Trauma | Jeeps, and the Shape of a Dream Car
Content Notes
This post discusses:
• car accidents and medical trauma
• chronic illness and disability
• fear responses and recovery after trauma
No graphic details are included, but please take care of yourself while reading.
Welcome Back to the Cryptid’s Den
Come in. You can set things down here.
We know a bit about things that are a little bit heavy sometimes.
This is The Crippled Cryptid.
A quiet corner of the internet where disabled lives are allowed to be complicated, unpretty, and yet still deeply loved. A place where you’re allowed to have hopes and dreams. Even if they seem silly to some people.
I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid. Accidental cyborg.
Sometimes, part-time chronic illness and disability advocate.
Someone who lives in a body with too many opinions and a service dog named Luna who enforces much needed rest with alarming efficiency.
Luna is part guardian, part shadow, part “hey, you don’t get to ignore that.” And when I try, she hits me with her best, “Mumther, we are not debating your poor decision-making skills today.”
As though I go from Mama to Mumther like it’s my full government name when I’m misbehaving. She is a sassy little spirit guide with a self-given medical degree, and like most Best Girl™ service dogs, she runs this place with quiet authority.
On the harder days, though, she rests her chin on my knee like she’s quietly reminding me that slowing down isn’t failure. It’s survival. (Your ghoul should really take some notes.)
M&M is my constant. Player #2. Passenger Princess. The one who holds the world steady when I can’t. She gives 90% when I can only give 10, and I hope I do the same for her in return.
This space exists for the days when survival is the whole task.
For love that shows up even when everything hurts.
For telling the truth without turning it into a performance.
If you’ve been here before, I’m glad you came back.
If this is your first time, you’re welcome here.
The Lunatic Café is open.
On today’s menu: Do I want to drive again? And what a dream car would look like.
The Question That Sat With Me
This is a big one.
After responding to a video asking “what are you hoping for from 2026” where I said another car after the accident that destroyed ours in 2025, someone on TikTok asked me if I even wanted to start driving again after being in two car accidents within three years.
I stared at my phone for almost an hour.
Because the answer felt obvious to me, but complicated to say out loud.
Driving has always been freedom for me. From the moment I got my license, nothing beat getting in the car, finding the right song, and going wherever I needed to go. The quiet hum of the road, rain against the windows, Luna shifting her weight when we stopped at red lights. When something felt too big, I could leave for a little while and come back to it smaller.
Fighting with my mom? I would disappear for an hour.
Even just to the library. My safe place, my sanctuary.
If my ex was being a scumbag?
Goodbye life, hello full tank of gas and the radio.
So, seeing someone suggest I shouldn’t be driving anymore because someone else hit me twice felt… wrong.
Not cruel. Just heavy.
It was something I needed to think about.
Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to think about but something I needed to sit with for a little while.
Especially after my aunt said on the phone that I’ve been having seizures so maybe I “shouldn’t” be driving for a little while. Even though none of my doctors have said that I can’t or shouldn’t.
I trust the people who treat me, and I trust myself to listen when my body tells me it’s time to slow down. It just made me think.
What Happened, Without the Details
I don’t talk about my accidents often, but context matters here.
The first crash was September 19th, 2023 in Chicago. M&M and I were on our way to my first cardiology appointment, the one where I was supposed to finally get answers about POTS. It was raining, a school zone, and someone ran the light and t-boned us.
That accident changed more than transportation.
I had a DRG device implanted in 2021, revised in 2022, and the crash is the reason it was ultimately removed. It also rewired my nervous system. Suddenly tan Hyundai Tucsons became something my body reacted to before my brain could catch up.
(If you want the full story, including more details I’m not sharing here, you can read the original post about that accident here. I’ll leave the post linked.)
The second crash happened in October of 2025, less than two miles from our house, on a day that was supposed to be simple. A day we had big, exciting plans for… The day was meant to be simple. Wake up, go to the food bank, get gas, and then go to China Lights in Milwaukee with the family…
We were turning at a light to get gas when another driver hit us head on.
No graphic details here. I promise.
I have friends who read this blog and they don’t need to be traumatized with those graphic details.
I have family who read this blog and they don’t need those details either.
Most of all, M&M reads this and like me, she lived through it. She doesn’t need to relive it through photographs.
Just this: we walked away alive.
(And if you’re someone who prefers the full context, I wrote about that experience in more detail here. I’ll leave the post linked for you. There’s also more detail on the GoFundMe linked below.)
Do I think the people who hit us are bad? No.
But bad decisions can still change lives permanently.
And that’s the part I’m still learning how to live around.
Those are still scars I’m learning how to live with.
So… Do I Want to Drive Again?
Yes.
Even with the fear.
Even with intersections that reopen wounds every time we pass them.
Yes, I want another car someday.
Because choosing not to try again would feel like losing a piece of myself I’m not ready to give up.
Why Getting Back on the Road Matters
This isn’t just about missing road trips or late-night drives with the right song playing.
Right now, not having reliable transportation shapes almost every decision we make.
Friends and family help when they can, and I love them endlessly for it, but they have lives that don’t revolve around my appointments, my pharmacy pickups, or my bad pain days. Not to mention impromptu hospital trips, or when my body decides that it would be a good idea to factory reset on me without warning. (Newsflash: it is never a good idea.)
Uber isn’t realistic long term either. Around here, one ride runs about $30–$35 each way, and that adds up fast when you’re disabled and already stretching every dollar.
Accessibility is another issue people don’t always think about. Not every Uber can fit my walker or wheelchair, and even though Luna is a fully trained service dog now, we still run into drivers who hesitate, cancel, or discriminate. So, in reality, if you’re carrying around a lot of medical equipment, you’re paying for an Uber XL or an XXL that is built with “party bus” vibes in mind… not hospital transport vibes.
Each ride becomes a gamble instead of a solution.
Some days it makes the world feel smaller than it used to be.
Having a car again would mean autonomy.
It would mean being able to pick up medications that legally can’t be delivered, including pain management prescriptions I cannot go without. It would mean not waiting hours outside a pharmacy for a return ride that may or may not come quickly. Sometimes in the rain or the snow.
It would mean getting back to local food pantries. As of writing this on February 12, we haven’t been since before Christmas because we don’t have a reliable way to get to the pantry or carry our groceries the six miles back home. One way.
It would mean Luna getting her car rides back.
Not only that but it would mean that Luna would get her access to constant, reliable medical care back. (Not to say that she’s going without just because we’re without a car, just that it’s more difficult to get her to and from the care that she needs. Because you know your ghoul prioritizes the Service Dingo at all costs.)
Service dogs like Luna don’t just exist inside four walls. They work in motion, in routine, in the quiet rhythm of everyday errands. A Jeep gives us space for her gear, her harnesses, my mobility aids, and all the little things that make life functional instead of fragile. She belongs wherever I go, and the road has always been part of her world too.
A car isn’t just a vehicle right now.
It’s access. It’s safety. It’s stability.
Why It Has To Be a Jeep (and it has Nothing to do with Aesthetics.)
I’ve owned a few cars over the years.
A 2001 purple PT Cruiser. A black 2011 Nissan Juke. And then, the black 2015 Jeep Renegade Trailhawk that changed everything. And a black 2015 Jeep Cherokee after that. (Because that’s some important information too)
That Renegade kept me safe during the first accident.
The Jeep Cherokee Trailhawk protected us again in 2025 in ways people still struggle to believe.
So, when I say my next car needs to be a Jeep, I’m not saying it out of aesthetics. I’m saying it because twice now, those vehicles held together when everything else fell apart.
If I’m honest, even I fell apart after those accidents.
Both times in different ways but, we can address that in a different post.
Some people see a car.
I see something that gave me another chance to come home to Luna. To Bear when he was still alive. To the Yard Yeti because, it’s always been my place and my job to take care of my little brother. I don’t know what he would do without me or where he would be without me and I don’t want to find out.
Renegade vs Wrangler: The Dream Debate
If I’m being honest, my heart leans toward another Renegade Trailhawk. It fits my body, my needs, and my comfort level. The height feels manageable, and I already know how it moves through snow and on bad roads. I feel comfortable in parking garages in Chicago, and I know how far the nose and tail end stick out.
And before you think that isn’t something important, I’m going to need you to stop. Because that is 100% something that I need to worry about. I go to a lot of doctors and hospital appointments, and a lot of those appointments have me parking in large parking garages which are dangerous if your car or vehicle doesn’t fit just right.
A Wrangler sits in a whole different category altogether. It’s the childhood dream. The folklore energy. The “your ghoul has arrived” vehicle. And that dream stems from both my older brother, Matthew, the Compass, having one and also one of the characters in the book series that I read from the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter novels having one. But it’s also taller, sometimes rougher on chronic pain days, and a little less subtle in the way it demands attention.
However, I can also see taller being a benefit in a way because taller could mean that I also have a better visual of the road, and the things around me especially when it’s raining, or the roads are bad. So that’s one that you could slot in both pros and cons.
Both are trail rated. Both feel safe to me.
And I’ve been in both of them enough to know that they feel like home.
So, the decision isn’t about which one looks cooler.
Because this has nothing to do with aesthetics. I don’t care about that.
It’s about which one meets me where my body is now. And which one can meet my needs as they evolve.
The Emotional Part No One Talks About
The hardest piece is knowing whatever comes next is a car Bear will never ride in.
He loved car rides. The sound of his tags tapping against the window, the way he would claim the middle seat like he owned the entire road. People would roll down their windows just to tell us how handsome he was.
Even the pharmacies around us knew him.
Cars hold memories around here. They become part of the timeline.
They pop up in our Facebook Memories and Google Memories, and we talk about them like they were people. Because they become a part of our story the way that dogs and cats and family do.
Especially when you’re chronically ill, and going to the doctor sometimes becomes a mini-road trip with as far away as some of these specialists are.
Naming them is tradition:
• Purple People Eater (2001 PT Cruiser)
• Roswell (2011 Nissan Juke)
• Nightmare (2015 Jeep Renegade Trailhawk)
• Rauru (2015 Jeep Cherokee Trailhawk)
No new name yet. That’s a superstition I won’t break.
You don’t name a car before you have it. Just like you don’t name a boat before you own it. This is the Crippled Cryptid after all, and we talk about folklore here. So, you had to know that there would be one or two superstitions that we wouldn’t break.
The same way I don’t like broken mirrors.
The same way I respect wishbones.
What I Want vs What I Need
Dream cars are easy to imagine. Living in one with a body like mine means negotiating with reality. After all, I’m pretty sure most of us in the 90’s grew up thinking that they were going to drive a cherry red convertible when they grew up, or that they were going to have a flying car by the time it was 2026. The best thing we have is the Tesla Cybertruck, and even then, that isn’t so great.
I want what the Jetsons had. Until I get that, I won’t stop complaining.
The Wants
- Renegade Trailhawk or Wrangler
- Trail-rated capability for Illinois winters and maybe a road trip or two
- Sun or moon roof
- A car that becomes a sticker scrapbook eventually
The Non-Negotiables
- Backup Camera
- Dash Cam
- Heated Seats & Heated Steering Wheel
- Heated Mirrors
- Full-Size Spare Tire
- Room for Luna and Accessibility Gear
A Small Clarification for Readers
If you’re someone who chooses not to drive again after trauma, that is valid too.
Healing doesn’t have one right path.
For me, reclaiming the driver’s seat feels like reclaiming a part of myself. Because for me, driving has always been part of the journey. It’s always been the part of me that I’ve said that I wouldn’t give up unless the doctors and the hospitals said that I had to and right now they say that I’m okay to drive so I don’t want to stop doing that.
Why I’m Still Dreaming
I keep thinking about Bear and how much he loved car rides.
Whatever comes next won’t be a car he ever gets to see, and that hurts more than I expected. But when we finally get back behind the wheel, the music will be loud, Luna will be riding shotgun with her serious little face, and M&M will be there beside me.
We’ll take a long drive just for him.
Not to outrun anything. Just to remember that movement can still feel like joy, even when grief rides quietly beside us.
We’ll go to his favorite park, we’ll feed the ducks that he used to bark at, and we’ll throw the ball for Luna. Because I think that he would like that.
When you’re chronically ill, hope sometimes looks like scrolling car listings at 2 a.m. It looks like imagining heated seats on a bad pain day. Like picturing Luna settling into the backseat like it’s her office again. Some days I still feel my foot press an imaginary brake when we pass certain intersections, like my body remembers before I do.
Do I want to drive again?
Yes.Not because I’m fearless.
Because I’m still here.
Before You Go
If today was heavy, you didn’t carry it alone.
If today was quiet, I hope it stayed gentle.
If you’re here, you belong here.
Love you. Now say it back.
–Sky
© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability, honesty, and a little chaos.
🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
No pressure to donate. Reading and sharing count.
If you want to support the long, unglamorous work of survival and mobility:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility
Leave a comment