He throws the box over. I catch it and look at the label. I read the name of the drug several times, at first convinced that I am right; that these are the pills I’m supposed to take to help prevent me from having a potentially fatal brain seizure. But as I re-read the name over and over, my mistake slowly dawns on me, my confused mind making sense finally. It reminds me of a story I heard of another TBI survivor. He went for a walk with a relative shortly after being released from hospital and damn near got himself obliterated by a double-decker bus at a traffic light crossing. He was convinced the red man meant walk. It’s common for TBI sufferers to be confused by everyday tasks like this, and for them to suffer further horrendous accidents because of their messed-up minds.

The brain really is a funny old thing.

‘Those are your sleeping pills,’ Jason says. ‘Have you been taking those in the morning?’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ I say, slamming the box onto the coffee table.

‘No wonder you’re so bloody tired all the time. Are you sure you’ve been taking the other ones properly?’

‘Well I’ve not had a seizure so I’d say it’s all good.’

He shakes his head in despair and turns to head back out of the room. I know where he’s going. He wants to prove his point.

I jump up from the sofa and dart out into the hallway to intercept him.

‘Stay out of my room!’ I yell as I grab his shoulder and swing him around. ‘Just for once let me take care of myself.’

I storm past him before he can think of a response and slam my bedroom door shut. I lock myself in the en suite, then open the cabinet and stare at the pill boxes and bottles inside. Looking at the labels now, it doesn’t take me long to figure I’ve been doing it all wrong, just as Jason suspected.

I feel my bottom lip quiver. It feels like an alien response to me. My psychotherapist tells me I score in the bottom ten percent on the emotion charts they use, in particular my lack of empathy is startling to him. He can’t say exactly how much of that is because of the injury and how much I was like that beforehand, though I know in my own mind that I just don’t feel much in the way of a range of emotions anymore. Certainly I can’t remember the last time I felt truly upset. Bitter and resentful certainly, but not sad.

And the last thing I want to do right now is cry.