I made it. I got away.
It felt amazing. Freedom. When it hit me, I almost pulled over to celebrate. Every mile was pounds off my chest and air in my lungs. As the city fell behind me, so did my fears, because I knew He was back there too. It made me smile to think of him stomping his feet like a child.
And then I was twisted around, surrounded by darkness. I blinked against the blur of the dashboard of my car, and tried to sit up right. My seatbelt was on, and I felt like I was being pulled in two directions, and gravity felt all wrong.
There were trees outside. I struggled to move but was pinned down, and couldn’t think straight. I don’t think I even knew who I was at the time. Slowly, it came back to me, and I looked around again as a bright light obscured my vision momentarily.
The trees. They were wrong. They were
No, I was sideways. My car. What happened?
There was the light again, illuminating the tree trunks around my car, and I could see the ground out the passenger side window.
I tried to yell for help as I fumbled with the seatbelt that was keeping in this awkward position, hands working like they were made of jelly. The light came again, illuminating two new trees in front of my car.
No, not trees.
No no no no no no
The legs moved closer as my seatbelt buckle finally gave out against my frantic assault, and the side door rushed up to my head.
I finally realized that I had been hearing things all along, voices and sirens from outside, and the legs disappeared around the other side of the car.
Then, I was being lifted by several men in uniforms, and I realized who the legs had belonged to.
It was like watching a movie in the first person, blood covered gloves and gauze, being loaded onto a gurney and carted to the ambulance, completely unable to do anything. It felt familiar, and I realized this was the second time in two weeks, but at least I could remember this time.
As they rolled me off, the lights from the ambulance and patrol cars lit up the woods along the road in sequence. And there he was, standing among the trees like he belonged there, immobile, but I could feel him watching, that cold grip on the back of my neck, and I knew I’d never be rid of him.
I was sent to the same hospital as last time, with the same doctor, and I wanted to knock that look off his face when he saw me.
The next day, while I was still in the hospital, an officer came into my room to ask questions.
Apparently my tire marks and the result of the crash showed I had been going way over the speed limit and had taken a curve straight instead of trying to turn. Then he told me they found the money in my car, from my emptied bank accounts, and the note I left for Alex on my door, explaining how I was sorry but had to go, and all that combined with the previous “attempted suicide” got me here, in psychiatric care.
It took me a few days to convince them to let me write this up. I told them I wanted to let my friends know I was okay.
But I’m not. He keeps showing up in my room. Of course they don’t believe me. I’m just another crazy person here to get fixed, right? Drugs and therapy, all day.
Alex came by yesterday. She finally changed her mind about me, just like everyone else. Just another crazy person.
