You Are Not Your Brain Novels & Stories

"Six weeks and eight adays since my accident. I still haven't got my memory back." Dr Bennet observes me and takes his glasses off. "Cole, I understand your frustration, son, but brain trauma isn't like any other physical illness or a broken bone. We can't just bring all your memories back with an operation. The brain is the most complex organ we possess, and it's very unpredictable. I am confident your memory will come back in time. The question is, do you want your memory to come back?"

I just got another text from Mum: Please remember your medication, your doctor says you aren't taking any. It seemed like ages since I had seen Mum. At the time I didn't even realise why or really understand how much time it had been between meds. I had been blocking it out, my doctor, the meds and everything. They say the brain is an expert at blocking out things. I had no idea. I thought I was at school, watching this vegetarian girl frowning in the food court. I thought I was listening to her thoughts. This is what I heard:

he said. "Isn't that what the brain is?" Mary pointed out. Joel rested his chin on his elbow. "Yes, I know that a brain is a place of infinite knowledge that has not been completely tapped. That's where the difference lies. You see, I have solved all the problems, separated them into compartments and sections. You'd have to navigate through the brain to get the solutions you need. And even when you find it, it might not be the best answer. In most case scenarios, it bothers me when you don't see the answers that you need.

There’s nоthіng I саn dо tо mаkе him stop. On tор оf that, thе lаѕt thing mу head nееdѕ іѕ аnоthеr run-thrоugh оf the еvеntѕ. Rеаlіtу dоеѕn’t lіе. Rеhаѕhіng іt іn mу head over аnd оvеr іѕ juѕt a tool fоr ѕеlf-рunіѕhmеnt.

I just sighed and continued to work hard. The next day my brain felt very tired. I've been thinking too much lately, I've been stressing myself too much about things. "I'm telling you, and you're here,"

I remember her touching the mirror I had punched after our argument. “What happens in these cases is that the brain is not connected to the body. The body may recognise it, but mind and body do not always go hand in hand. It's person-to-person relative.” I run my hand through my hair, looking at Selena, who seems deep in thought and lost because of my conversation with the doctor, who gives me some more memory tasks and recommendations to pass on to her. “Let's go,” I say once the doctor has no more questions or tests to run.

And then she starts wearing her eyes glass and closes her book. "First of all, as every one of you knows, the brain is the main core of everything being a live human being, our brain is the origin of all that what we do, all means every tiny thing we do even we think or we feel is all function of the brain, our organs are useful because it is navigated by the brain, meaning once the brain got damaged we will all be in great jeopardy but the question is what exact kind of jeopardy?" "We will die once the brain stop of course!"

“Doctor there’s a part of my brain that’s disassociating. It’s trying to convince me that I might not be related to the people who hurt me, even though I know I saw my birth certificate once. Being beaten, and bruised, none of that hurts me as much as the assaults. Why?” "I'm so sorry you've endured so much pain. What you're describing—the feeling that part of your brain is dissociating or trying to convince you that you're not related to those who hurt you—is actually a natural response to trauma. When we've been hurt deeply, especially by those who are supposed to care for and protect us, our minds sometimes create distance to help us cope. It’s as though your brain is trying to rewrite th

“Like the kid who had to be smaller just to survive the room?” That made my throat go tight. I nodded. Then I whispered, “I hate that he still gets to take up so much space in my head.” “He won’t forever.” I finally looked at Brandon. “How do you know?” “Because you’re stronger now.” He nudged my foot with his. “And because I’ll keep kicking him out of your brain every time he shows up.” “That’s not how brains work.” “I’ll figure it out. I’m resourceful.” I snorted, despite myself. “You’re a menace.”

"Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like you've spent your whole life trying to be smaller so people have less to comment on. And it never worked. People are always going to have something to say." I don't answer right away, because some old, tired part of me wants to explain myself even here, to her and wants her to list every reason I've made the choices I've made, every logical justification for years of trying to take up less space in a body that never asked to be a topic of public conversation. I catch myself before I start. "I'm working on it," I say instead, shorter than my instinct wants it to be.