Sure. I've never had anyone ask why I want to blog about my experience. I've had plenty ask me if I will talk about it. You are curious. It's a natural instinct.
How many of us live through a trauma like that and are able to confess intimate details of the exact moments leading up to the most formidable juncture of your entire life?
I would take a gander that there are few. I have been asked out of genuine inquisitiveness about specific moments before, during and after the impact. I have never taken offense to any inquiries. The same interest afflicted myself and I was the one who lived it!
The reason we are so interested is without having lived through it, we cannot fathom the thoughts, the emotions or the terror our minds process in those few short seconds.
Granted I can pull up certain moments, but they are only moments. I wouldn't be able to tell the story without the help of others. I had pieces of the puzzle, but I needed the rest filled in so I could fully understand what happened to us.
Think of it like this: you are watching a dramatic, intense movie and you are interrupted consistently. A moment peaks and you rush back to the screen and you are upset and asking questions of why, how, but I don't understand!
Being in control of my life is essential to my existence, but having those black holes in my memory was eating at me. I needed it explained. I needed the whole story. I needed to know that I tried to help my children, that I tried to avoid the collision, how my family was coping while we were being extricated, that I was calm and not a raving lunatic while the rescuers picked away at my car with the 'jaws of life'.
My unfortunate husband was my primary resource and speaking of it made him uncomfortable. To my dismay, I had him recall the same details over again. The plethora of narcotics failed to let me remember our conversations. The poor man deserves his halo, but I think sometimes he wants to take it off and choke me with it!
From the moment I opened my eyes while laying in my hospital bed, I focused on looking forward. Although I wasn't in denial about my predicament, I didn't dwell on it either.
For those of you who are asking why I would want to talk about it, I would say this: it's time for me to heal.
I cry each time I write, but I also purge. Physically I am as good as I am going to get. Now I must focus on something more powerful. My mind, my emotions and moving on. I have many more months of recovering from this last surgery, but once I am well, I will finally be able to stop surviving this "accident" and truly start living my life again.
And if another human being gains encouragement from my trials, well hey, I'll kill two birds with one stone.
LinkedIn
Pinterest
How many of us live through a trauma like that and are able to confess intimate details of the exact moments leading up to the most formidable juncture of your entire life?
I would take a gander that there are few. I have been asked out of genuine inquisitiveness about specific moments before, during and after the impact. I have never taken offense to any inquiries. The same interest afflicted myself and I was the one who lived it!
The reason we are so interested is without having lived through it, we cannot fathom the thoughts, the emotions or the terror our minds process in those few short seconds.
Granted I can pull up certain moments, but they are only moments. I wouldn't be able to tell the story without the help of others. I had pieces of the puzzle, but I needed the rest filled in so I could fully understand what happened to us.
Think of it like this: you are watching a dramatic, intense movie and you are interrupted consistently. A moment peaks and you rush back to the screen and you are upset and asking questions of why, how, but I don't understand!
Being in control of my life is essential to my existence, but having those black holes in my memory was eating at me. I needed it explained. I needed the whole story. I needed to know that I tried to help my children, that I tried to avoid the collision, how my family was coping while we were being extricated, that I was calm and not a raving lunatic while the rescuers picked away at my car with the 'jaws of life'.
My unfortunate husband was my primary resource and speaking of it made him uncomfortable. To my dismay, I had him recall the same details over again. The plethora of narcotics failed to let me remember our conversations. The poor man deserves his halo, but I think sometimes he wants to take it off and choke me with it!
From the moment I opened my eyes while laying in my hospital bed, I focused on looking forward. Although I wasn't in denial about my predicament, I didn't dwell on it either.
For those of you who are asking why I would want to talk about it, I would say this: it's time for me to heal.
I cry each time I write, but I also purge. Physically I am as good as I am going to get. Now I must focus on something more powerful. My mind, my emotions and moving on. I have many more months of recovering from this last surgery, but once I am well, I will finally be able to stop surviving this "accident" and truly start living my life again.And if another human being gains encouragement from my trials, well hey, I'll kill two birds with one stone.
No comments:
Post a Comment