From the Wreckage

Next spring marks the sixth anniversary of an accident that changed my life. One may think at first, that it changed my life for the worse. And honestly, for several years, it certainly seemed that way. I feared the interstate. I would grip the edges of my seat to keep myself grounded, no matter where we were on the road. I dreaded walking into the school wherein I took driver’s ed, because I knew that one day, I’d have to get behind the wheel and drive.

This fear stemmed from a spring day in 2015. My mom and I were driving to a school event, which marked the end of the school year. Every member of the homeschool co-op I attended was invited, and naturally, that included me. I remember going about that Sunday afternoon the way I would any other, not a single thought of injury crossing my mind. I’d planned my day to the hour. We left for the recital just after lunch.

We got on the interstate about halfway through the trip, and the traffic was significantly heightened at this time of day. Soon, we noticed emergency vehicle lights on the side of the road. A police officer’s car and a construction vehicle were parked in the median. Both my mom and I were unsure what they were investigating. Per the protocol, we slowed down.

The line of cars on the interstate abruptly came to a standstill. I remember yelling out in panic and grabbing the edges of my chair, closing my eyes, and waiting for the impact. Mom slammed on the brakes just in time, and we barely missed the car in front of us.

But then, from behind, a scraping noise and a dull “thump” caught our attention, sending us over to the ditch on the other side of the road.

Silence followed.

“Call Dad,” was the first thing said between the two of us.

Being only twelve at the time, I was unable to process the situation properly, and I went into hysterics. The lift gate of the van was mangled, and all the back windows had shattered. I remember kneeling once I had gotten out of the vehicle, on all fours and staring at the asphalt with stinging eyes.

Never, I told myself. Never would I drive a car. Not after this.

I remember not being able to communicate with the paramedics because of the shock. While neither me, nor my mother were injured physically, my mental health took a horrible toll. After that, I would go on to dread cars, and driving, and the road in general. I felt unable to process my trauma and wanted to find closure, but didn’t know how.

A year or so later, I enrolled in a driver’s education class. The neighborhood wherein the school was established wasn’t exactly the safest, and I wasn’t fond of the idea of driving. The whole ordeal was a nightmare for me.

I found myself getting barely enough sleep each night, from the anxiety built up from the class and the impending thought of behind-the-wheel learning. I passed the class and all of the tests involved, but refused to do any more driving afterward.

It took another year for me to finally work up the courage, and what motivated me the most was actually the expiration date on my permit. I had the notion that once I got my license, I’d be able to travel more, and traveling is something that I love to do. Without a license, it’d be much harder to get a passport or fly across the country. So between the travel aspect and the pressure of getting it before my permit expired, it was high time for me to finish what I’d started.

It was a tedious thing, gleaning enough hours to get my license. But eventually, I started to find comfort in driving. In fact, it even relaxed me to a degree. Driving on my own was becoming a way to escape for a bit, zone out for a little while and focus on one thing. My brain is naturally hyperactive, and when given a task, it occupies the hyperactivity and helps me relax.

I’ve been able to travel moderate distances, and run errands, and drive to work, without batting an eyelash at the interstate, or traffic, or driving.

To this day, I find myself comforted by long stretches of the highway, seeking adventure even in the smallest errands. I couldn’t have gotten here without getting over my fear of driving, and I’m glad I worked up the nerve to do so.