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Tenth Hike
Written by Chloe on Wednesday, July 29, 2009
A week after my car crash, I decided to see if I could make it through a day without any Percocet. I made it. This seemed to indicate that I was ready for a hike the next day. Alicia didn’t agree. Sean didn’t agree. But then, I’m a stubborn little bitch.
The first part of the hike is very easy, on a trail through the most wonderful meadows of wildflowers I have ever seen. As I cross the ridge, the peak I have in mind to attempt comes into view on the opposite ridge. It is literally breathtaking; and formidable. There appear to be vertical cliffs on all sides. Why is it impossible for me to view such cliffs without imagining jumping off them?
The only possibility of making it to the peak would be to acquire the ridge to its West, and see how it goes from there. I’m to the Southeast, so I don’t have a view of that aspect. The walk through the Engelmann Spruce forest westwards down to the lake at the head of the canyon is very pleasant. Somehow I expect to meet a Hobbit.
The view from the lake is stunning. The headwall appears to be almost continuous vertical cliffs. One expects an enchanted castle on top of the peaks. Acquiring the ridge will not be easy. It looks like there might be a way through the cliff bands, heading Northwest from the lake towards a saddle in the ridge, due West of the peak I’m eyeing.
About a quarter of the way up the very steep slope, my foot slips and I take a fall onto my left side. My left arm reaches out instinctively…
I haven’t screamed out in pain like that for a LONG time. It was followed by a few expletives. I wonder if "#$%%^*" is a universal language also understood by chipmunks? Probably.
It’s my shoulder, exactly where I hurt it in the crash. "You fucking idiot!" Okay Alicia. Okay Sean. You were right. I’m not ready. I could make this injury worse. It would be sensible to head home now. "Goddamn sissy!"
The terrain progressively becomes steeper as I keep heading upwards. Eventually I don’t see any alternative but to try a traverse. If I can make it to that rock outcrop with the flat top, I can take a look around from there to find a route.
I’m on the rock. I survey the terrain in all directions. I look back at the traverse I just made. I had been completely focused on where my hands and feet were going, so I hadn’t looked down. Now I can see what’s below that scrambling traverse. The slope quickly gets steeper, down about 30ft, and then suddenly ends in a vertical drop of about another 30ft. Shit!
I look down off the edge of the rock. It’s about a 6ft vertical drop onto that same slope leading to the cliff. I look up. Another vertical cliff. I could keep going in the same direction, but I would have to cross a crevice to the cliff the other side. It’s too wide to step across, but it’s only a few feet so it’s an easy jump.
Yes, the leap is easy, but what about the landing? "Leaping onto a cliff face! Are you completely out of your mind?" "But it’s the only way forward". —- You may be thinking that this post isn’t about BIID. But it is. I often find that what literally happens on a hike is a deep metaphor for life, and how to deal with BIID in particular. Start from the beginning again if you haven’t followed the metaphor. (Don’t worry, I didn’t figure out the metaphor myself until I’d got this far.) :o) —-
To leap or not to leap? The pros are that it’s an easy leap, the scramble to the top of the little cliff looks easy, and it seems like the only way forward.
The cons: The rock is limestone and somewhat crumbly. My left leg won’t support my weight. My left arm won’t support my weight. If I fall it is very likely that I’ll be seriously injured (presuming for the moment that I’m not actually unbreakable). Nobody will hear my screams. The temperatures at this elevation can get below freezing at night, even in the middle of summer.
I’ve been standing up here for twenty minutes trying to decide. My shoulder decides for me. It has been getting progressively more painful all the while. Time to head back (sissy!).
Reversing the traverse looks more difficult. This time I know what lies below. It IS more difficult with the left leg and left arm uphill in any case. I stop about halfway across. My weight is on a tree root, on my right leg. I’m balancing using the hiking stick in my right hand (yes, I have very good balance). Something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I just crossed a small very steep gully. It is the kind of thing that is possible to ascend by a fast scramble on all fours. You have to keep going once you commit, or gravity will pull you down the loose rocks and dirt. I go for it…
At the top of the gully the terrain flattens out. I am out of breath from the high energy output. My heart is thumping from the adrenalin too. I check for damage. Yes, I’ve added significantly to my collection of cuts and bruises: hands, elbows, and knees. A couple of days ago Alicia was commenting to me that I ALWAYS have a collection of cuts and bruises. Well, I can’t deny it.
From here to the saddle on the ridge is easy moderately sloping terrain. At the saddle I sit on a rock to rest…
The ridge towards the peak is filled with intimidating looking cliffs. I walk up the slope a bit, towards the first set of cliffs. It looks like there’s a navigable notch in that first set. "One of these days, Chloe dear girl, you are going to fall off a cliff and never wake up". I check the time, and estimate when I’m likely to get home if I attempt the peak. It calculates out at around midnight. That means I won’t have cell phone reception to let Alicia know I’m okay until 10:30 p.m. Yes, I can be a selfish bastard sometimes, but eight days ago I was late home and she thought I had died. I remember Sean’s last words to me yesterday: "I really think going hiking is a bad idea. Don’t stay for you. stay for her (Alicia)."
I shall make it to a peak another day; but today is not such a day. I am heading back. I think this is where the metaphor ends. One is never quite sure though.
Sitting on a rock by the edge of the lake, I start crying. I manage to find an excuse to cry almost every day. This time I’m thinking about my friends. I’ve been startled at how many of them think I crashed my car deliberately. I don’t think I did it deliberately. Some of my friends think I was trying to kill myself. Some of them said that they need me. "They need ME! Me, the crazy fucked up stupid bitch." Ah yes, sometimes the wonderful self esteem just bubbles up to the surface! The truth is: I need them. Sometimes I feel very fragile.
Back up through the forest to the ridge is pretty easy going. I contemplate the deliberation. It seemed like I might have been capable of deliberately crashing my car in order to become paraplegic. It’s different now. Now I KNOW that I am capable of it. How do I know that I know? I don’t know. I just know. How could I know this if I didn’t crash the car deliberately? I don’t know.
I feel guilty about enjoying the crash. People don’t usually say that they enjoyed their car crash, do they? But I want to have another car crash. Shit! Isn’t it a big taboo to say such a thing, to think such a thing. Aren’t most people traumatised by car crashes? Why do I feel happy about mine? It feels weird to say these things. I am often paranoid about people thinking I’m weird. But I’m committed to keeping this site real, telling it how it is.
Yes, I enjoyed the sound of crunching metal. I enjoyed seeing the blackness of the road through the driver’s window on impact. After the car came to rest, I had that same feeling of exhilaration that I get from riding a roller coaster. I LOVE roller coasters. I’ve always thought the dream job for an engineer would be designing roller coasters. I would love to design "CAR CRASH: THE ROLLER COASTER".
I truly apologise to those of you who have been traumatised by a car crash, and who are offended by what I’m saying. But I can’t lie. I had a good time, and I would do it again.
I had planned the hike such that the drive home would take me past my crash site. I really would like to know if I did this deliberately. Maybe I’ll remember something.
The last thing I remember before the crash was driving past the Walmart in town. I don’t remember the freeway onramp. I’m looking to the side of the road for clues. It’s all farmland. There’s cows; then grass, then horses, then maize, then sheep, then more maize. Or wait! Is that maize? It looks a little different. "Eyes back on the road, idiot!" It doesn’t matter what it is, I don’t remember any of it. Nothing rings any bells at all at the crash site. Nothing gives me the slightest clue what happened. I drive on homewards.
Something clicks! Not a memory, but a clue nevertheless. Eyewitnesses said I was going 75 m.p.h. That is MUCH faster than what I fantasize about a crash in order to become paraplegic. I’ve been thinking 30 m.p.h. Perhaps I’m wrong, but my perception of a 75 m.p.h. crash is that it’s more likely to result in death than paraplegia. There’s no way I would have attempted paraplegia at that speed. A deliberate crash at that speed could only mean… suicide.
Yes, I admit that I think about killing myself every day. But that’s NOT the same as feeling suicidal. I DO know the difference. I’ve been there. I’ve not felt suicidal in some time. Still, I also have to admit that I don’t remember the cause of the crash. However… I KNOW that this was not a suicide attempt, because I am very particular about how I would actually commit suicide. There is a very short list of acceptable methods. "Car crash" is NOT on that list. It’s just not how I would do it. So I have figured out for sure that my car crash was not deliberate, even though I don’t remember it. I feel relieved.
Back home, Alicia is very pleased to see me; and I her.
Tags: BIID, Crash, Metaphor, Paraplegia, Sean, Suicide
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4 Comments
2 On 31 July, 2009, Phil said:
Hi Chloe,
what immediately strikes me is how much you hurt yourself - with thoughts and words, and by doing things where you get hurt.
Apart from this, I would like to ask you about your motivation for your hikes. What is it, why do you do it? What do you like about it most?
Maybe you enjoy being hurt and in danger (even in a potentially lethal car crash) because you feel yourself more intensely during it and afterwards?
And only then you allow yourself emotions - and to cry?
Do you like yourself, or do you hate yourself - in general?
Best wishes
Phil
Hi Phil,
Yes, I enjoy being hurt and I enjoy being in danger. A lot of this has to do with my mother. She was massively fearful of just about everything, and she tried to instill that into her kids too. We both resented it and we both rebelled against it. My sister is a more hard core athlete than I am. She pushes herself a lot, causes herself pain, injures herself. We are quite alike.
My mother was especially fearful of cliffs. Hence I take a special delight in the danger of cliffs, both hiking and skiing.
One of the things I enjoyed about my car crash was the thought of what my mother would have to say about it. She thought that cars were dangerous. She never drove one in her entire life. Neither did my dad for that matter.
Yes, I have plenty of baggage besides BIID.
I allow myself to be emotional all of the time. I cry every day. My mother almost never cried to my knowledge. I cry at some point during every hike. It’s often not about me at all. The last big cry was on Monday. I stayed home all day just to be with my partner, Alicia, who was having a massive emotional crisis. It was nothing to do with me, or BIID, but I knew that she needed me. We sat and talked and cried all day.
I have many motivations for hiking. At the top of the list is that I find it to be a spiritually rewarding experience.
I like myself, and I also hate myself. Perhaps I’ve not completely got over other kids saying they hated me, when I was young, just because I was ambiguously gendered. It’s still hard for me to imagine why anybody else would like me.
How much do you charge for your psychotherapy, Phil?
4 On 31 July, 2009, Phil said:
Hi Chloe,
I don’t charge for my psychotherapy, I pay for it ;-)
I hope I didn’t resemble a therapist, and if, only a good one…
When I ask you questions, I ask myself the same ones. Even though I generally avoid danger (and I thought maybe thus I “cut off” potentially interesting things and desires from my life).
It’s a bit conspicuous how many of us had abusive, confining, fearful etc. mothers.
But so many other people had mothers like this, and they don’t have BIID…
Why is it so difficult to love oneself really?
I hope you and I can learn it better.
Phil
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1 On 30 July, 2009, Lane said:
We should compare more accident notes offline. Bottom line on this one is that the eye witness stories don’t fit with a suicide attempt - especially one made by a super intelligent, scientist, planner-type person. We could talk, too, about the suicidal mind (been there), but again, it doesn’t fit the facts.
Having BIID and and depression (BP), and having a potentially paralyzing acciedent just brings on a hailstrom of powerful emotions and unanswerable questions. I feel ya, but we can talk.