on two wheels
On Tuesday I wrote out this big, long thing about my accident and some problems I'm still having with the whole ordeal. I didn't post it because... it didn't seem like a good idea at the time. A few people saw it, but they're good at keeping their mouths shut. Anyway, I decided that there's no particular reason for me to hide stuff, really. If you don't want to read it, you don't have to. And I've put it behind a cut for convenience's sake.
One Year Ago Today:
I slept really late after a sleepless night on a boat run aground.
I spent the "morning" doing laundry with 33.
We stopped at George's house because he offered to smoke a bowl with us.
George had a 1974 10 speed sitting in his driveway ready for the dump if no one wanted it.
Before sparking up that bowl, I took the bicycle for a spin and it took me for a spin.
I wasn't wearing a helmet.
Though I was not actually unconscious, it was one week before I was really able to comprehend anything, like the fact that I'd been laying in a hospital bed for almost seven days. Walking was near impossible at first since I’d bruised the paroneal nerve in my left leg, which controls the muscles. Noises and lights were torturous after all of my sustained head injuries. Simple conversations were arduous.
Today, for the most part except for a few subtleties that only I notice, I have returned to my normal and healthy physical self.
But I still have some very, very deep wounds, and though I know that there are a few who think they can see them, really no one does except me. The tiny and publicly known inconveniences barely scratch the surface, and I’m not even sure that I really know what lies deep.
I need help and the idea of getting it terrifies me. I’m not sure that I can handle it coming down on me and truly facing it, but I’m not sure that I can live with what I seem to be doing do myself in the dark either.
Every day I am so vividly reminded of what could have been. I am thankful and happy that I am not brain dead, that I did not die, and that I had insurance to cover the $35,000 hospital bill. I am thankful and happy that I have been able to continue with school, I am thankful and happy that I was able to work at Hersam Acorn Newspapers, an opportunity I would not have had if not for that accident. But I cannot shake this overwhelming sorrow and the tears keep filling my eyes, making it harder and harder for me to see anything at all.
There are so many things that absolutely terrify me. And though I've tried and though I very well know, I cannot rationalize myself out of these irrational fears. Walking up and down stairs is an absurd ordeal that provides me with visions of myself very child-like and very dead on the ground. My sister has a new (to her) 2004 BMW Z4 convertible and I can't bring myself to ride in it. I just keep seeing it rolling and rolling and rolling, like an animated loop. Riding in a car with other people in general is difficult for me and I've turned into a very critical passenger. I'd like to go ice skating, or roller blading, or FUCK! for a bicycle ride. I was supposed to go skydiving. I was supposed to not be afraid of living my life.
While I love being in school again, it seems to have awaken much more in me. I was in school at the time of the accident -- what if something like that happens again? Or what if it's something completely different but equally debilitating (Not necessarily physically or even necessarily to me -- what about my family, what if my father suddenly has a heart attack or something like that?) and I am unable to finish school? Is the world out to spite me? Did I do something wrong? Because, please, I am trying so, so hard and finding it difficult to not flail. I need to finish school. If something happened again, I'm not sure that I could go back. I'm not sure that I'd have the strength. I was supposed to be transferred to my graduating school by now.
This past year has made me realize my mortality. I can still feel the scars.
I think I am my own monster.
Not only does all of this make me so despondent and depressed and unreasonably fearful, it makes me angry. It makes me so, so angry. It pisses me off when anyone tries to relate to me or my situation. I find it insulting, even though I know it's not intended that way. I find it diminishing. And I find myself on my high horse thinking, "Yeah, what happened to you, kinda sucked, but I don't remember hearing about you having to go through physical therapy or having to do mental exercises to gain basic abilities, like remembering a conversation from 20 minutes ago. I don't remember hearing about you spending quite a bit of time in the hospital. I don't remember hearing about people thinking that you may never be a functioning adult again." Because all of that and more happened to me. "I don't remember you putting your family through hell when something happened that shouldn't have happened. I don't remember you telling me that you don't remember what happened." I wish so badly that I knew what happened, another angering factor. I have this image of a dark gray truck stuck in my head, but that's it. It could be my imagination.
"When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."
-Paulo Coehlo, an amazingly brilliant Brazilian novelist
My mommy introduced me to his work and he's absolutely fascinating. I recommend him to anyone willing to take their thinking to another level, or those curious about spirituality, or those up for a damn good read, or anything in between. I try so wholeheartedly to believe this statement of his, I do. And there is not a shred of doubt in my mind that had I heard it on September 10, 2005 or September 11, 2005 that I would have supported it with gusto. But if all the universe conspires in helping me to achieve this thing that I so desperately want: to finish school, why was I told by the doctors that I couldn't be in school for at least six months? Was this supposed to be a challenge that I did not face because I listened to what they said, because I know that it would not have worked, because I know that I would've frustrated myself and given up? Where's my conspiracy? What am I missing?
I hate that I bring this stupid thing up so much, I hate that I constantly feel compelled to talk about it. I hate it. I hate it and I can't help it. I try not to, I do try. I try not to dwell, I try not to drag other people through my pain, but sometimes it happens. And for that I am very sorry.
One Year Ago Today:
I slept really late after a sleepless night on a boat run aground.
I spent the "morning" doing laundry with 33.
We stopped at George's house because he offered to smoke a bowl with us.
George had a 1974 10 speed sitting in his driveway ready for the dump if no one wanted it.
Before sparking up that bowl, I took the bicycle for a spin and it took me for a spin.
I wasn't wearing a helmet.
Though I was not actually unconscious, it was one week before I was really able to comprehend anything, like the fact that I'd been laying in a hospital bed for almost seven days. Walking was near impossible at first since I’d bruised the paroneal nerve in my left leg, which controls the muscles. Noises and lights were torturous after all of my sustained head injuries. Simple conversations were arduous.
Today, for the most part except for a few subtleties that only I notice, I have returned to my normal and healthy physical self.
But I still have some very, very deep wounds, and though I know that there are a few who think they can see them, really no one does except me. The tiny and publicly known inconveniences barely scratch the surface, and I’m not even sure that I really know what lies deep.
I need help and the idea of getting it terrifies me. I’m not sure that I can handle it coming down on me and truly facing it, but I’m not sure that I can live with what I seem to be doing do myself in the dark either.
Every day I am so vividly reminded of what could have been. I am thankful and happy that I am not brain dead, that I did not die, and that I had insurance to cover the $35,000 hospital bill. I am thankful and happy that I have been able to continue with school, I am thankful and happy that I was able to work at Hersam Acorn Newspapers, an opportunity I would not have had if not for that accident. But I cannot shake this overwhelming sorrow and the tears keep filling my eyes, making it harder and harder for me to see anything at all.
There are so many things that absolutely terrify me. And though I've tried and though I very well know, I cannot rationalize myself out of these irrational fears. Walking up and down stairs is an absurd ordeal that provides me with visions of myself very child-like and very dead on the ground. My sister has a new (to her) 2004 BMW Z4 convertible and I can't bring myself to ride in it. I just keep seeing it rolling and rolling and rolling, like an animated loop. Riding in a car with other people in general is difficult for me and I've turned into a very critical passenger. I'd like to go ice skating, or roller blading, or FUCK! for a bicycle ride. I was supposed to go skydiving. I was supposed to not be afraid of living my life.
While I love being in school again, it seems to have awaken much more in me. I was in school at the time of the accident -- what if something like that happens again? Or what if it's something completely different but equally debilitating (Not necessarily physically or even necessarily to me -- what about my family, what if my father suddenly has a heart attack or something like that?) and I am unable to finish school? Is the world out to spite me? Did I do something wrong? Because, please, I am trying so, so hard and finding it difficult to not flail. I need to finish school. If something happened again, I'm not sure that I could go back. I'm not sure that I'd have the strength. I was supposed to be transferred to my graduating school by now.
This past year has made me realize my mortality. I can still feel the scars.
I think I am my own monster.
Not only does all of this make me so despondent and depressed and unreasonably fearful, it makes me angry. It makes me so, so angry. It pisses me off when anyone tries to relate to me or my situation. I find it insulting, even though I know it's not intended that way. I find it diminishing. And I find myself on my high horse thinking, "Yeah, what happened to you, kinda sucked, but I don't remember hearing about you having to go through physical therapy or having to do mental exercises to gain basic abilities, like remembering a conversation from 20 minutes ago. I don't remember hearing about you spending quite a bit of time in the hospital. I don't remember hearing about people thinking that you may never be a functioning adult again." Because all of that and more happened to me. "I don't remember you putting your family through hell when something happened that shouldn't have happened. I don't remember you telling me that you don't remember what happened." I wish so badly that I knew what happened, another angering factor. I have this image of a dark gray truck stuck in my head, but that's it. It could be my imagination.
"When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."
-Paulo Coehlo, an amazingly brilliant Brazilian novelist
My mommy introduced me to his work and he's absolutely fascinating. I recommend him to anyone willing to take their thinking to another level, or those curious about spirituality, or those up for a damn good read, or anything in between. I try so wholeheartedly to believe this statement of his, I do. And there is not a shred of doubt in my mind that had I heard it on September 10, 2005 or September 11, 2005 that I would have supported it with gusto. But if all the universe conspires in helping me to achieve this thing that I so desperately want: to finish school, why was I told by the doctors that I couldn't be in school for at least six months? Was this supposed to be a challenge that I did not face because I listened to what they said, because I know that it would not have worked, because I know that I would've frustrated myself and given up? Where's my conspiracy? What am I missing?
I hate that I bring this stupid thing up so much, I hate that I constantly feel compelled to talk about it. I hate it. I hate it and I can't help it. I try not to, I do try. I try not to dwell, I try not to drag other people through my pain, but sometimes it happens. And for that I am very sorry.