Writing Through Recovery: How My Blog Found Me When I Couldn't Find Myself By Dusty Wentworth

I didn’t wake gently. I woke confused.  

After nearly four weeks unconscious, the doctors didn’t expect me to survive. But I did.

I remember a strange sound—low, soft, like a cow’s distant moo.  

When I opened my eyes, I was convinced I’d woken up in a barn-turned-hospital during the American Civil War.  

The smell, the air, the eerie stillness—it all felt real.

Then the vision faded.  

A nurse was beside my bed. I couldn’t quite hear her—my hearing had been severely damaged, and everything felt distant, tilted.  

But I was awake.  

Still here.  

And even though I didn’t know where I was, something deep inside whispered: start something.

🏥 How My Journal Became My Voice

It began as a tool.  

An occupational therapist suggested keeping a journal—to help me track the moments, emotions, and memories I feared might slip away.

With help from a healthcare assistant, I downloaded the Diarium app to my phone.  

It let me:

- Speak entries aloud when typing was too painful  

- Attach photos to anchor events in time  

- Record thoughts, conversations, and emotional fragments that felt scattered

In those early days, it wasn’t about storytelling. It was about existence.  

Every entry was a lifeline.  

Every word said: I’m still here.

✍️ Writing Without a Map

This blog didn’t begin with vision—it began with instinct.

Some days, I’d write about something I’d seen or read.  

Other times it was a conversation that sparked reflection.  

Often, it was just emotion—raw, messy, demanding to be named.

There’s no content calendar.  

No mission.  

I follow what I feel.

And somehow, people began to listen.  

If a single post makes someone feel less alone, less confused, more understood—then it was worth every shaky word.

💬 Why It’s a Struggle (and Why I Refuse to Quit)

Writing isn’t easy.

I live with:

- Brain damage  

- Cognitive impairment  

- Memory loss  

- Muscle spasms  

- Chronic pain  

- Tremors and seizures  

- Fatigue and dexterity issues

Some days, words come slow.  

Fingers don’t work.  

Thoughts don’t line up.  

Frustration becomes the background noise.

But writing keeps me anchored.  

Not to prove anything. Just to speak.  

Because silence feels like fading—and I won’t fade.

🔍 What Is This Blog, Really?

It’s not a diary.  

Not journalism.  

Not therapy.

It’s a reclaimed voice.  

A space to confront masculinity, identity, recovery, and the strange weight of surviving something most people don’t see.

This blog is my mirror—cracked, honest, still standing.

🖋️ I didn’t plan this. But I lived it.  

If my words offer anything to you—a moment, a comfort, a shared feeling—then maybe this blog is more than survival. Maybe it’s connection. And that’s enough.

#Dustywentworth 

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