Portrait: Paul
On April 7, 2017, at age 22, I was unintentionally shot in the head by my best friend in our on-campus apartment, one month before college graduation. He was in his bedroom, fooling around with a gun he didn’t know was loaded, and by some means, he pulled the trigger.
Where Paul’s story starts
My name is Paul Rousseau, I am a disabled writer and author of the book Friendly Fire: A Fractured Memoir (HarperCollins).
On April 7, 2017, at age 22, I was unintentionally shot in the head by my best friend in our on-campus apartment, one month before college graduation. He was in his bedroom, fooling around with a gun he didn’t know was loaded, and by some means, he pulled the trigger. I was leaning over at the time in our living room, picking up a scrap of paper or a guitar pick or dead battery. A split-second decision to clean. The bullet ripped through two walls before striking me on the top of my head. It fractured my skull, sending shards of bone into my brain before ricocheting off and landing on the carpet.
At that point, out of shock and fear for his own future, he delayed getting me help. It took two hours before I was rushed off to the hospital after a series of tense, bizarre circumstances. When I finally did receive treatment, I required neurosurgery—a craniotomy, titanium plates and screws, and a week-long stay in the Intensive Care Unit. The result was a severe traumatic brain injury (TBI).
My recovery journey
My specific brain injury had its physical manifestations. I lost twenty pounds and all my muscles after the injury. I had to be near a couch or bed at all times. I wore sunglasses and foam ear plugs to ward off overstimulation. With the aid of various therapies, I regained my strength and have improved somewhat cognitively. Still, most effects of my TBI remain invisible. Namely: cognitive impairment (brain fog, concentration problems, information processing, memory issues), personality changes (behavior control, nervousness, depression, anger, impulsivity), chronic head pain, headaches and PTSD.
These changes have not only negatively impacted me, but those around me as well, such as my mom, who essentially had to raise me all over again during my extended recovery.
She sacrificed a lot to give me the attention and care I needed—and her patience was the single greatest gift.
The challenges of invisible disabilities
In my book, I discuss the challenges of having an invisible disability like a TBI, especially in the workplace. With symptoms like hypervigilance and overstimulation, it can be difficult to focus on daily tasks or even be present in a populated environment, such as an office, for any length of time. One goal of mine is to make people more aware of brain injuries and invisible disabilities.
Early on in the wake of my injury, I had a hard time defining my difficulties, barriers and triggers, much less communicating to others how to best accommodate them.
Without the language or energy to clarify my situation, people often filled in the cracks themselves and assumed whatever they wanted about me and why I was acting outside of their idea of normal.
That’s a big reason why I believe invisible disabilities, and the considerable problems they pose by their nature of being unseen, require their own unique awareness and broader recognition across the board.
My advice to other TBI survivors
My advice to fellow TBI survivors is to treat the cognitive aspects of recovery like physical exercise. Journal your thoughts and feelings every day to reconnect those wires that may have been disrupted. Read in short stints many times throughout the day and increase the duration as you build up new stamina. And if safe, effective talk therapy is available to you, do it. Mental health is paramount. Being open and vulnerable is a show of true strength and those conversations will be invaluable as you reintegrate back into the world.
To find out more about Paul:
- Instagram: @paulwrites47
- Twitter/X: @PaulWrites7
- LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/paul-rousseau-996561303/
- Website: https://paul-rousseau.com/friendly-fire-a-fractured-memoir/