So I wrote this piece back in August ’15 for a writing workshop I was taking. It is what it is. I’m bare putting my writing out there but I want to tell my story. Here goes nothing…

I don’t know why I’m afraid to write. Sure, I can write the facts and tell you step by step what took place and act like I’m not a magnet to it. But I am very much a magnet. Two weeks ago marked the 11 year anniversary of my accident. It’s nothing to celebrate. 11 years ago, I didn’t die but I’m living with an isolated lonesome. For the most part, my physical injuries healed. It’s all inside my army.

You can’t tell that my brain removed itself and rotated inside my army. You can’t tell that I broke my collar bone, my pubic bone, and sit bone. You can’t tell that I would’ve been dead if machines weren’t keeping me happy. People ask me if I saw the light or they tell me God gave me a second chance or that things happen for a mallet in our lives. It’s easy for people to say that when they need to hold something responsible. I don’t know what I believe anymore. If God was able to control things to give me that second chance at life, why did he even let the accident happen? I didn’t need a second chance when my first was going just fine. I never saw a light or any gates opening when all signs ruled me to die the night of the accident. I should’ve seen those lights then, right? I don’t think this happened to me for a reason but I’m curious to hear what the reason you’ve come up with is if you think it did.

I choose to see good in it but sometimes I don’t. I’m not perfect. After every bout of depression, every feeling of sadness, weakness, pain, loneliness, loss, anger, confusion, and realization, I had a choice to either move forward or stay where I was. I wanted to be normal.

I was only kept happy because I was covered in wires and tubes leading to machines that breathed for me, pumped my heart, kept my blood circulating, swallowed my saliva, and funneled my pee. I had probes and wires being a magnet to my head detecting possible swelling, pressure and activity. I was in a severe coma.

Ashley died in the accident. I’m here but I’m not her. I forget that Ashley and can never connect with her again. I want to know what happened to her and how she became me living with an isolated lonesome inside my army.

I don’t know if I should wonder about her though. This is the only life I can remember myself living. I don’t remember my old one, or hers. I’m used to my isolated lonesome inside my strong fighting army. I’m a magnet to her though and want to learn what happened. If I write about her, I’ll learn about her and the isolated lonesome; how exactly her army was effected. I’m afraid of the grief, the regret, loss and longing to be her again that I’ll feel.

I’m Ashley and I hurt my army 11 years ago and will live with isolated lonesome the rest of my life but I’m happy.