One of the hardest things about living after a brain injury has been scraping together what remains of my sense of self, gluing it all back together with only my notes to guide me. I don’t feel like the person I was before. I’m not the person I was before. She died. It is so easy to feel like a stranger in my own life, to feel like everything I have isn’t really mine. My old friends, my family, and even my writing is someone else’s. I’ve merely inherited them.
My name is Tillie and I need to scream.
Tillie's Void 