I’ve tried to write this post multiple times. As someone who struggles with abstract concepts and craves set facts, structure and evidence it’s proved near on impossible for me to write, you’ll see why.

By the time I hit hospital 3, the longer term inpatient rehab unit, I’d started to come to terms with what had happened. Everyone said I had potential, I was young, mostly cognitively not harmed and had enough prior fitness to hopefully make a decent recovery. I’m sure I’ve raved before about the ward and rehab team and how good they were. I, briefly, had access to a psychologist, a lovely woman who took time to explain this was going to be a life long thing and I’d grieve for my old life over a long time, but that was fine.

I remember her giving excellent analogies like when I said I was frustrated I couldn’t recall some early events despite usually having a great memory she told me “your brain records things like on a video tape, sometimes if things get too horrible it will just stop recording to not deal with it” it made perfect sense.

I told her my story about aliens, which was put down to my brain being in shock at the physical assault it had endured and the consciousness of understanding that, combined with lingering anaesthetic drugs and a penchant for watching sci fi and horror in bed. I was convinced from a very lucid dream that I had been abducted by aliens who removed my ‘being’ from my body to experiment on the body.

When returned they had damaged my body or I was in the wrong one and this was why I couldn’t move my left side.

I’m sure my subconscious was just dealing with the fall out as best as it could.

I wait some 16 months down the line for the aliens to return and sort out their errors.👽🛸🧠🤣😱

It started with a low light
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed
And then they took my blood type
It left a strange impression in my head -🎵Spaceman, The Killers 2008