Drive again

You're trying to get into a car the first time after that accident that almost killed you and maybe a friend or family member. That accident that left no bone in you body unbroken. That had you have to learn how to talk and walk again. That accident that almost took your will to live. Why would you want to stay alive given that your body was almost dead anyway and there wasn't really any reason left to live. Death was so much closer and easier to reach than life so why take the longer and harder road where there was a so much easier one. But you made it, you took the long road. You got up again. Mended your wounds. Learned how to talk again. Letter by letter, word by word. And how to walk. Step by step. You swore you would never get into or even near a car again. Ever. You would never let something like that happen to you again. Never let anything hurt you again. Protect yourself from that kind of pain and devastation. You hardly ever looked at cars again let alone got near or into one of them. 

But here you are. After years of healing, scarred and scared. The car door is open and you're standing there. Your heart is beating so loud it's deafening. You can hardly breathe. You want to run away as fast as you can. And yet, you're drawn to the open door. Somewhere, deeply hidden below all that fear and pain and covered by that protective layer you've built up, you can feel something else, a faint memory, the memory of being in a car. The memory of driving. Of feeling the wind in your hair, hearing music in your ear, seeing a beautiful road ahead. All those places to go. So many opportunities. And you know that there is more than just fear of being hurt. More than the memory of horrible pain and grief.

You take one step towards the door. And another. Breathing fast, hands sweating, unsure if you can get any closer. If you are ready, yet. But will you ever? You're wrestling with your memories and your fear. Curious to find more of these warmer, fonder memories. A feeling of home, of security and love. One more step and you could touch the door if you lifted your arm and stretched out you fingers. Only one more step and you could smell the car's interior. A flash of memory, the sound of glass shattering, of sirens, makes you hesitate, almost pull back. You're on the verge of turning around and running away. So close. Breathing faster. Sweat on your upper lip. You close your eyes, inhale deeply, summon all your strength and courage, the courage that took so much to rebuild, and you take that final step and slide into the driver's seat. Another deep breath to deal with the hurricane of memories that hits you there. You won't budge, let them come, you can do this. One more breath. You open your eyes. And you know that you can do this. It will take time. And you will never again be as reckless and fearless as you used to be before the accident. But you managed to overcome your fears. You're back in the car. You will drive again. After all those years. It feels a little strange and scary but you have been here before and you know that you loved it. And you will figure it out and not let you fear take over and keep you from living anymore.