Today feels like I’m trapped in an endless loop of fear, pain, and the stubborn ember of hope that refuses to burn out. I was in a car accident when I took an Uber to go to my destination to have some matters taken care of. The accident rattled me more than I can express. Sitting in the backseat of that Uber, I genuinely thought this might be it—I could actually die right here. And in a twisted way, part of me almost welcomed it. Maybe if I was gone, everything would be simpler. Amy Rose wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore, and no one else would either. I even wondered if my death might bring some sense of closure, a resolution to all the mess that’s tangled up my life.
As the car swerved violently—left, right, left, right—everything slowed down. I could only focus on the noises—the screech of tires, the unsettling lurches of the car, and Brooke, my guide dog, trembling beside me. She was shaking so much that I could feel it through the tension in her body. But amidst all that chaos, Amy Rose was still in my mind, taunting me, mocking me. It was as if, in that split-second chaos, she was forcing me to choose: life or death. Her presence in my thoughts was like a bitter echo, making everything feel even more unbearable. And then, just when I thought the swerving couldn’t get any worse, there was a sudden jolt, like another car had bumped us from the side. That’s how it felt—sharp, frightening, and out of nowhere. Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s what it seemed like in the moment. The driver was silent, probably in shock too. I could almost sense their tension through the quiet. It was terrifying.
When the car finally came to a shaky stop, the driver got out to check things, but I was paralyzed by panic. I knew I should get help, so I used the emergency feature on my iPhone. But then, horror set in as I realized what was happening—my phone was about to send a distress message to my emergency contact. And my emergency contact is Amy Rose. I froze in sheer terror. The thought of her getting that message, knowing it could be used against me, was overwhelming. I’d rather be injured and not get help than risk contacting her and potentially getting locked up again. How sad is that? This is where we are now—where my fear of her reaction outweighs even my safety.
I scrambled to stop the message, frantically pressing buttons as my phone stubbornly froze. My panic only intensified when the speech stayed stuck, and then out of nowhere, a call came through. Somehow, despite the phone being unresponsive, I managed to answer it. It was Uber, asking why I wasn’t moving and if everything was okay. But I was still paralyzed, lost in shock, unable to think straight. I hung up, just trying to regain control of my phone, while all I could think about was getting out of there. I ordered another Uber, but they canceled. I’m used to that by now, so I just tried again until I got one.
In the midst of all that chaos, the only thing anchoring me was my determination to complete my errant. It was my lifeline, the one task keeping me grounded. I wasn’t even fully processing the accident—I was too fixated on that goal. Signing that form felt like the one thing holding me together, as if accomplishing it would somehow make sense of everything else. Once I made it to the place and signed the form, a small wave of relief washed over me, like I’d just checked off the most important task in the world. Then I ordered another Uber and headed back to my temporary room.
It wasn’t until I was back in my room that the weight of it all hit me. As soon as I closed the door, the tears came hard. I broke down, overwhelmed by the realization of how close I came to dying today. Brooke was still shaken, curled up next to me, and I could feel her lingering anxiety. I kept replaying the accident in my head—the swerving, the bump from the other car, the way it all felt distant and surreal. And through it all, Amy Rose’s voice echoed in my mind, mocking me for surviving, as if I’d somehow failed by not dying.
But then, another conflict welled up inside me—did I really want to die? Despite everything, some stubborn part of me is still hoping, still clinging to the idea that Amy Rose might come around. Why am I holding onto a life that feels so suffocating? Was I crying out of shock? Relief that I didn’t die? Or regret that I survived?
The accident happened so fast—on J Street, I think. One moment we were driving, the next everything spiraled out of control—left, right, left, right—until that sudden jolt from the side. It probably only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Being blind made it even more disorienting; all I had were the sounds and the feeling of the car careening back and forth, Brooke’s trembling body, and the cold dread in my chest.
Now, sitting here alone in this quiet room, I’m left with a tangled mess of emotions. I don’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed that I’m still alive. All I know is that I’m still here, still clinging to that flicker of hope, even though I’m not sure what I’m hoping for anymore. The accident shook me to my core, but somehow, I’m still hanging on—maybe out of habit, maybe out of some stubborn need to believe that things can still change, even if it feels impossible right now.