The Accident I've Been Burying

As a listener and a good friend, I've helped so many people get over their problems and life events by giving them ways to let go of things that hurt them. I always tell people that the past is gone and that its only worth holding onto the bad memories if you learn something from it, but I am a massive hypocrite. For years, I've been holding onto a horrible experience and I've put a considerable amount of blame on myself as well. I don't talk about it because I don't want to seem like all the advice I give is insincere and irrelevant, but I think it's time I started.

During my freshman year of high school, I was a very happy guy. I still had a large group of friends that came from middle school and I thought everything was going my way. It wasn't until around Christmas that the feeling changed. Every year, our family would go up to visit my grandparents up north. It was always a very fun experience for one reason, (Spent about 15 minutes coming up with a pseudonym) Brianna. Brianna and I were long distance best friends. I met her and her family back when I lived near my grandparents. Brianna's mom went to high school with my mom and they're very close. Brianna and I were born on the same day, at the same time. Our parents picked up on that and started to get us to play together while we lived there. That small gesture turned into the most meaningful friendship in my lifetime. We were close for a very long time, spending many days together. It was unfortunate that a few years later, our family would move away.

From then on, our friendship was that of letters, phone calls, and visits during the times I was back there. It was all great, and I even felt a stronger connection than friendship arising with her. Then Christmas break happened freshman year. It was a cold night, snow falling pretty hard. Her older brother had just picked us up from a Christmas party at one of her friend's houses and was taking me home. This is when I made the worst mistake of my life. I told her brother to take a different route home, thinking it would be faster and safer in the snowstorm. A few minutes into that detour, all Hell broke loose.

I felt dazed and I could barely breathe. I couldn't move either. I looked to my left and I saw some horrible things. There was a lot of blood. An image too graphic for me to talk about on a public forum. I was shocked beyond belief and I cried. I felt light headed and apparently passed out again. I woke up several hours later in a hospital bed. I was told my injuries were superficial, and that nothing was wrong with me. The doctor couldn't say the same for Brianna, her brother, and the drunk driver that crossed over the centerline. The odds of surviving that accident were 1-4, and I was unfortunately the one that made it.

After the funeral a week later, I returned home. I buried the incident in my mind, telling very little people about what had happened. For a while, I even lied to myself and told myself she was still there. I still blame myself for it entirely. It hurts, a lot, but it's a reminder to me that some things aren't meant to be. Fortunately, I learned to keep it in the back of my head and not think about it, which keeps me sane for the most part. I still feel like I can do that without any negative reprocussions.