Content Warning: This essay contains descriptions of a car accident and its aftermath, including discussion of trauma and mental health struggles.
I had seen many car accidents in movies, and had always felt them to be exaggerated portrayals. Unfortunately, I had the distinct displeasure of finding out that they weren’t.
At around 1 a.m. in the roads of Kerala, India, a truck crashed into a car carrying my uncle, aunt, cousin and I. The impact caused the car to spin out of the road before grinding to a halt in front of, miraculously, a hospital. There’s very little I remember; my memory seems to evade all evidence of the incident. All I actively recall is being cut off mid-sentence, my uncle’s hands in the air and a prayer for my parents and sister at home. Everything else we pieced together from my injuries, which were thankfully minor. Because I was sitting in the backseat of the car, I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt, causing me to fall onto the car floor, black out and sustain injuries on my chin and tongue.
When I was finally pulled out of the backseat, a sensory overload washed over me. Seeing the car completely totaled. Feeling blood bubbling inside my mouth. Hearing the hospital security guard — who had witnessed the accident — say, “You’re all very lucky. This could’ve been a lot worse” (and incidentally, not feeling very lucky). The cold, efficient hubbub of the hospital. The ringing in my ears. And the rain, which made the debris on the road a distant memory.
On paper, we were, indeed, lucky: we survived with only a few bruises and scratches, nothing compared to what could have been. But inside, some of the wreckage remained.
In the few days after, traveling in a car was incredibly difficult. The slightest uptick in speed had me feeling anxious. Every honk felt like a threat, every brake light a warning.
The hardest part was that no one could see it. The mental trauma isn’t a visible injury, and I believe that’s what makes it so stigmatized. But I actively began speaking about it and reaching out to the people I loved, who reached right back.
The accident changed me, but not just in fearful ways. It gave me a sharper awareness of life’s fragility, and in a strange way, a deeper gratitude for the ordinary: waking up in my bed, walking under the sun, hearing my mother laugh across the kitchen. I realized how much I had taken for granted before, how easy it is to rush through life without noticing its texture.
I am supposed to be getting my driver’s license next summer, and this accident has certainly been a setback. I’d be lying if I said there aren’t moments when I have visualized myself driving, only to end in a horrible crash or fall. But, the reminder that life can be taken away so quickly has also come with the realization that I don’t have to force myself to do anything. Baby steps work too.
I look forward to driving down the highway, blasting my 80s rock music and happily singing along.
