoughts that once cluttered my mind have vanished, allowing me to focus intensely. However, therein lies the challenge: I often become fixated on one track, a thought or a feeling.<br/><br/>I’ve lost much due to the stroke, but some losses have been beneficial. I’ve transitioned from having detrimental habits to having none at all. Remarkably, I no longer crave cigarettes, despite having smoked for 32 years. This change stems from a sense of fear and uncertainty about my new reality. I feel trapped between my former self and who I’ve become, with my body and mind at odds. The experience of a stroke is terrifying; one moment, I felt no pain, and the next, I was unable to move or feel one side of my body. It was as if half of me had vanished, leaving me with a profound sense of disconnection.<br/><br/>Even though my body functions, I often don’t recognize it, which is deeply unsettling. I lack a sense of time, distance, or space in my movements, leading to a complete absence of spatial awareness. I liken it to navigating without GPS coordinates; my hand doesn’t know where it’s coming from or where it’s going, leaving it in a state of uncertainty. This feeling of being trapped in my own body, with one half functioning and the other not, is incredibly frustrating and humiliating.<br/><br/>As a result, I often isolate myself by choice, preferring to avoid potential embarrassment. I’ve lost my filter; I express my thoughts and feelings candidly, as you can see from this reflection. The neurological pathways that once provided those filters have been damaged and destroyed and will not return. I must relearn and retrain myself to apply those filters over time.<br/><br/>This stark reality has been exacerbated by personal circumstances, particularly the actions of someone who had been close to me. The choice to publicly display a mugshot of me was a painful reminder of a tumultuous situation. It’s not about placing blame; it’s about the unfortunate reality of misunderstandings and emotional turmoil. Despite my efforts to make her happy, I couldn’t comprehend why she couldn’t see my true feelings. <br/><br/>Ultimately, none of that matters now. I’ve endured the consequences of my stroke, intertwined with a web of childish behavior and misunderstandings of someone else. This journey has been challenging, but it has also led to a deeper understanding of myself and my circumstances.