I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember. I was driving and then I wasn’t. I saw my passenger curtain airbag go out, subconsciously clenching my necklace, trying to remember what happened to cause this, not yet registering that I was in a crash.

I sat in my car for a few minutes that felt like seconds after the crash, trying to remember what happened, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried. I remember before and after, but not the seven minutes when the crash happened and before I came back to.

“What happened?” “Why can’t I remember what happened?” I can’t breathe. The air around me was thick with light-brownish grey smoke from the airbags and my seatbelt was tight against my chest. Everything was black when I tried to remember what caused this.

I stepped out of my car, legs shaking from the adrenaline, my heart pounding in every part of my body, and I didn’t feel like I was actually there. I felt nothing except fear and worry. I felt like I was crying, but no tears were coming out of my eyes. My chest was so tight it felt as though I couldn’t breathe, even though I was breathing harder than I ever had before. My throat was tight, my mouth was dry, nothing felt normal, nothing felt OK, nothing felt calm.

I knew nothing would get done if I didn’t get out of the car. When I saw my car, I repeatedly tried to tell myself it wasn’t bad, but it was; it wouldn’t drive again. I was so lost in everything that I was feeling, I had to be reminded to call a parent. I called my dad. He sounded calm even after I told him, but I didn’t want him to sound like that. I wanted him to sound angry, I wanted him to sound worried, I wanted him to sound anything but calm. It didn’t make sense. I knew what I did was wrong, yet there was no sign of anything. He didn’t sound angry at me for wrecking my car, or worried about me because I was in a crash; he sounded like I told him the weather. How could he sound like that? It made me relaxed, yet angry at the same time.

I went back to my car a few times. I didn’t want to accept what happened. Even while staring at the damage, I tried to gaslight myself into believing it didn’t happen, that everything was OK. I knew it wasn’t OK, but I didn’t know how bad the damage really was.

The rest of that day was a blur until I was waiting on the bed in the ER, my head hurting from the lights and feeling numb at the same time. I kept making jokes to my mom to try to lighten the mood.

“Maybe all I needed to fix my problems was a concussion,” I said. She just shook her head. “Dad said that you need to see the bright side even if it’s hard to,” I said, trying to see any positive in what happened to me. She smiled at my words, making me smile. Neither me nor the other driver was seriously hurt. I got a concussion, minor whiplash and situational amnesia. Thankfully, the other driver just had previous injuries that were acting up.

That was Oct. 1. I still don’t remember getting hit or anything that happened. I’m just grateful I survived and I’m still here. Not everyone who gets in a car wreck gets to say that. I lost my car and maybe a few brain cells, but I’m still here. I get to live another day and learn from my mistakes.