It's odd. If you asked me about the accident that happened, I wouldn't be able to tell you much. I don't have any memory of the event.
Nothing that really qualifies as a true memory, anyway.
And yet, if you handed me a pencil and told me to write about the event, I could come up with page after page after page of detail. I'd go into the project somber yet steady, but come out shaking violently and ready to cry.
I don't know why writing differs.
My name is Sam, and I was fourteen years old when the accident happened. I'd been diagnosed with Anxiety Disorder and ADHD a year prior, and had been experiencing panic attacks since I was in seventh grade after the attempted suicide of a friend. I had also grappled with suicidal thoughts as well as minor self harm. Oh yeah, and I'm transgender, but that for once won't be the main focus of this story.
There is roughly a two hour stretch around the accident that I just don't remember. My mom doesn't remember much, either. Only my sister—the driver—remembers anything more than a short jerk or single image. I don't envy her.
YOU ARE READING
Impact
Non-Fiction*MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING* Definitely going to include unfiltered recounts of a major car accident and the resulting mental trauma. ----- This is mostly just something for me to use to share and accept my experience of being involved in a wreck. It's a...
