The sun still shines
After over over fifteen years of recovery and struggling to be my own person, I think I may have finally found a niche. A place where I can finally put some of my artistic inclinations to good use.
Now I'll be the first person to admit that art isn't my best field. It never has been, in fact. I was surprised when, my last year in high school, I designed a photo that the school used as a sort of logo. They don't use it now, but that's basically when working with more than words really interested me.
I'll give you more details a little later, but I had some fairly serious medical issues when I was eighteen years old. I was in the hospital for several months before being moved to a rehabilitation center about twenty minutes from where we lived at the time. The man who owned the house was very kind and considerate, keeping the rent we had to pay fairly low for that part of town during my initial illness.
It took several years for me to get even close to "normal" again. I had to learn many things over again: Walking. Talking. Eating. For the most part of the first two years I was back at home, all I did was lay in bed covering my eyes and plugging my ears. Or out in the living room sitting in one chair watching the same movie over and over again.
The first few years were very hard on my family. I wasn't very considerate of my brothers, and treated them both rather meanly. Particularly my oldest younger brother, Jason. I'm not 100% sure of why, but he moved all the way to New Hampshire a number of years ago.
My memory is so poor that I don't remember the exact number. But from what I know about how he's doing, it's not too badly. He has a job and goes to a good church. Sure I miss him - some - but I can't blame him for moving. He needed to go out and figure out who he is.
I'm ever so thankful he's following the Lord.
My youngest brother, Joseph, is roughly ten years younger than I am. He took it hard when I was hospitalized. Maybe harder than the rest of my family. I'm really not sure. He was pretty young when I had my TBI. Only about 9 or 10, I think. Maybe younger, but my memory is so bad I honestly don't remember.
I should know, though.
He's also moved away. Only 2 hours away, but he's no longer living with his family. He's also employed, so there's that.
To say that I'm jealous is taking it a little too far. I don't want their lives, but I wouldn't mind being employed. That's partly what this website is for. I'll show you more in a little bit.