Q&A with Victoria Griffin, Creator of Flooded: A Creative Anthology of Brain Injuries

Goooooooooooood morning world!!

I’d like to congratulate you all first: you’ve been so well-behaved that I decided to post a special Tuesday event rather than Monday and Wednesday’s standard fare. Hurray! On a second note, buckle yourselves in, grab some popcorn and get excited about what you’re about to read. For those of you who may have missed me going on (and on, and on) about it, I connected with an amazing writer and editor, Victoria Griffin, on Twitter earlier this year and have had the privilege of getting involved with her project: Flooded (the kickstarter link can be found here).

Since becoming a Flooded ambassador, I’ve seen the painstaking developmental process that Victoria has gone through to put this concept together. I’ve been awestruck at the challenges she has undergone and the determined and inspirational way she has approached both her recovery and the creation of an idea designed to benefit others who have experienced similar struggles. Having read all of that, you probably won’t be surprised then to hear that when I had the opportunity to host her for a Q&A on my blog, I jumped at the chance (okay, okay: I was really late in nominating myself, but I struggle with organisation sometimes). So I’m pretty pumped to dish out some sweet questions (courtesy of yours truly) and Victoria’s answers to give you all some insight into Flooded.

What is Flooded? Flooded will be a creative anthology of fiction and creative nonfiction devoted to brain injuries. It will be approximately 80,000 words and will include work of all styles and genres. The anthology is not merely meant to showcase memoirs or personal stories—though they will undoubtedly play a role. Brain injuries take many forms and are often difficult to describe. That’s why the anthology will use multiple genres to explore the experience of brain injuries and concussions, ultimately unifying to create an expansive, truthful representation of  brain injuries.  

What inspired the anthology? In January of this year, I took a hit to the head during softball practice. I immediately felt drunk, but the next morning I had difficulty speaking and walking. My trainer assured me the symptoms would be gone within two weeks, after which the doctor assured me they would be gone within three. After four months, two ER visits, a drug overdose (caused by a neurologist who was supposed to help me), and a desperate struggle to graduate without being able to read or perform basic, everyday functions, I finally recovered. On the surface, the concussion cost me my senior season of softball and four months of my life. But in reality, it left scars so deep, they are difficult to describe—which is what prompted me to write about the experience. When I realized there was no publication solely dedicated to brain injuries, I began to truly consider how concussion awareness  is approached—with facts and statistics—and how inadequate that is. 

What was it like to be concussed? A brain injury is difficult to describe. I feel like I could write a thousand pages and never capture the experience. I can tell you that my mom said I sounded like a four-year-old, and my dad said my eyes were always dull and lifeless. I don’t remember the first two weeks at all, and after that I would “lose” gradually decreasing sections of time—a few days at first, then a day, then hours, and eventually minutes. When I finally gained enough strength to walk around the apartment, I would get stuck on the stairs and have to call for help. A sound as small as footsteps would send me into sensory overload attacks—which I came to call flooding—during which I would involuntarily curl into a ball and be unable to move, speak, or breathe. Have you ever been near to drowning? Each time an attack happened, I felt like I was drowning. Getting air was more difficult than pressing through the heaviest backsquat I’ve ever attempted. And each attack lasted hours. Still, all I’ve really described is the physical. Can I explain to you what it feels like to lose your mental capabilities? To lose your language? To not be able to understand words spoken to you? To feel paranoia so strong you can’t look anyone in the eye? To lose your emotions, so that all you feel are the artificial sadness and fear induced by the injury and medication? 

Why fiction and creative nonfiction? As I said, I can’t explain to you what it was like to have a concussion, not like this. I can’t tell you what it was like, but I can show you. I can write a story that makes you feel the fear of being alone when a flooding attack happens and wondering if you’ll get help before you stop breathing. I can write a story that makes you feel the overwhelming depression of losing the entirety of your identity. I can write a story that makes you laugh at the silliness of staring at a light for ten minutes because you believed it wasn’t there. By compiling an anthology of fiction and creative nonfiction, we can use multiple genres, styles, and tones to truly convey the experience of a brain injury. Because it’s not what it looks like or how many people it happens to that matters. It’s how it feels and how it impacts the lives of human beings. Anton Chekhov is attributed with saying, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” Simply telling people about concussions and brain injuries is not sufficient to nurture awareness and understanding. We need to show them. 

What could someone who has never experienced a brain injury gain from reading Flooded? The anthology is not simply for survivors. While it will certainly be an outlet for them to express their personal realities, they are actually the group of people who (as readers) need the anthology the least. When I realized I was concussed, my first reaction was to try to hide it because I knew I would be benched. What if I had read an anthology like Flooded? What if I had known what could happen to me? I was lucky. I walked away from my brain injury with no permanent damage, and my poor decision early on did not negatively affect the outcome. But it could have. And for many, it does. Reading an anthology like Flooded may help others to make better decisions in such a situation. 

Since being concussed, have you had much interaction with people who’ve had a similar experience to your own? Yes, mostly online. Especially through my interactions involving Flooded, I have met people who have experienced concussions similar to mine—and many who have endured far worse. While my experience was far beyond what is “standard” for a concussion, it was nowhere near as bad as it gets. I’ve met people who battle these symptoms for the rest of their lives. I’ve met family members of people who have died during those battles.

Have they expressed interest in having access to a publication like Flooded, and what do they believe it would give them? Yes! People who have survived severe concussions and brain injuries find it difficult to explain the experience to others. It is so unlike anything else—there is no reference point with which to help people understand. Especially for victims of an injury that strips you of your ability to communicate, that inability to express experiences is incredibly frustrating and isolating. That is a large part of why concussion/TBI victims seek each other out. An anthology like Flooded would eliminate that communication barrier by allowing readers who have not experienced a concussion or brain injury to slip inside the skin of someone who has.

Prior to your concussion, had you previously had any experience with other people who’d suffered brain injuries? The only experience I had was with basic concussions sustained during athletics. Someone takes a hit to the head or whiplash. They’re out for one to two weeks, go through return to play, and are back on the field. I thought that was all it was. I had never heard of concussions or brain injuries being anything more.

Has your understanding and perception of these individuals changed? Absolutely. I was completely wrong, and that misconception and lack of awareness could very well have cost me a lot more than my softball career. I finished practice and was ridiculously lucky to not fall or take another hit to the head. If I had known what a brain injury can really look like, I never would have done that. As I said, people fight symptoms their entire lives. They wake up in the morning and struggle to choose an outfit, to walk outside, to interact with other human beings. Every single second is a battle, and those people are strong in the realest possible way. To battle and fight through an injury that makes you feel weak, helpless, lesser than—and to do it with no end in sight… I’m not talking about four months, like mine. I’m talking about years, about this becoming the norm. It hurts me to know that the iron strength of these people is unknown to most, that people look at them and see someone who can’t walk straight or speak normally. If people could see their real stories, they would be moved and inspired beyond words.

Do you see this having any value for military personnel or people in high risk safety roles, who might have increased likelihood of suffering brain injuries? Definitely. People often want to “push through” instead of resting after sustaining a brain injury, which is the only way to keep your brain safe. I can see this being extremely difficult for military personnel, who want to be working, being useful—not sitting in sensory confinement and practicing “brain rest.” Someone in a high-risk occupation may have similar concerns when a paycheck is involved. But people need to know that the risk is not worth the reward. They need to know that a brain injury is not something you can “tough out” and to be aware of what its real consequences are. A creative anthology is the perfect avenue for creating that awareness.

Do you think there’s an overemphasis on brain injuries in sport as opposed to brain injuries occurring within the general population? I don’t think it’s possible to overemphasize concussion safety in athletics. Obviously, athletes are at a higher risk of sustaining a brain injury, and the current level of awareness is insufficient to say the least. But I certainly believe that awareness should in no way be confined to an athletic context. There are so many ways to sustain a brain injury, and most of the survivors I’ve met were injured outside of athletics. A fall. A car wreck. It doesn’t take being hit by a three-hundred-pound guy to sustain a brain injury. Any hit at the wrong time could be the one that results in a concussion. And any concussion could be the one that doesn’t heal. Once that happens, it’s too late to learn much of anything. People—not just athletes—need to be aware of what concussions and brain injuries can really do, what they really feel like. You never know when you, or someone you love, might take the wrong hit at the wrong time.

If you’re interested in learning more, have a brain injury, or know someone with a brain injury, please check out Brain Injury Australia, the CDC, or traumaticbraininjury.com: the statics about the prevalence and effects of brain injuries are sobering, and reinforce the fact that any of us could suffer a brain injury at any time. If such an incident should ever happen to me, I hope I’d have a copy of Flooded nearby to help me through it.

I’d like to take this opportunity to sincerely thank Tori for her tireless efforts in conceptualising and promoting Flooded, as well as her work to raise awareness of brain injuries and their ramifications, and for showing up here today and answering these questions so that we can hopefully continue to make people aware of this awesome project. If you’d like to help us get this off the ground, please spread the word, and head over and check out the Kickstarter: we have 16 days to make this a reality!

— Ana.