There are days I wish God would take my hand and lead me somewhere else—somewhere quiet, somewhere without the weight of the past pressing against my chest. For ten years, I lived in a prison built of other people's certainties. Ten years of being told who and what I was, while my own voice grew smaller and smaller inside me. Ten years of watching doctors and loved ones exchange knowing looks over my head, their minds already made up, their ears closed to my truth. The misdiagnosis wasn't just a medical error—it was a theft of self, a slow erosion of everything I knew to be true.

Living with a brain injury is like navigating through an uncharted territory. Every day presents a new set of challenges and triumphs that can be difficult to understand for those who haven't walked in these shoes. My name is Chris, and this is my story.