Matías M

In September 2013, I was involved in an accident that nearly took my life. Biking home from work, I was hit off my bicycle by a large vehicle on Elgin Street. This particular vehicle didn’t account for me being on the road and left no room for me as it passed. In an instant I felt trapped as it accelerated past and hooked onto my handlebar causing me to lose control. All the fear and terror I have ever felt manifested in that split second. Then darkness.

The thing with a traumatic brain injury (TBI) is that when your brain impacts the inside of your skull it can cause bleeding, bruising, tissue damage, specific neurochemical changes and increased intra-cranial hemorrhaging. In my case, the doctors told me I had subdural bleeding in multiple spots and frontal lobe hemorrhaging which nearly required neurosurgery. After numerous CT scans and eight blurry days in the hospital, I went back home to London, Ontario to recover for two months. I effectively quit my job and hit the pause button on Ottawa Showbox, a local music website that I had started in 2012. My world basically stopped spinning. It’s a strange thing, really. You wake up one morning, put on the coffee and have breakfast as usual. You put on your clothes the same way you did before. Then you walk out the door to face the world, but on the inside it doesn’t feel like you. An otherwise beautiful, sunny day outside feels dim, cloaked in a certain type of shade that you can’t quite put your finger on.

The first few months after the accident were grim. I had literally removed myself from society, hiding in my parents’ basement avoiding light, noises, and most human contact. Apart from being completely sedentary I noticed that I felt different. I grappled with the reality that my Master’s degree may no longer punch a ticket to a lifelong career path for me. I didn’t know who I was, who I would become, or where I was going. The unknowns of my TBI were one of the toughest things to deal with. I would regularly stay up until 4 a.m. and have no concept of what time it was. I started to have panic attacks at night, which if you don’t know, can feel like you’re about to die at that very moment. I also started to lash out at my family and loved ones, having dramatic bouts of rage, sadness, and anxiety. With this came feelings of guilt and shame, because I knew they were trying to help me, but I was treating them so badly. But most of the time I was dull, with very little to no feelings of positivity and happiness. It wasn’t long before I was diagnosed with anxiety and panic disorders, as well as depression. It’s very difficult to describe what anxiety and depression feel like, because it manifests differently in each person. My anxiety is generally characterized by a feeling of dissociation with my own self, and a choking tightness in the chest that pushes and pulls until I can hardly breath. At its worst, anxiety causes me to feel neurotic and unstable with grey tunnel vision obfuscating the real world as others may observe it. At its worst, my depression makes me feel as though the entire world is shrouded in black and grey, with very little or no joy left in it. Getting out of bed becomes nearly unthinkable, let alone doing work or socializing with others. These are the dark, endless caverns that we, the afflicted, must endure.

After a TBI, it usually takes the brain about two years to regain neuroplasticity and regenerate bruised neurons and pathways that were damaged in the trauma. After a few major breakdowns and panic attacks in the months following the accident, it became clear to me that I needed help. The best decision I made was to be proactive in my recovery. I recognized some initial cognitive and behavioural challenges, scheduled the appointments, and ultimately accepted my new self. At one point I decided that if I had two years to make progress and recover, then I had to take that opportunity – no matter how challenging. I also decided to avoid medication and focus solely on cognitive therapy, which was the right fit for me. Seeing a psychologist and digging deep has been incredibly beneficial, and I truly think everyone should do it. Opening up the wound and taking a better look inside helped me understand what it was I was dealing with, and how to live with mental health issues as opposed to fighting against them. How does one live life after suffering a TBI? How does one cope with mental health challenges? There’s no single answer to this, and every person has different needs. Sometimes medication is the only option, sometimes cognitive therapy is sufficient.

It’s been over two years since the accident, and I’m still coping with anxiety and bouts of depression. They tend to go in waves – a lot of the days are as happy and fun as they were before, but there are times that the cloud comes back and darkens my day. However, I’ve learned how to embrace this kind of pain and move through it, not against it. If you sail with the waves in a storm instead of against them, eventually you’ll land with your feet on the shore.

In a way, music saved my life. I would be lying if I didn’t attribute a big chunk of my recovery to Showbox and the music community here in Ottawa. Around the time that the accident happened, my website had been growing and seeing much more traffic. Although being unable to work was debilitating, I had a bit of income replacement insurance money coming in and I managed to stay afloat following the accident. This also gave me the chance to focus on creative writing and putting more time and effort into Showbox. I had to make the most of a bad situation, because I knew that stagnation and solitude would make my condition much worse. Music has always been an intrinsic part of my life. As a passive consumer of music, we may listen to an album or experience a live show and feel good after. This was certainly a therapeutic aspect of my recovery, and helped to focus my brain and ward off the chaotic thoughts. But as an active participant in the community, writing about music gave me a purpose at a time when I questioned my place in the world. It lifted me out of bed and into the office chair. I learned that creativity and expression of oneself can be an incredibly helpful way of staving off the demons. Whether you write, draw, paint, make cartoon caricatures, design tattoos, write poems, shoot videos, write lyrics, write a tune, make a zine, take photos, design clothing, make handmade jewellery, write code, or simply just scribble something original onto a page – creativity is a powerful antidote for the mind.

This is my new normal. It’s not perfect, and it’s not the way it was. But having a support network of friends and family, a creative outlet, and some professional guidance from a psychologist were integral aspects of my recovery. I’m happy to say that I found my footing again, and now almost 10 years later, charted a new career path for myself and am able to live a full and happy independent life. That doesn’t mean I don’t deal with the side effects of TBI anymore, but I’ve learned how to “turn down” the volume on many of the more troublesome effects and incorporate them into my life in a way that allows me to feel a sense of control and hope for the future. A close friend once told me that we all need to keep a little treasure chest inside of us, and fill it with all the things we love. Inside the chest we should put every good deed we’ve done, every gesture of kindness towards others, and a little reminder that we mean the world to someone else. When the darkest thoughts arise and it feels like all hope is gone, take the key and open that chest to see what’s inside.

Mental Health Resources and Crisis Lines in Ottawa:

Find a comprehensive list at http://www.ementalhealth.ca/