click here for part 1

I don’t remember the drive to the hospital. I regained consciousness when they started to pull me out of the ambulance. My mind was in a totally different state now. I felt intoxicated, numb but most importantly calm between two worlds. The world I came from was a world full of pain. I still remember how I remembered in how much pain I was because the lack of it was at the peak of my attention. Not that there was much attention to give to begin with. I was slowly regaining consciousness and all that came with it. The otherworld however …

The other world felt like a world full of sweet dreams. Dreams you are not in control of but dreams that you would like to have. Dreams in which everything just flows and whatever happens is part of the deal. A world where everyone you meet is happy because the concept of being sad is inconceivable to them. They gave up their individualism, consciousness, memories and more at the door as if they all were infectious diseases that needed to be cured before they could enter this world and become one, full of pure awareness. A world in which you play along because it feels too good to be true. You don’t want to get kicked out because you cheated your way in. You don’t want to be an imposter.

You don’t want to leave a world that could care less about you but it doesn’t. A world that tries to convince you that everything will be fine as long as you just let go, give up control and have trust in the process. A world that loves you just as you were. Not as you are, but as you were before you were born. A world that tries to teach you something but how hard that lesson is going to be is up to you. That’s part of the lesson.

But you are just too human and need to find a problem in everything so you can try to solve it and give meaning to your insignificant existence. And if there isn’t one, you make one: YOU become the problem.

I was so sure I was going to die and now you are telling me I am not going to die? Are you kidding me? Is this still some kind of joke that I am not getting because the joke is on me?

I wasn’t going to die. My fear of dying was real but I wasn’t. It was just so much physical pain that it triggered mental pain. I was so sure I was going to die and felt so close to accepting it that it not happening now felt like a betrayal. I was alive and flowing. I wasn’t in control but that was fine. I like to flow. Like water. The essence of life.

Deeeeet, dut dut dut dut dut dut dut, deeeeet

Next time I became aware of my surroundings was when they pulled me out of the MRT. The sound of it must have still rung in my head since we were already done. I started overhearing a conversation:

A: My parrot is not doing so fine. B: Oh no, what’s wrong with it? A: <deleted>

The conversation went on and I was listening as closely as I could. The conversation filled my existence. It was the first thing that drew my attention after my new lack of pain. The drugs inside me were working: I was not only flowing but also floating and wanted to spread this weird new love of life inside me. When my bed was about to get pulled out of the room, I must have accepted that my time in this plane of existence wasn’t over yet and I better start making it count. I started to whisper:

I hope your parrot will be okay.

They must have been as surprised that I overheard their conversation as I was that they heard me whispering. I was really back. I could communicate with the outside world again unlike when I was in the ambulance and was probably only able to talk to myself in my head, unable to differentiate between talking or just thinking.

But with me being back, the pain also suddenly came back. They gave me something to bite on and lifted me into another bed. I started to whimper and cry. The pain struck so sharp that I wasn’t able to prepare for it. Not that I knew how to prepare for that pain that made me accept death. For all I knew, the pain was supposed to be gone and not come back, but it did, bringing along friends. I heard a female voice that empathized with me:

We already gave him all morphine injections we can and he is still in such pain. What should we do?!

The distress in her voice would probably have given me even more anxiety if I wasn’t already too busy with trying to make the pain go away. Eventually, the physical pain faded away but now I knew it was still there, just hiding and waiting to strike again. I started to tense up again in fear but that also meant that I was moving ever so slightly while tensing up. When a move was wrong, the pain struck very sharply and in such intensity that I thought the drugs aren’t working and I must have dreamed this whole trip to the hospital. If I made more wrong moves in my desperation to make it go away, it struck harder and harder. It felt like bombs going off in rapid succession.


Hopefully, eventually, I would get lucky and most of the pain would disappear as fast as it came, leaving behind only existential dread as residue.

The fear of the pain, not knowing what triggers it or makes it go away, was maybe even worse than the pain itself. I felt locked into my own body that I failed because of one stupid move. Now my whole existence seemed to evolve around not making more stupid moves. Since I didn’t know which move was stupid and not (until I tried it), I simply cried, didn’t move and hoped it will be over quick when the pain inevitably strikes again.

Next thing I remember is a doctor talking to me:

You must have fallen like a cat.

I thought to myself while I continued to listen as if a judge is giving me my sentence and I certainly don’t want to miss it:

Fallen like a cat? Are you serious? I fell onto my back!

You were very close to injuring your spinal cord and becoming paralyzed. Fortunately, you only broke a few processes in your lumbar spine. You got very lucky. You should be able to walk again.

That’s when I realized that “You must have fallen like a cat” was simply a joke he made to lighten up my tortured spirit. I felt bad how quickly I got angry. It was actually a very good joke in hindsight. I don’t remember his face.

When I was moved to a normal room from intensive care, my parents were allowed to visit me. When they saw me, lying in this bed and barely able to speak and definitely not able to move, they started arguing:

He: Why did you not stop him from going on that roof?! She: Why weren’t you there to help the tenant yourself?!

I didn’t want to hear this. I wanted them to go away. They couldn’t help me. They only made it worse. They didn’t even notice me anymore. For all it was worth, they could have had this conversation in the hallway already or at home or wherever. Why did they have to argue in front of me? I did not have the energy to say anything though. I knew it wouldn’t help anyway.

Locked into this situation as I was locked into my body, I simply started to look out the window and saw it was dusk now. I realized I had no idea how many hours have passed since my accident. While my parents were still arguing in the background, I saw the moon and thought to myself:

I wish I was on the moon now. As far away as possible from here. Maybe that’s how I want to die? Being the first human to die on the moon? That would be cool.

to be continued?