In the second and final interview for my current work position the question of "What is your biggest fault or flaw?" was posed. Without hesitation, and without my filter working, I replied "I'm a non-sympathetic person." It's true, I am not sympathetic. The emotion of anger has long replaced the emotion of sympathy in my life. It sounds harsh, and it is, but when I say I'm non-sympathetic, it takes a lot for me to even consider sympathy.
I had a great day planned, my afternoon class was cancelled and I took the day off from my part-time job at the campus library to shoot rolls of film. It was a quintessential fall day in Carbondale, Illinois. I had gotten up, run 2.2 miles, came back to my dorm and prepared for my day. I put on typical college student wardrobe with jeans, gym shoes, a long sleeved thermal shirt, a T-shirt over, and threw on a zip up hoodie. I had my Lucky Charms for breakfast in the dining hall and headed out to my 9am class.
I never made it to class.
I was in the crosswalk, crossing Lincoln Drive and the sun was in his eyes. I was hit by a car that was speeding. I don't remember the accident, I only know what witnesses said and what was in the Police Report. I was struck on the left side, I flew up onto the hood, into the windshield, back onto the hood, through the windshield head first, back out of the windshield. I flew 30 feet, hit the ground, rolled. I remember waking up in the street surrounded by people and being asked my name. I could only answer my ID was in my bag which someone had turned into a pillow to support my head.
I heard the sirens, I knew they were for me. I was strategically placed in a neck brace and on a backboard, gently placed in the ambulance. The ride seemed to take forever. I felt sick. I told the EMT with me that I was going to be sick, he had to roll the backboard so I could throw up. That was the last time I ever ate Lucky Charms.
The rest of the day is much of a blur from dorm friends visiting me in the hospital, to talking to relatives on the phone, to waiting the six very long hours for my family to get to me. A nurse pulled glass out of my face with tweezers, I was wheeled for dozens of tests. I refused to eat. I spent time in ICU. I was mangled, bruised, broken, and the unknown lied within my suffering a Traumatic Brain Injury.
Much of the next days/weeks/months/year of my life is a blur. I suffered from short term memory loss and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Once I started to retain facts and figures, or basically function, I grew angry. Anger ruled my life. I was bitter. I am bitter. There's no was, I AM bitter still. I AM angry still. The driver who hit me didn't have insurance at the time, he received a ticket for $75 for failure to yield to a pedestrian and in court it was proved that it was his third offense of no insurance so he had to pay the maximum fine of $900. I've had ten surgeries and know there are still more in my future. I live with blurry memories and debilitating head pain, and none of that will ever change.
When I say I'm still bitter and angry I am, I may always be. For far too long I let the anger control me, I allowed myself to use it as a crutch, and as an excuse. I never thought to embrace that I lived, that after my 10 surgeries I am held together by screws, and that I could be better than the version of me before my accident … the version of me I don't remember.
I had a great day planned, my afternoon class was cancelled and I took the day off from my part-time job at the campus library to shoot rolls of film. It was a quintessential fall day in Carbondale, Illinois. I had gotten up, run 2.2 miles, came back to my dorm and prepared for my day. I put on typical college student wardrobe with jeans, gym shoes, a long sleeved thermal shirt, a T-shirt over, and threw on a zip up hoodie. I had my Lucky Charms for breakfast in the dining hall and headed out to my 9am class.
I never made it to class.
I was in the crosswalk, crossing Lincoln Drive and the sun was in his eyes. I was hit by a car that was speeding. I don't remember the accident, I only know what witnesses said and what was in the Police Report. I was struck on the left side, I flew up onto the hood, into the windshield, back onto the hood, through the windshield head first, back out of the windshield. I flew 30 feet, hit the ground, rolled. I remember waking up in the street surrounded by people and being asked my name. I could only answer my ID was in my bag which someone had turned into a pillow to support my head.
I heard the sirens, I knew they were for me. I was strategically placed in a neck brace and on a backboard, gently placed in the ambulance. The ride seemed to take forever. I felt sick. I told the EMT with me that I was going to be sick, he had to roll the backboard so I could throw up. That was the last time I ever ate Lucky Charms.
The rest of the day is much of a blur from dorm friends visiting me in the hospital, to talking to relatives on the phone, to waiting the six very long hours for my family to get to me. A nurse pulled glass out of my face with tweezers, I was wheeled for dozens of tests. I refused to eat. I spent time in ICU. I was mangled, bruised, broken, and the unknown lied within my suffering a Traumatic Brain Injury.
Much of the next days/weeks/months/year of my life is a blur. I suffered from short term memory loss and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Once I started to retain facts and figures, or basically function, I grew angry. Anger ruled my life. I was bitter. I am bitter. There's no was, I AM bitter still. I AM angry still. The driver who hit me didn't have insurance at the time, he received a ticket for $75 for failure to yield to a pedestrian and in court it was proved that it was his third offense of no insurance so he had to pay the maximum fine of $900. I've had ten surgeries and know there are still more in my future. I live with blurry memories and debilitating head pain, and none of that will ever change.
When I say I'm still bitter and angry I am, I may always be. For far too long I let the anger control me, I allowed myself to use it as a crutch, and as an excuse. I never thought to embrace that I lived, that after my 10 surgeries I am held together by screws, and that I could be better than the version of me before my accident … the version of me I don't remember.
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