ontheedgeofeverything

I know I’ve mentioned several times here on my blog my history of mental health issues – anxiety, depression, OCPD, PTSD and eating disorders, to name a few. What I am uncertain of, however, is if I’ve gone into much detail regarding what prompted my onslaught of mental illness, and while I won’t write you a book, I’ll do my best to give you an idea.

Back in October of 2011, my Oma, Opa and I were on our way to Niagara Falls to have Thanksgiving dinner with my Aunt, Uncle and cousins. My Opa was in a rush, and not even ten minutes into the trip, my Opa’s car was absolutely wrecked. He pulled out at a very busy intersection to turn left and we were smoked by a pickup truck, on the driver side, going over 80 km/hour. My Opa’s piece of shit tin car was quite literally catapulted across the intersection, and the car was rocking so intensely I still cannot fathom how it didn’t roll. I was swinging around so violently in the back that my hair, which was tied up, came loose. We ended up sliding down into a deep ditch quite a ways from where the collision occurred, and to be entirely transparent with all of you, I thought both my grandparents were dead based on the view I had of them from the back middle seat. My Oma was hunched over, unconscious and trembling, and my Opa was barely conscious.

I can see all of this as plain as day, all these years later.

Thanks to Hollywood movies and the bizarre sound the car was making, I was certain it was going to explode, so I literally began sprinting down a busy highway to get as far away from the car as I could. I then, in what I can only describe as a complete and utter shitshow of emotion, insanity and confusion, realized I had left my Blackberry Curve (yes, this was a while ago) in the car. I needed to call 911 and my parents, so I sprinted back, and by this time, people had stopped and paramedics had been called.

There was a woman with my Oma and police officers with my Opa; my parents arrived and my dad brought me, after my half-marathon, over to an officer to let him know I, too, was in the car. The entire situation was fucking nuts, looking back, and when the officer saw me and my lack of injuries compared to my grandparents, I thought his jaw was going to unhinge entirely.

My Opa broke a vertebrate in his neck and several ribs. I had contusions and a bruised spleen from the seatbelt. My Oma broke two vertebrates in her neck, broke all of her ribs on one side and fractured them all on the other, broke her pelvis, had a collapsed lung, severe nerve damage and a broken leg with the bone poking through her skin.

This accident occurred when my Oma and Opa were in their 80s, believe it or not, and their remaining quality of life took a huge hit because of their injuries.

The months after the accident are honestly a blur. I was not able to drive for I think around six months because I was absolutely fucking terrified of vehicles and roadways, and I still, over ten years later, avoid highways whenever possible. The accident is also the reason I drive, and will always drive, a large truck, and I prefer to drive myself as opposed to riding passenger. The accident is also what brought forth all of my mental health issues in full swing.

I’ve come a long way in terms of coping with this trauma, but how we deal with trauma is entirely subjective, and there is no instruction manual on the matter. It might take you weeks, or it might take you years, but I promise your trauma will be alleviated with time, patience and understanding of yourself.

If I can get back in a vehicle and drive, so can you.

Photo by Michael Jin on Unsplash