[Trigger Warning: PTSD, CPTSD, Medical Trauma, Car Accident, Strong Language, and one really fucking stupid suicide adjacent joke.]
Today, I am toxic.
There’s no other way to put it, and if I had a therapist, I’m pretty sure, I’d get mad credit for being able to point that out on my own. I am volatile, and even I don’t want to be around myself, and I feel bad for the people in my life who don’t get much of a choice. If I had my way, I would not have left my bed, my house, nor would I be doing it again. Yet, as I’m sure we all know, adulting waits for no one, as they say.
Exactly a year ago today, A and I were on our way to Chicago for my electrophysiology and cardiology appointments, where I was going to get strapped to a turntable and get diagnosed with POTS “officially.” Instead, I wound up getting t-boned when someone ran a redlight. I can’t give you too many details on that but, what I can tell you is that both of us still carry pain, trauma, and nightmares from that day, including an irrational fear of any Hyundai Tucson that crosses our path. PTSD is fucking weird, man.
Have you ever both wanted to get out of your house, and get away because being inside feels suffocating but, the thought of getting in the car and sitting at a stoplight and seeing the make and model of the car that traumatized you makes you want to ctrl+alt+del yourself? Because I’m about there…
No amount of clicking my heels three times, or any version of “There’s no place like home.” No little green man behind the curtain, or Great and Powerful Oz, or any other deity, manmade or otherwise is going to come and make the next 12 and a half hours of my life any easier, until September 19th is officially over. This is just another one of those days on the calendar that I’m going to have to blacklist, like August 11th, and March 15th, and June 13th, and all of the other anniversaries of deaths in my family.
Some people may find that a little dramatic, and ask well, who died? The car? The Jeep Renegade? You’re alive? A is alive. Right? Well, yeah, physically, the two of us are still here. But integral pieces of us died that day. My grandfather, Richard Lambert started teaching me to drive our stick shift, ride-on tractor in the backyard when I was 5 or 6-years old. My mom, though illegal, had to have me learn how to drive her to the hospital at 13-years old during a medical emergency when neither of us had access to a working cellphone. Most teenagers get their license at fifteen, and then I got my own car at 18, and so, imagine, when at the time of the accident I was 28-years old, I’d been driving for a while- I had a fair bit of confidence behind the wheel. I knew to look both ways despite having the green light to go, and then both ways again because as my mother used to say when she was alive, “it isn’t you I don’t trust on the roads, it’s everyone else around you.” I did that but, still, he managed to come out of absolute nowhere.
Still, he managed to steal my sense of confidence in myself. My sense of belief in myself. My ability to feel safe in a car, whether it’s me behind the wheel, or I’m being chauffeured by an Uber, a taxi, or my eldest brother, etc. and I’ve now been given an irrational fear of any Hyundai that I see on the road. Moreso, and especially when it is Hyundai Tucson, like the one that hit me going far too fast. Driving never used to give me anxiety before- it used to be one of my absolute favorite things in the entire world. It was one of the only places where, if I was feeling angry or upset, I could grab my keys, get in the car, throw on my music, and find an old back road somewhere, and sing my heart out until I felt better but, now I dread looking at my new car.
The car that it took me 8-months to put together the funds for after the accident.
The American justice system may be flawed but, so is all of the world’s justice systems. We all need to work on shit but, I’m not here to get political.
My life now isn’t what it used to be before, if it wasn’t bad enough a year ago that I was grieving my grandma, now, I have to grieve a part of me that I will never get back. And if I do, it might very well take another 20+ years to get there. Stay off your fucking phones if you’re driving, keep your eyes on the road, pay attention to signs, and keep your speed down. I don’t care if Karen is up your ass and getting pissy behind you, that’s what the cops are out there for. Let them do their jobs. Let’s let everybody get where they’re going safely, and home to their families in one piece.
If you’re out on the roads today, drive safe.
Stay Spooky
-Sky
𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔪𝔞𝔫
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