Part 1 | The wounds no one sees. Hitting rock bottom.

The body heals first; the mind heals, maybe.

I don’t remember writing it but a week after the crash, I wrote a blog. How to survive, after you survived a car/bike crash : week 1 . Here is the journey into and out of the darkness. It is a journey that I have kept very private. I hope sharing this journey helps others understand that oftentimes the worst pain is on the inside and I hope it gives courage to those living in the darkness to keep fighting for brighter days.

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I mostly lie in bed staring at the wall but I am healing. I am smiling. I am walking. I am able to tolerate light, noises, people. I somehow drove a car. I mopped the floor. I can pedal a bike. I’m doing great. They think I’m doing great.

24 hours before the crash

August 2016

August 2016

In the first few weeks and even months I make a lot of progress. My family and friends see that I am getting back to myself. I am so positive. Every week I set a new goal and I achieve it. I am so grateful and appreciative of my life. I am finding happiness. I celebrate the little things in life. The crash is old news now.

I start to regress.

When I ride I imagine myself dying. I see a cyclist and I imagine them dying. Every car I see is going to kill me. Everything is going to kill me. A tragedy is around every corner. I fear everything.The house is going to burn down and Luna is inside. I don’t trust that the green light is actually green.

I’m not sleeping anymore. I need a job. My bank account is shrinking. The medical bills fill my mailbox. I don’t feel any validation. I feel like a failure. What is the meaning to my life? I want to run from everything that defines me.

I can pedal a bike and hike. I post happy pictures on social media. You think that I am doing well.

My brain hurts. I cry. I can’t focus. I can’t sleep. I can’t calm down. I’m so overwhelmed. I’m shaking. I feel stupid. I’m so stupid. I can’t think clearly. I am alone in this. I am empty. I am scared.

At the end of August a road trip to Ohio is abandoned because I can’t handle being in the car. The anxiety is unbearable. What is wrong with me?

On my bike, a car turns in front of me and I make contact with it. A phone call later and Johnathan is driving twenty-some hours straight from Ohio to tell me that I will be okay.

I am not okay. What is wrong with me? Why I am being so weak?

I am forgetful. I am confused. I am not the type of person who makes mistakes. I never forget anything. I lie awake at night. My mind moving so fast searching for answers. I begin googling trying to understand what is wrong with me.

I trust no one. I am hypersensitive. No one understands. I am letting my friendships fall apart. I am isolating myself. Those who care about me seem to only make it worse. I feel like I am letting my loved ones down. I feel so stretched thin. I am pouring all of myself into everyone and everything. It is not enough. Why can’t they be understanding? I want to run. Instead, I lie in bed; the endless throbbing of my leg serving as a reminder that I have to fight through the pain.

In November, I pack a bag and spend a week hiking 14ers with Johnathan. We sleep in the car. We hike all day. There is little cell service. I avoid people. I avoid my life. I avoid the fear, the pain and the emptiness. I am exhausted but for the first time since July 29th, I am calm and I feel a sense on contentment with my life. I don’t want to return to society. I don’t want to go home. I can’t go back to my life. The life that is suffocating me.

In December, I am riding my bike towards Estes Park. I think about packing a bag and going on a hike. The kind of hike where you don’t come back for a year. One day in December I realize I hadn’t heard from my mom in several hours. It’s been a busy day and I squeezed in a ride before physical therapy. I talk to my dad on my drive to therapy. My mom and Duke have been hit by a car and are badly injured. There is no strength in my dad’s voice. What little comfort and safety I felt in my life is destroyed. I cannot find the words to capture the feelings I had that night. The pain I’ve been feeling for months is a pain I want no one I love to ever feel. I want to take away my mom’s pain. I can’t. Why is life so cruel? The anger is deafening.

A few weeks after I return from Ohio I’m descending Lee Hill and I don’t care how fast I go. I don’t care about the outcome. My behavior is changing from overly cautious to what’s-the-point-in-caring. I am empty.

I’ve waited months for my appointment at the Brain and Behavior clinic. I fall apart explaining what has happened since July 29, 2016. I fall apart explaining that I don’t want to accept a ‘dumber’ version of myself. I used to be so smart. I fall apart explaining that I don’t know how to fix myself and that I fear I will never be the person I used to be. I am broken. She refers me to trauma therapy. Part II.