Being a brazen social lunatic in a sea full of umbrellas
Come, let me entertain you with a good story that starts with a rather seemingly typical, “normal” female and ends with me cursing at my husband in a sea full of umbrellas, blaming my stroke for “its bad behaviour”.
Let me set the stage for you, shall I?
In Tokyo we have loads of people. And I mean we have an astronomical, crazy amount - all crammed into subway cars, all politely fighting for pole position at the crosswalk, all diligently ignoring the distraction of a few million other people walking while looking at their mobiles. Let’s just say that we have enough people, shall we?
We live on a quiet little street, with an occasional car passing by, just next door to a women’s university. Here, the ladies are polished, sure of themselves and, generally, good-mannered. Except when the lunchtime whistle blows and they come out, full-force onto the streets, hiding under their umbrellas, jibber-jabbering while cheerfully ignoring anyone who dares to get in their way.
At least that is what I felt that particular day. They had everything on their mind, except being polite.
I shudder and close my eyes when I think about the ugly behaviour that surfaced in me. Bottled-up, and vile it ran the gamut from pure annoyance, to self-righteous indignation, to “I was here first, now step aside!”.
I was with my husband and we were enjoying our new favourite “frozen banana juice” from the shoppe in the village, smug with ourselves for playing hooky for the afternoon. Johan was pushing his bicycle and I was strolling next to him, chatting happily about one thing or another, both of us knee-deep in conversation.
When we saw the ladies coming, en masse, Johan naturally wheeled his bicycle over to the street. I didn't even think about getting out of their way. Not in the least.
I was walking on my side of the sidewalk and I was not about to go into the street to let them pass. They were walking side-by-side, in twos! Not leaving enough room for me to pass!
And I stood my ground. All of those girls needed to pass me single file. Looking up, startled from their clack, at this mad woman. Pausing their chatter only for a beat, before disregarding her completely and stepping to the side to acquiesce.
What a nutter!!!
To make matters just a bit worse, in full disclosure, that’s when I started yelling.
I mean, did anyone see them? How they just expected me to get out their way? Johan did. And yet he remained calm. While we were in a street-fight with a bunch of university girls! He should have my back! He is bigger, stronger than I am! What is going on?
So I decided to tell him my thoughts. In an utterly reasonable voice… of course.
But then, if you know me, there might have been a few words that slipped out which I am not entirely proud of… and you could say, that I may have, for a moment, lost my shit.
Before my stroke I would like to think that I had a dimmer switch to help guide me. When emotional, my dimmer switch turned on the adrenaline full blast during a deserving event, like an intruder in my house and it could dial it waaaayyyy back to a catty remark when encountering that sea of umbrellas.
Now it seems as if my dimmer switch has turned into a great, big button labeled “You want your emotion? Here, have it all!”. And it ignites the flames of some irrational monster inside me, blocking me from other choices.
In my mind I know I have brain damage, but really?
Since my stroke, my friend explained that my brain has problems with emotional regulation. So the message is sent by my lower brain for processing and where I used to have a dimmer switch, to decide what actions I’m going to take, what comes back is a convoluted mixed message, “Stand your ground at all costs! Don’t let the ladies, or anyone, stop you!”.
It actually doesn't matter what my brain is processing, if it sees red, then it’s game over. My emotional filter has been reduced to zero.
Like with physical training, occupational training and speech therapy, I’m left with the pieces of my life to fit together again. Like an adult-turned-toddler, I have the emotional stigma that plays with my mind as well.
As good as it felt at the time, when righteous indignation took effect, normally you know, in some part of your mind, what you're doing is not right. This emotional regulation, this part that my stroke took away from me, is what I have to rebuild for myself. Like a bricklayer laying down his stones, it can only be built a single layer at a time. So, I have a lot of work to do.
I am using meditation and practicing a mantra to aid me in the process of my rehabilitation. Some days it works, but more often than not I fail miserably.
The hope is that I can teach myself, with the help of a few good friends, to tip these scales right off the charts, in the right direction. My direction.
My hope is that I stop warring with university girls, albeit myself that I’m at war with, and try to create a sense of peace for my mind and my life.
And maybe, just maybe, come with a catty remark for someone who can’t share a sidewalk with me. What?