This Place is a Prison

Backboards suck. They are confining, uncomfortable, hard and cruel and we put you on them because we hate you. Or so you feel, once you're strapped to one.

Per protocol, we have to immobilize your spine. It's supposed to prevent any further injury, if you've sustained any trauma to your back. Of course, most of the MVCs we respond to are minor. So minor, in fact, that most patients can walk away, go on home, and take two Tylenol when they feel like crap in the morning. But most passengers strongly disagree. Most want to go to the hospital, because most want to get checked out and honestly, someone else's insurance is going to pay for it anyway, right? 

Because you tell us that you hurt, we tell you we'll have to strap you to a hard board and drive you down a bumpy road. And because you feel pain, and because you feel wronged, you agree to immobilization. And then you spend the entire trip to the hospital whining and bitching and crying like a five-year-old for us to take you off this damn board! We told you it would hurt; we did. You told us we could do it.

Why do we do that? Why do we put ourselves in a painful, uncomfortable situation only to cry about it the entire time? We know there are other ways; we're informed of our various options. But, when we're faced with the decision, we give consent and find ourselves taking the hardest way, getting tied down to a long plastic board by two EMTs. Do we really think we broke our back in fender-bender? Why do we let the medics strap us down if we really don't want them to?

One could argue we do it because we are being cautious, or because we don't think we know better, but I think we're smarter than we let on. I think we do it because we want to be in pain.

Grey's Anatomy proposed the question, "why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer?" to which they answered: "because it feels so good when I stop." I disagree. I think we do it because we relish the attention, while it lasts. The attention we're given as we slam a hammer into our skulls time after time and cry out with each impact. We get to be the victim, the wronged, we get to be the star of the pity party. And then, when it's all over, and we've whined and complained and cried through every second of it, we get to stop and be proud of our accomplishment. We suffered. We survived. We're heroes, dammit. We put ourselves into these situations--where we're strapped down and immobile--over and over again so we can come out of them acting the victor. So that we can feel so strong. We want to overcome.

That, and some of us really are just stupid.

Me? I'm notorious for this. I am a habitual survivor. I constantly pick the way that will make life the hardest. I don't know if I just enjoy the adversity, or if I really am just stupid.

I know this: I consider myself a fighter and I want to be victorious.

But, I am coming to realize this: I really am not so strong, so brave, or so scrappy. I really am that patient on the backboard, crying through the whole ordeal, even though I knew better. Because, we do know better, don't we? Someone asks us if we have pain, and we know it's most likely in the muscle, most likely from the jolt of another vehicle impacting our own. We know it's a bruise on our shoulder and a pull of our sternocleidomastoid. We don't have bone pain, we don't even really have back pain until they strap us down. But we say we do, and we get ourselves immobilized, and we regret it the moment they slide us onto the cot. We know better, but we're suckers for suffering.

I'm a sucker for suffering. I want the hard way every day because I want to suffer. Because when we do, we come out stronger. Right? Isn't that what we're told? We'll be better for this; we'll be stronger! I don't feel stronger.

I feel tired.

I'm exhausted of working eighty hour weeks and blowing my income on unnecessary pleasures. I am so burnt out on constantly looking for a new certification or a new license to make me more money. I am fatigued with lectures, both from myself and my support system. And I am straight up worn out on this whole, school-can-wait-because-once-I-do-this-I-can-finally-be-ready-for-it philosophy that has me no closer to a BA, let alone an MD.

I'm pooped. Knackered, as it were. Done.

I'm tired of fighting for survival and ready to live. But, I have no idea how to do that.

And, frankly, the whole idea terrifies me.

How do I live, truly live--with productive behavior and forward momentum? How do I do that when I am so used to struggling and crying and bitching and moaning and blaming the medics when I gave consent? How do I move forward?

Seriously, guys, I HAVE NO IDEA.

So, I am digging deep and trying to make something from scratch. I've spent a little over five years just "trying to survive". That's five years of wasted time. I want to build something that absorbs that time; I want to create a future that makes those five years worthwhile again. So, I have to ask myself, what did I learn in those five years? Obviously, the answer is: exactly what not to do.

I learned to over spend, to avoid my bills, to skirt the opportunities in favor of the nostalgic, to keep myself down instead of pull myself up. I learned to lose, to fail, to be hopeless, and how to accept all of those fates.

I learned to lose my confidence, my faith, and my esteem. I learned to hate who I learned to be.

I learned that I need to do better.

But, better is hard. How hard is it to break those habits? How hard is it to save instead of spend, to pay instead of throw away, to accept potential instead of resign myself to stubborn belief that I know best? How hard is it to put into action what I know is right? Really, really hard, you guys.

I mean, even now, today, I spent money that I shouldn't. But it was comforting to come here, to this coffee shop, and feel like I could. It was comforting to believe I lived a life I wish I had, with high pay and high education and high disposable income for things like cafes and dinner and drinks. But, it's only comforting for a moment, and then the moment passes, and I scold myself for my behavior and for indulging in my vices. I pile on a tiny failure to my ever-growing stack. I regret instantly.

That is another thing I am tired of: regretting my decision and my place in life. 

So, how do I do better? I guess I just have to try.

All we can do is try.

But, I am tired of trying.

I want to have struggled; I want to have overcome; I want to have passed through the hard, gotten cleared from the back board, and been told that everything is smooth sailing from here. Everything, now, is easy.

I guess a girl can dream.

And, in the meantime, I have some complaining to do.

Because, anything I decide to do now is going to be the hard way. I've really set myself up for a long, bumpy ride. That's what I get for breaking my own back.

I Know There's a Big World Out There