Weird

There’s only one way to describe it: Weird.

Weird is how I felt when N told me that he wanted a picture of my foot to show his friends because they don’t believe I was really hit by a car. I felt even weirder when, after I refused his request, he asked if he could invite them over to see it in person.

Weird is how I felt this morning when I drove past the spot in the parking lot at work where it happened. The last two days W had driven me to work and dropped me off at the door. Today was the first day I drove myself and the first time I returned to “the scene of the crime.” It is almost impossible to describe the feeling I had as I drove past that spot. After I parked I walked the long way around so I wouldn’t walk past the spot. It had never even occurred to me before that I would have that kind of reaction to the place where it happened.

Weird is how it feels every time I go to walk across a street, or through a parking lot, anywhere there is traffic at all. I look both ways, over and over, before crossing. I continue to look both ways as I’m crossing. I look at every vehicle suspiciously as though it might just come after me at any moment.

Rationally this feels like an overreaction to me. I tell myself to get over it. On the other hand, I feel strong resistance within me to letting go of it. It scared me, and I mean really scared me. I was so very lucky that so little injury occurred, and although I’ve tried to play it off as “no big deal” it is a big deal in my head. It is and yet I chide myself for being such a wimp. I’m dealing with nothing compared to others who deal with much worse.

So for now, when people ask “How are you?” and I reply “Doing pretty well, thanks.” I’m really thinking “Weird. That’s how I am. Weird.”