The week had been long and exhausting, and every ounce of my body craved for some quality time to relax and soak in the fruits of all my hard work.
I awoke with plans of sun-tanning and drinking with friends on the lake. One thing led to another and, before I knew it, I was comfortably floating with a beer in one hand, the other gently plodding at the water.
It was hot, the water warm, and my beer freezing cold. It was…perfect.
At one point, I remember looking back to wave at my friends, only to realize I had drifted too far from shore. Reluctantly, I slowly paddled back.
As I approached the shore, I realized the time, and struggled to get all of my things together. I promised to pick up a friend before heading off to end the night with a bang.
I was on the way to pick up my friend, listening to music, seeing who would be out that night, when I looked up from my phone and realized that I had about .2 seconds to kiss my life goodbye. Right in front of me, approaching at about 55 miles per hour, was a giant metal guard rail.
I remember thinking “this is it” and then seeing white in my peripheral, almost as if some bright light was shining directly upon me. I remember the airbag blowing up, launching my seat-beltless body into the passenger seat, and then this loud ringing sound kicked in. I could barely breathe, barely see, and just remember thinking… “how am I alive?”
Looking back, I should have died. Yet somehow, I came out unscathed, if a little bruised and beaten, but miraculously alive, with no broken bones or life-changing consequences — besides a DUI and a new outlook on life.
The thing is…I was ready to die. No…I wanted to die. In fact, I was furious afterwards. Not because I crashed my car, got a DUI, and lost my job. No…I was furious because I was still alive.
The thing about being passively suicidal is that those who are usually have more reasons to stay alive, but the heavy weight of depression and suicidal thoughts outweigh any reason to live.