Black and white handcuffs still my arms as I wake from my sleeplessness. I’ve woken into a categorized world and I’m no category. I’m a misnomer. This is how I feel now after living with TBI. There seems to be no place for my wild heart to roam in this chaotic world.
As my fingers flit through the newspaper Classified’s I wonder if I’ll always have it rough in this world. It seems as if I’ve been dealt my lifelong hand, which in fact, requires a lot of creativity in maneuvering. Creativity, I’m good at that.
Creativity is almost the last alternative in my part of the country unfortunately. There’s nothing to do but keep trying. Thomas Edison tried 1000 times to create the lightbulbs that we all use on a regular basis. So, when it boils down to it I’m just not trying the right thing. I just have to work harder at inventing my future.
To me, it seems like everyone is dealt a hand when they come into this world. And depending on the situation they become ensnared in circumstances that hold them fast to where they are. By no means am I saying its a bad thing. It’s just a trickle down effect from the decisions of our ancestors.
For example, my ancestors have been largely farmers or laborers. In my immediate family I have two farmers. I’m not bemoaning anything or saying that I’m pre-destined to labor or farm work its just an interesting reflection.
I gathered this information from a nifty little site that I enjoy finding family records on called ancestry. It’s interesting how the keys of our past in a small way are keys to our future.
So the strength of black and white handcuffs dwindles beneath my creativity. I have a secret key.