Agony. Blinding pain. Confusion.
Where am I? What happened? … Who… am I?
I see specks of flashing light. I hear muddled voices. I feel pain.
Just pain.
Then it all goes black.
I wake up. I blink once, twice, three times. I’m in a bright white room. I feel a dull pain like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I hear a steady beeping sound. My eyes are not yet adjusted to this room. My mind feels empty but my head is getting heavier. The room is getting darker, darker.
I open my eyes. I can look around now. There’s a monitor to my right. It has someone’s heartbeat on it. No, not just someone, mine. There are wires attached to me. There’s a needle in my arm. I look down and there’s something on my wrist. A name band.
Patient: Doe, Jane. Sex: F. DOB: Unknown.
I’m in a hospital. I look to my left. There’s someone sleeping behind a curtain. There are “get well soon” balloons and flowers on their bedside table. The flowers smell sickly sweet and their pollen makes my nose itch. The bright light reflecting off the balloons hits me straight in my eyes and sends a jolt of pain to my head. I look away and my eyes wander over to my bedside table. Nothing. A woman walks into the room. She has a big smile on her face and she’s carrying a clipboard. I’m in a hospital, so she must be a nurse. Thinking is so hard right now.
“You’re up!” She smiles and seems genuinely pleased that I’m awake. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I watch her as she looks at me and then the monitor and then her clipboard. I force my eyes to focus on her nametag. “Sarah.” She doesn’t hear me. I can barely hear myself. I try harder. “Sarah?” The sound came out as muffled croak but it was loud enough.
“Yes dear?” she asks in a soothing voice.
I have so many questions I don’t know what to ask first. I decide to start with the most obvious one. “What happened?”
The nurse looks at me with a sad smile. She asks me how much I remember. I close my eyes and think. I think really really hard. Nothing comes to me. I merely shake my head in response to her question.
“You were in a bad car crash. A drunk driver was driving on the wrong side of the road. You were the only survivor and a passerby found you a little later, unconscious, a few feet from the crash.” She pauses and looks at me. Then she asks me a question. “What’s your name, hun?”
My mind flashes back and suddenly I’m 10 years old standing at the edge of a diving board. I stare into the water and see my ten-year-old reflection looking back at me. I look nervous, my green eyes are wide with terror. Other kids around me are cheering and shouting something. I can’t understand what they’re saying, everything is too muffled. They’re shouting my name I realize, encouraging me. I try to focus, to listen to the name they’re calling out but the sound is dampened as if I was already underwater. I jump off the board and I’m back in the hospital.
“I can’t remember,” I tell the nurse. “I can’t remember anything.” I feel the wave of sleep coming back over me. I start to sob. The nurse holds my hand as I fall back into the darkness.
The next few days pass in a painstakingly slow blur, as if a foggy haze is blocking my vision and I’m moving in slow motion. Sarah tells me that I’ve been here for almost two weeks. I’ve only been awake for five days. Apparently, I broke three ribs. It feels like I broke them all. I also have some cuts on my face and legs, but I can barely feel those at all. And of course, there’s my head injury that’s causing the most of my pain. Sarah tells me that as soon as my wounds heal enough to be discharged, I’m going to be taken somewhere where I’ll get therapy and be taken care of by different people. I try to ask her for more details but she never gives real answers, and always avoids looking me in the eye afterward. I decide it can’t be any worse than the situation I’m in now so I stop asking her about it. It just seems to make her sad anyways.
I’m allowed now to get up and take a few steps around the room. I always hobble straight to the mirror in the bathroom and stare into it. Who is that girl in the mirror, staring as intently at me as I, her. I try to study her face like if I look at it long enough I’ll finally know who she is. Like I’ll finally know who I am. I stare for what feels like hours – even though I know it must only be minutes – before it becomes too overwhelming to handle and I have to sit back down before the darkness comes back.
My physical wounds get better every day. My ribs have stopped hurting so much and I can rest more comfortably now. My head still throbs heavily. It’s a different kind of pain, not knowing who I am. It makes me wanna cry, it makes me wanna pull my hair out, it makes me wanna scream. It’s as if there’s a light at the end of my dark surroundings, and within the light, there’s a door. And if I could just open the door I’d know everything. But every day, no matter how much I push myself to get closer and closer to the door, I’m always too far away to turn the handle. Every waking moment I try to open that door. I stare at my reflection, I rack my brain, I think, and then I concentrate harder than the day before. But the door stays closed.
The person who was in the bed on the other end of the room had left a couple of days ago. I never met them, but I watched their visitors come and go. They always had presents or cards or more flowers to deliver. I have nothing. I have no one. Why doesn’t anybody visit me? Does anyone even know I’m trapped here? Does anyone care? I try to conjure up images of faces and hope to recognize someone but my mind can only create renditions of people I’ve seen in the hospital. The only visitor I ever get is Sarah. She’s become a kind face to see. Every day she brings me orange juice and a bagel and helps me eat a few bites before I feel sick to my stomach. Sometimes, she stays a little longer to talk to me. She tells me stories about her life and her daughter. She tells me about how one night, her daughter was out with friends and had a little too much to drink. She ended up crashing her car into a pole and died from the impact.
“You remind me so much of her,” Sarah says to me quietly. “She would be 26 this year if she didn’t…” She trails off and sighs. “I wish I could have been there for her last moments. She was alone when she died and every day I think to myself what might have been different if she had someone with her.”
When Sarah visits me she does most of the talking while I sit and listen. It’s not like I have much to say anyway. I usually just try to remember anything, hoping that maybe something she says will jog my memory. Sometimes memories come back in waves.
I’m 5 years old with sticky hands slurping a blue ice cream cone. I’m 13 years old sneaking out of the house to hang out with friends. I’m 18 years old going on a first date. I see those memories clearly. I feel the sticky hands, the adrenaline, the butterflies. But the sound is muddled. I don’t know who my friends are. I don’t know who the boy is. I don’t know who I am…
I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I am. I have no idea who I am. The frustration overwhelms me. Tears stream out of my eyes. I clamp my hands around my head and scream. Everything goes black.
I jolt awake. I’m alone now, Sarah is gone. Judging by the light streaming through the partially drawn curtains, it’s a new day. My mind is racing. More memories came back while I slept and everything is swirling together.
Me at school, me at Disneyland, I’m at the beach, I’m laughing, I’m crying. Emotions fill my head and mix together.
Still no name. It’s getting to be too much to handle. I start counting to 100 to quiet my mind. One. Two. Three. Four… Ninety-nine. One hundred. It’s better now, I feel calmer and my mind feels a little clearer. I tell myself to think. To really focus inward and look around for any clues that might tell me who I am. I feel like I’m close. I feel like today is the day I’ll be able to reach that door.
A knock on my room’s door snaps me back to reality. Sarah walks in carrying a mug of steaming liquid. “I brought you some tea,” she says smiling at me. “I thought it would make you feel better.”
I smile and nod at her and I reach out my arms to grasp the cup. The tea warms me from the inside and comforts me. I quietly give my thanks as she sits on the edge of the bed and starts to talk.
“You know hun, I’m not much of a spiritual woman anymore, but I do believe in a couple of things. I believe you gotta have faith in yourself, that no matter what happens, you’re gonna be strong enough to overcome it. You’re gonna be leaving this hospital soon, which means you’ll be back out in the real world and have to face the consequences of your actions. I think it’s time to tell you the truth about what happened to you, and I’d rather you hear it from me than some self-righteous know-it-all who thinks everything is black or white. You remind me so much of my daughter and that makes me want to protect you from the harsh realities of life, but eventually you’ll get your memory back and I can’t protect you from what’s inside. My daughter’s death made me realize that we make our own choices in life, some good and some bad, but the fact of the matter is, you’re in control of your own destiny…”
Destiny…
Sarah is still talking but I don’t hear anything she’s saying anymore. “Destiny…” I hear myself say the word aloud. It sounds so familiar. I hear different voices in my head saying the name. The sound is crystal clear. The haze disappears. The blackness turns bright. I step through the door.
I’m Destiny. I’m 5 years old. I’m eating ice cream for the first time. My mother is smiling and laughing. She takes a picture of me on her new Polaroid camera. I giggle and show her my sticky hands.
I’m Destiny. I’m 10 years old. I’m at the YMCA swimming lessons. It’s my turn to go on the diving board. I’m scared but my friends are cheering me on. I hear their excitement loud and clear. I take a deep breath and jump off the diving board for the first time.
I’m Destiny. I’m 13 years old. My best friend Kira just tapped on my window for me to join our friends at her house. I sneak out the window and feel the rush of excitement as the cold night air hits my spine.
I’m Destiny. I’m 18 years old. I’m on a date with Travis. I feel so nervous and giddy that he asked me out. I’ve had a crush on him for months. It’s our first date. I want it to be perfect.
I’m Destiny. I’m 24 years old. I’ve broken up with Travis. Kira moved away. I’m heading to a stranger’s house party by myself. I realize I’ve left my purse at home. “Oh well,” I hear myself think. I’m at the party. I’m dancing, I’m laughing, I’m drinking. I’m trying to forget my problems. I’m getting into a car. I hear myself say I’ll be fine. I’m laughing as I drive away. My car is swerving, I can’t see straight. I see the yellow lines to the right of my car. My brain doesn’t know what to do. I’m driving faster and faster. I see bright yellow headlights in front of me. I hear the deafening car horn. My heart starts racing faster than the speed I’m driving. I hear a boom. I feel pain. I see nothing.
