WHY AM I HERE-- A Loaded Question

Most people have crazy questions after a major trauma or near death experience.  I think the most common thought of wonder is, “Why the hell did I survive?”  Then there’s this period of time- and that period of time may never end- where the survivor is baffled by the survival of an incident that kills most people who experience it. I’m no different.  I don’t even know if I can say that that “period of time” has ended for me, or that I’ve figured anything out over the 10 years since my survival of such a terrible accident my family was repeatedly told to make their peace and say goodbyes.

It’s so cliche, but afterward, as is normal, everyone kept saying, “You’re here for a reason!”  There’s a lot of pressure in that statement, especially considering I couldn’t walk, talk, swallow, think straight, or remember what had happened 5 minutes ago. Hearing that phrase over and over, I kept thinking, “I’m supposed to contribute something amazing to the world I apparently fought really fucking hard to stay in.  Eventually, as the tubes came out of my throat and I regained the ability to speak, I found myself constantly repeating this ridiculous sentiment: “I’m here for a reason!” Then people started asking me what that reason was.  Shit!  How the hell do I know? I was miserable– horrific pain, a tube hanging out of my stomach because I couldn’t swallow, eyes crossed so bad I saw to the left with my right eye and the right with my left eye and nothing straight ahead, I was using a wheelchair or walker, and was so doped up I barely knew my name. Finally, someone said to me, “You’re not here to do for others, you’re here to finally live your life. What do you want to do?” Now, not just, “shit!” But, “Holy SHIT!” What does that mean? Ten years later I’m still asking myself that question. It’s a lot of pressure.

blah blah blah. Everything happens for a reason.  Blah blah blah

Three days before my accident I had a loaded gun in my mouth.  All of a sudden, I’m inspiring and strong and determined, in the eyes of others. And that’s a lot of pressure, too.  Overwhelming to someone who has no idea what the future will look like: Will I ever be able to eat a steak again?  Will I look this hideous forever? Will I ever be able to smile a genuine smile? Will I ever be able to breathe without excruciating pain?  Will I ever be able to think clearly with all these meds? I think it was seeing my entire extended family rallied around me that made me pretend I wanted to live. I found myself uncharacteristicly busting my ass in my 3x-a-day physical therapies — to the point my grandma asked the therapists if they were sure I didn’t have more brain damage than they said because this was not her granddaughter pushing her limits.  People would say that my desire to live saved my life.  BULLSHIT!!!  It took me a long time to admit I had a gun in my mouth just days before my skull separated from my spine and I was moved and intubated so many times it should have killed me each time.  There was no reason for me to fight, not in my little mind at the time. I was miserable.  I hated myself. I was desolate, empty, alone, scared, lost, an addict…. DONE. Stick a fork in me. I had suffered from bipolar and suicide ideation most of my life, since the age of 12, if not earlier. I made terrible decisions with no forethought. I didn’t understand this life or my position in it. I hurt everyone who loved me, repeatedly. So, WHY THE FUCK WAS I HERE????????

Survivor’s guilt is a very real feeling.  Why should I live when another person with lesser injuries dies, someone who has a family dependent on them financially and emotionally, with children they’ll never get to raise or a partner who can’t function without them. I had family that loved me, but no one depended on me (they knew better, I’d just disappoint).

I’ve gotten over the whole, “I’m supposed to save the world because the universe spared me,” thoughts. Others still expect me to do something great, something with enormous impact … And I will.  I’ll do something that fills my soul, something that impacts my happiness, something that enriches my life and my little world. If I learned anything, learned the reason for my existence, it’s that I deserve to be happy, I deserve to feel good, I deserve to do something great that rocks my world, saves my life. And if that means someone else can draw strength from my determination, is inspired by my refusal to just fucking die already, then so be it. But if it means that I sacrifice myself then I am here for nothing.