When I was in my twenties, I struggled. Many people would often tell me that I was very nice and friendly and open-minded. And I lived up to that description pretty well. I had many friends who were older and "wiser" and kept saying, "When you get to 30, everything gets so much better. Just you wait." And they would list off the various reasons as to why 30 was the best to them: they finally felt comfortable in their own skin and stopped caring about what other people thought of them; their career came together; they found 'the one' and settled down; all that dreams-coming-true experiences. I took this as a sign that if I kept investing in my career and investing in my body for my health believing that my hard work and dedication would eventually 'attract' what I wanted in my future that it would eventually come together and magically -- at 30 -- I would be so glad and happy and living the life I really wanted. But I guess I should've paid more attention to the pattern of my life to know my experience wouldn't be what their promises are.
30 came and went two years ago. Right before my 30th birthday, my health began deteriorating. I have psoriasis now. I ended up on bed rest for two months for herniated discs in my neck which has rendered my right arm disgustingly weak. The things I loved to do like yoga, running, playing sports and just plain being active came to a halt. I gained 20 pounds. Because my career at the time was dependent on my physical abilities to be resilient and last long hours doing moderately physical work, I had to look at changing careers. My health insurance wasn't any assistance, they told me over and over that there was nothing they could do for me to make my living better outside of prescribing more drugs -- which, of course, I didn't want because I do believe once you start messing with those, you're at their mercy (especially since the drugs I was going to take would be affecting my nervous system and brain responding).
So here I was, on my 30th birthday, alone on my bed without a soul near me to help me blow out my candles, desperate to find ways to make money since I was broke. I tried to get together a few people to help me start a new project as I saw as a way to make money, but their assistance just created more heartbreak and more pain. They dropped off the project claiming I was too amateur to support. I fell into a deep depression. I ended up dating a guy who was so abusive that he called me to 'comfort' me and in the same conversation, he belittled me saying, "I'm only dating you so i'm not alone. You're not pretty and if someone prettier comes along, I'm leaving you for them." He said a lot more meaner stuff.
The depression grew so great that I was ready to call my life over and be done with it all. Occasionally some great things would happen -- I'd get booked on a small project here or there that, miraculously, would allow me to pay rent and have some food -- but the pattern of my life would slam down. When something good happens, something equally as bad would occur.
Call it Karma. Call it the yin-yang of the universe that everything good has a little bad and everything bad has a little good. The key word I used to believe in was the 'LITTLE'. I figured if you had something great happen, then only something small would occur. No, apparently not. Life likes to keep you on the edge. So, when I went down with my neck, it balanced out the fact that I was five pounds away from my beach body weight and actually felt like I had a group of friends I could trust and hang out with. But no, Life had to do it's 'balancing act' and remind me that my beach body will be taken away from me and the group of friends would soon become those who i thought were 'friends.' Because I'm keenly aware of this, I live my life very calculated. I don't step too far out of the bounds that I know are safe. Which, to a degree, is very sad for me. I don't get to play in the high excitements of life because I'm afraid of what might be taken away if I enjoy it. I also try not to go too far into the dark because I'm afraid of what great thing might come along and the fact that I'll be too far gone and depressed to actually enjoy it. All i wanted was to be taken to a place where everything could just be placed on hold until I could break this cycle. Where I wouldn't miss important deadlines or feel like I lost time and regret things. But there's no such refuge.
I got in touch with a counselor who helped me through some of the depression and mind destruction I was going through. Things started to get better. 31 came and went -- still alone, just not banned to my bed. I had just finished working on my biggest project after making a career change. I finally found a guy who treated me relatively well. Things were to be looking up. But no, after finishing that big project and turning 31, I crashed my car. The balancing act occurred again.
More of these events occurred. I tried to let these events fall off my back like it was nothing. I started breaking through and finally became financially stable again. I got my car fixed. I was getting work consistently. I got back to the gym and broke through what the doctors tried to convince me wouldn't be possible for me ever again. But then a few days ago...
I hit a cyclist. With my car. I did a legal U-turn, I looked both ways. I waited. I turned and as I looked back forward, the cyclist was on the hood of my car. FROM NOWHERE. IN. THE. MIDDLE. OF. THE. INTERSECTION! Being a cyclist myself, I know you're supposed to ride closest to the curb. So how did i hit him? How could I have been neglectful? Why didn't he stop? My life flashed before my eyes. I saw myself going to jail. I saw myself losing everything I had just gained in my life -- my finances, my career, my physical gains -- gone. I stopped my car. I got out. The cyclist got up. He didn't appear to be severely hurt and even he, himself, said he was okay. I couldn't speak. I was frozen and paralyzed.
Then the worst of it triggered me. Some witness who said he saw everything started screaming, "YOU WHITE ENTITLED PIECE OF SHIT CRACKER! YOU HIT HIM! YOU'RE GONNA LOSE EVERYTHING AND YOU DESERVE TO BE FUCKED UP!" I screamed at this guy at the top of my lungs. I don't even remember what I said. I blacked out and saw red. I just recalled him continuing to call me "bitch" and "white piece of shit." This witness wouldn't let me talk to the guy i hit. I got back in my car and waited as I heard sirens in the background of the city noise. My inner self kept saying, "Why wasn't it me that was hit? I would give everything to be the guy who I hit. I deserve to be the one in the road laying dead. Why am I okay? Why!?"
I was shaking and trembling. Uncontrollable tears were rolling down my face. The officers did their due diligence; rudely, because why be kind to a woman who just hit a cyclist? Not like she could use any comforting words. Might as well claim her guilty until proven otherwise. As things began to settle for me, I began to ask questions: "What direction was he coming from?" "Who is he?" "Why is he going to the hospital?" But because i had already been crying, they refused to answer. I mustered up the courage to ask if someone would just "talk to me" and they all burst out laughing at me. I don't remember any of the events of what happened during my hysteria, and when I asked if I could give my statement, the officers said I told three people and that my stories were consistent, so there wasn't any need to give any further statements."
They called my boyfriend to pick me up. The paramedics said I couldn't drive in the state that I was in. I didn't want to drive. I knew my time to drive was over. My insurance was either going to drop me or raise my rates incredibly high to where I couldn't afford it anymore. The cyclist was probably going to sue me for every little penny i have -- which wouldn't be much, but to me it's barely enough to support my own livelihood. I was speechless by the time he got me home. I still couldn't comprehend what had happened. Why did this happen to me? If I am nice and open-minded, and kind and friendly and all that, then why are so many horrible things happening to me? And this event, being the worst thing in my life, why did it have to be me?
I still don't know why. I now have nightmares where the event continues to replay over and over again. I don't want to sleep because the anxiety is killing me. I still haven't gotten behind the wheel of my car since the accident -- i don't want to either because what if something worse happens. What if I kill someone, or myself? I've stopped spending money outside of the bare necessities because when it comes time to fork it over, I'd rather it be ready and available to say, "Here. I hope it brings you more joy that it was going to bring for me." I haven't been able to focus on my next project or cared to do anything good for me. I've considered giving up and accepting a sad soul-less job at a fast food restaurant because, honestly, I don't deserve better. And if I do, the world would probably take aim and kill me because this 'balancing act' would make it so.
I wish I could go back and change hitting the guy. I know I would be better off. I might actually have broken the pattern then. But no. Now I get to be terrified in my own skin, in my own life. Without tools to break out of this life defeating pattern. And what's worse is I don't feel anyone understands. The ultimate question is: "To end this, do I have to end my life?"