So, tomorrow I get back in the driver's seat for the first time since Quinn's demise. For those of you who know me, either via blog or in-person, I think it will come as a surprise that I'm a little nervous. Actually, a lot nervous. In all honesty, the thought just about fills me with dread. I keep thinking stupid questions: have I forgotten how to drive? will my reaction time be slower? am I going to become that person, the one that develops a tick or who can't drive over 40 kph?
Under advisement from my doctor, I actually contacted the EAP - you know, talk to a shrink about my hangups. I'm rolling my eyes even as I type this. Rationally, I know this is all pretty dumb. It's not like I was even permanently injured or something. I mean, post-traumatic stress syndrome? That's for war vets and rape victims, right? Not for car accidents! Certainly not for car accidents from which you walk away. And yet… there it is: little dagger-winged butterflies in the pit of my stomach, getting agitated every time I think about getting behind the wheel.
I hate that she ruined my long weekend, killed my car, scarred my left arm and permanently changed the way I sign my name; I hate that, on top of all this, she's shattered my self-confidence and robbed me of my independence. I hate this new weakness.
Wish me luck.
2 comments:
That's why my dad made my mom drive the junker home, he knew she would never get in the car again as a driver if she didn't. My dad, he knows some things.
And I am glad you went to EAP - that is what they are there for. Mental health is just as important as physical!
DK
Yeah, Dads are pretty clever. It's actually my Mom that's insisting I get back in the car and start driving (I think my Dad si happy to coddle me a bit longer).
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