Five and a half weeks ago, my life stopped in its tracks again. It was a normal, beautiful spring Tuesday. Two of my favorite humans got engaged, I got in a great workout at the gym, and I was headed to celebrate my love for my body in the best way possible, a delicious meal.
The light turned green for me to turn into the parking lot of my favorite local smoothie and sandwich cafe and the two cars in front of me went. As I followed, turning my wheel, I caught a glimpse of green out of the corner of my eye.
I remember thinking “my mom is going to kill me” just as my entire world, including my mid size SUV was rocked to its core. As I spun, BOOM, another crash and I was jolted again.
Panic flooded my body as I realized that it must’ve been a car accident. Looking back, I realize it was safest to stay in the car, but in my fearful state of mind, I attempted to flee the intersection to avoid another collision. As I opened my car door and swung my foot out to run, I face planted onto the cement.
Coughing and crying, I attempted to pull myself up to the seated position and tell those attempting to pull me from the debris that I had a brain injury and that they needed to call 911 immediately.
Disoriented, I decided I needed my phone, and crawled back into the smoking heap of metal that was once my car. As I located my glasses and phone (both had been launched across the car in the accident) I called my friend, who was still waiting at the smoothie cafe for me.
I was forced into an ambulance and rushed to the hospital.
Since that day, March 7th, 2017, my life has been a blur. I live with constant dizziness, nausea, disorientation, and grogginess. My heart races and my palms get clammy for no reason. I live in a compression sleeve due to chemical burns from the air bags. Sleep has become a nonexistent concept.
Yet, somehow, I have still told myself that I was okay. I told myself I would beat this, and that I would come out on top.
About a week ago, my anger gave way to distress and anguish. Pain washes over me when I think of what the last five weeks “would’ve been” if the other driver had noted her red light and cared about my life enough to hit the breaks.
On day three of feeling like there was a hole in my chest, I got news that rocked my world. My therapist, my anchor, my rock, the one person in this world who understands me has to leave.
Before she even told me, I realized what was happening. She said we had something to discuss, and that I wasn’t going to like it and I knew.
I told her that I was happy for her, I want the best for her, and I believe that this move and this next step in life will be that for her, but I also said that I would miss her.
She has been with me since my rock bottom. The fifth therapist we tried, she was the first and only one that clicked with me, understood me, and didn’t back down when I challenged her.
She has seen me through suicidal urges and behaviors, self harm, anorexia, and countless self destructive behaviors.
I knew, as soon as she said she had to go, that my life was going to drastically change. That, until I learn to trust someone new, I will live with that hole in my heart, weighed down by the burdens of the words I don’t have the strength to say to anyone but her.
So now, the girl in recovery is also the girl who is not okay again. But, I am not exclusively those things. I am also Victoria, and, because of that, I know I will find a way to keep going.
This is no minor setback. This accident has hit the reset button on many of my struggles, and I was barely hanging on. Now, as my therapist moves on, I am terrified of what I will find to hold on to. But I know I will find something, and that I will be okay, because I always find a way.