We finally got the car back after five-and-a-half weeks – a week ago. I think I’d been handling it pretty well up to that point – I was driving again, not having too much as far as driving anxiety goes.
Hubs was very well meaning when he brought me in the bill for the repairs – which was all covered by insurance. As it turns out, if our new car had been two years older, the insurance company likely would have called it a total loss instead of fixing it.
In my mind, the accident had been pretty much a non-event. I’ve been having some light back pain since then (I think I tore something and am seeking treatment). But that $18,000 bill broke something in me. That $18K means that he hit me hard enough to almost total my car.
I had a little cry. And I didn’t drive for the rest of the weekend.
And since I got that bill, I’ve been cringing as I park the car. I’ve been clutching the door handle and deep breathing when we slow down a little to fast for my liking. I don’t like it. I don’t like the feeling of anxiety. I don’t like the tightness in my chest that wasn’t there yesterday.
Because where does it end? Today I can’t back into a parking spot. Tomorrow I can’t turn left at a stoplight and I have to make my way home only using right hand turns. The next day I’m afraid to go through a stop sign I there’s anyone at the other sides. Suddenly my life is ruled by things that I can’t do.
I know that it’s wrong. I can’t be ruled by my anxiety. I can’t live my life like that.
So this weekend, I took that piece of paper that means so much – and I burned it in a pot in the backyard.
I know that these feelings are not helping to keep me safe. They’re robbing me of today.
And I’m going to take back tomorrow.
|Image Credit (edited): gubgib / freedigitialphotos.net|