So here it is, my first blog post; I’m diving in. I’ve wanted to write about my experiences over the last 20 months for a long time, but when it came down to it I would always shy away. Perhaps I wasn’t ready then, but I think I’m ready now. It took a long time and many drafts to find my voice and actually get this first post down on paper; most of the earlier versions felt dry, insincere and impersonal.

The picture is me diving in the Pacific. Young, strong, optimistic. Less than a year later I’d be in a coma in intensive care, with my family and friends having no idea how I would be when I woke up. It’s crazy how fast life can change. Luckily I woke up stubborn and pissed off, which definitely helped get me through the first few weeks.

So, I’m that guy. The guy who got his life thoroughly dismantled at a young age; so much so that it really makes me exceptional, like a z-list superhero: the origin story is good, but I missed out on all the superpowers. I got served up a real humdinger; if the events in our lives are canteen meals, I’m the guy who got a wet slap of cold mash on my plate instead of the sirloin I’d worked all week for. No appeals process to the great dinner lady of life, sadly. You have to eat what you get and be grateful you’re getting served at all.

It was a real Hindenburg moment for me. The kind of thing that just leaves all of your friends and extended family doing a great re-enactment of The Scream by Edvard Munch, watching the whole thing go up in flames, knowing it’s never going to be the same and it might not even be at all. The story you read about in the paper (not that anyone reads papers anymore) and you never think is going to happen to you. The sort of thing you might see and discuss with your friends, saying “Isn’t that tragic?”  but on some level being very grateful that isn’t you. Unfortunately for me I am that person. I’m that guy. 

I guess being hit by a car at 23, having your whole life trajectory terminated and being rendered paralyzed from the shoulders down has quite a lot of downsides, but the upside for you, my dear reader, is that I’m still around and willing to talk about it. So why listen to anything I say, or read anything I write? I have learnt some things that you can only learn by getting uncomfortably close to the parts of life we all try to avoid: the bits that taste bad and hurt a lot and make us feel like life isn’t worth living. I’ve done the hard work (although trust me, I didn’t want to) so you don’t have to. Maybe by hearing about my many failures and losses, successes and progressions, you’ll learn something about yourself. If not, at least I’ll make you laugh. Or cry. Or something. 

See you next time.