I don’t—I don’t even know where to start. It’s like... like there’s this weight, this crushing thing on my chest every second. I close my eyes and I see it. The screeching, the—just the sound of it all. I can’t un-hear it. I can’t un-see their faces. The faces of the people in the other car. Were they scared? Did they see it coming? Did they—did they suffer? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
I keep thinking, if I had just left five minutes later. Or if I had checked my mirrors one more time. Or if I hadn’t been so damn distracted. But I did. I did it. I was there. I was the one holding the wheel. And now... now there’s this hole. This giant, gaping hole where my life used to be. I used to sleep. I used to eat. I used to laugh at stupid jokes. Now I just... exist. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like I’m a ghost haunting my own damn life.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. To them. To their families. To my family. My mom looks at me like she doesn’t even recognize me. Like I’m a stranger. Maybe I am. Maybe the person I was died in that car too.
Sometimes I wish it had been me. Sometimes I wish I had just—just not walked away. But I did. And now I have to live with that. Every day. Every second. It’s like I’m drowning, but no one can see the water. They tell me it’s not my fault. They say accidents happen. But it was my fault. I was driving. I was in control. And now... now I’m not in control of anything. Not my thoughts, not my memories, not this guilt that just eats at me like—like acid.
I don’t deserve to move on. I don’t deserve to feel okay. How can I ever feel okay when they... when they might never walk again? Or worse. I don’t even know. I don’t know how bad it is. I’m too scared to ask. Too scared to face it.
I just want to go back. Just one more chance. Just—just to undo it. But I can’t. And that’s the worst part. I can’t fix it. I can’t make it right. No matter how many times I say I’m sorry, no matter how many nights I lie awake begging for a do-over, it’s done. It’s done, and I have to live with it.
I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be this person. The one who did this. The one who ruined everything. I hate myself. I hate that I’m still here. I hate that I’m breathing and they might not be. Or they might be in pain. Because of me.
I’m not okay. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay. How do you live with something like this? How do you wake up every day knowing you’re the reason someone else’s world fell apart? I don’t know. I don’t know how to do this.