I am so moved by all of the stories I have read, as they attest to the bravery of everyone here. My story is not one of terrific injury, but of trauma that only I, apparently, am aware of, and only I have to learn to live with.

My head injury occured as a result of a "flying fall" after tripping on a carpet and hitting my temple on the tile corner of the fireplace. Most people, and books, too, say that you do not remember what happened right before, but I do recall hitting hard, but no pain, just a hard pressure.

I was unconscious for several hours, but was taken by ambulance, xrayed, sewed-up, and, overall, sent home. But immediately I realized that my brain was not working the way it always had: that was over two years ago, and it is still unchanged, meaning, I fear this is it. The interesting fact, I think, about my experience, is that I know it, but because the injury is not overtly obvious, or life-threatening, I am having to deal with it completely on my own. My overwhelming question is always the same: Is it going to stay this way forever, this different person, or am I ever going to go back to who I was?

Here are the strange things: I occasionally hear a voice, not voices, but a man's voice, and it sounds like he is standing just behind me to the side, but, alas, no one is there. My personality has gone "flat" so that I no longer "bubble" nor am I at all interested in anyone, save my own children, who are grown. I immediately stopped drinking alcohol and smoking, probably good in the overall health scheme, but they were two things I used to enjoy--and now I enjoy nothing. I left my husband as soon as my face was healed, and we divorced. I have no interest in him, at all, and do not care if he sends me the money or not. Nothing is worth fighting for.

Tears can roll out of my eyes for no reason: if I think of something sad, I cry excessively, so I have learned to not think of anything emotional in any way--more flatness.

Aside from a scar that runs across the side of my face, I appear just fine--but I am so different. The voices I know are just part of the injury, so there is no chance I will go schizo, plus I can never quite make up what "he" is saying, just the sound of a male voice talking.

I am not at all interested in telling my children or anyone, really, not even my parents who are both living, because why would I want to burden them with something that no one can do anything about? Plus, I try to "act" somewhat the way they think I would, but in my heart, I know this very altruistic person is not really the old me, but an automaton who is imitating what she thinks she should do.

I do have a small amount of residual balance problems, more tripping, but I have mostly learned to be very careful, and, once again, as these are considered "minor" (and I know they are minor compared to severely injured people), they are of little interest or import to anyone, nor would I feel right about mentioning them.

But I feel okay putting it here, because everything in life is one of degree: perhaps my accident did not cripple my body or take away my sight: but it did change me, in an instant, from the person I had spent fifty years becoming. to someone who sees things, does things, and does not enjoy anything, nor does she know who she is. It could be compared to an out-of-body experience, but, once again, is not that extreme.

My guess is that some part of my brain that deals with emotions and even natural urges, got crushed or slammed, when it coup/contracouped when I landed so hard on my head. But I do feel that "I want my old life back" feeling a lot--knowing I can never have it, and that this is me now. I feel a kinship with all people with brain injuries, even those with very severe ones, because I know what it is like to lose yourself, and still keep on living your old life. I feel like shouting "this is not ME in here."