Nobody With A Notepad: 01|09|12 . #357 | God, Heaven & Michael Keaton pt.2
runwiththecreeps:
You can’t help but wonder where you go when you die. Nobody really knows. Nobody has lived to tell. We all think we know. I think I know. I’ve told people my thoughts. Some agree. Most don’t. But I feel I have something to back my thoughts up. I may be proven wrong. But until then, I’m not changing. I stumbled upon this discovery one morning, just before I was leaving to shop in Buffalo with my best friend, Anova (made famous in my lyric in Graffiti Wall).
The cellphone alarm went off. The snooze option was hit. Just like every morning. Not so much this morning, because I was excited for our road trip. I was stoked to take advantage of the US exchange rate and come home with a new pair of Jordan’s. I walked to the bathroom, head tilted to the right. I couldn’t stand up straight. The joys of living in a basement apartment. I preferred it. Made me feel Bukowski. My body wanted more sleep. I was breathing heavy through my nose. Looked at my clock and noticed it was 8:27. I’ll never forget that. 8:27. Eight.Two.Seven. Stumbled the to the front of my toilet. Stared at the unrine streaming into the bowl. My eyes were heavy. I finished. Gave my penis its last shake. Then ______________. I felt pressure against my face. I was dazed. Confused. I blinked a few times before I tried to figure out what was happening. My nose was pressed towards the left side of my face.
What the fuck?
I pushed my self up slowly with my right hand. My hand was wet. On my knees I then realized I was on the edge of my bathtub. I passed out. My head bounced off the shelf above the tank of my toilet. My deodorants and cologne bottles were on the floor. That’s when I felt intense pain in my ribs. I stood up. Where I was feeling pain dictated what happened. The right side of my face. My right shoulder. My ribs. Right side. My right arm was fine because it landed in the tub, hence my wet hand. My right side, waist up, was not fine because it landed on my tub, dead weight. I’m not a small person, but I was bigger then. Unfortunately, I cracked my ribs. Fortunately, I didn’t die.
I lowered myself slowly on to my couch. Looked at my clock. 8:43. 16 minutes. 30 seconds to peeing. Maybe one minute, maybe two, to waking up and realizing I had fainted. That means I was out for 13 minutes. I stopped thinking about the pain. What scared me is I completely shut down for 13 minutes. Lights out.
Instead of thinking about how I could have died, I started to think about dying. This may be a juvenile way to look at the situation, but I don’t remember a single thing between pissing and waking up, kissing my bathtub. Not a dream. Not a thought. It’s possible it just didn’t happen, or I was too shocked to remember. All I know is it was 13 minutes of nothing. Is that what happens when you die? Could it be that simple? No out of body experience. No soul floating above your shell. No pearly gates. No fiery hell. No paradise where I will be reunited with my parents. Where Cobain is jamming with Hendrix. None of that bullshit. Could it be that you simply just…turn off?
On a brighter note, I managed to score an sweet pair of Jordan 3’s from the Walden Galleria that day. Couldn’t find a Hot Rod shirt in my size at the WWE store on Clifton Hill, though. Leave it to Rowdy Roddy Piper and a near death experience to ruin your day.
@dsisive
isderekhome@gmail.com
I had a very similar experience when having a concussion falling off my bike. Completely out, I’m missing LARGE sections of the time that I was out. I have little dream-like memories here and there of watching myself coming to as someone was holding me up, asking if I’m alright, but I’m fairly certain that this was when I was coming to, in and out of consciousness. Otherwise, all that time is just GONE. I was able to remember about 10 seconds before the crash, I have little snippets of being lifted up, and the next thing was me coming to in an ambulance asking for a Derek, and the paramedic saying that his name was Chris. And then me groggily going “oh shit. this isn’t a dream, is it?” “no, sorry, it’s not.”
I ended up being fine, had some scars all over my face for a few months that miraculously cleared up. When I got home, I had a business card for Derek in my pocket. I’m guessing he was the guy that found me banged up on the road. I was so loopy that first day that I lost the card.
Anyways, I think Derek (Christoff) here is right, when you’re done, you’re just done.