so long, so long

I finally learned why they tell you to rest. I pushed my thigh to the point of collapsing, and I just fell backwards. Lucky, I caught myself on my bed and I'm okay, but it was a wake-up call. No one is Superman. I don't know why I never tell myself it's okay to rest. I still believe it's not.

So, I sprained my ankle. They took my to the CA Hospital Medical Center and I sat around in triage for four hours. It was probably one of the best experiences of my life. I'll start from the beginning.
I twisted my ankle running to catch the light at Jefferson and Hoover. It was already red by the time I started crossing, I didn't care because I was preoccupied. During the show that I was watching (good job everybody), I had made the decision to go to the Psych center on Monday and ask to take the test to see if I qualified for Prozac or Zoloft. I'm pretty sure I would have.
As soon as I hurt myself, I sprang (metaphorically of course) into action. I didn't scream; I didn't cry. I called for help, they sent me an ambulance and I went to check it checked out by a doctor, because I knew I couldn't fix this on my own at 10:00 at night.
Sitting in triage, experiencing firsthand the inadequacy of the US Healthcare system, I watched Level One trauma patients get treated in a hallway because there were no rooms for them. I met a man named James who had been waiting for eight hours with a broken arm from fighting and a rattling cough that never went away. I saw a gang member who had been sliced up by barbed wire, another who was having a bad reaction to PCP. I saw a pregnant woman who was scared and excited. I saw a man and his friend come in covered in someone else's blood. I don't know if that person made it. I saw a couple of people who didn't.
Sitting in a wheelchair with my entire right leg immobilized, I felt so incredibly lucky. For the first three hours that I was there, I kept a smile on my face. I wanted to brighten people's nights. They were doing such important work, and I wanted them to know that. By the time they got to me, I was so exhausted I wanted to cry. It was about 2AM. I still felt blessed to be there, and proud of everyone around me. I can't honestly say I recommend getting injured sot hat you can spend the night in a public hospital, but I learned a lot about myself and other people. As I was sitting there, I no longer felt like I needed the medicine. It was like I was filled with light, because I was in a place where people were doing good and healing in the face of so much bad.
Truth: There were terrible situations. I'm not happy about mine to say the least. I'm sad and worried about James, because I have no way of thinking that he'll make it to the end of the year. He wasn't the only one I saw like that. But even through all of that, he showed me kindness and I reciprocated,
I just wish everyone could have been there that night and seen what I did. Met the people I did. It was a stupid reason to go to the hospital and maybe this is a stupid story, but I feel validated. Maybe not changed, but I feel a better side of myself. I'm going to do better, and I'm going to be okay. I know what I want to be doing, where I want to go, and what I need. I can prioritize and get things done. If I can make it through college without going on Prozac, I can make it through the rest of my life. I can't promise that I will though. I never thought I'd admit that publicly, but I'm a big believer in honesty these days. Don't ask me why.

I had more thoughts, things to say, but at this point I think I've said enough. People have definitely heard enough from me for one night. I just think it would help. Some things need to be heard.
I've learned a lot this weekend.