A car ran me over? Who was driving it? Did they catch them? What do you mean they let the guy go free? My hair is short again? What are all these new scars? Where’s my dog? I’m renting a new apartment? Where’s my dad? Can I get some water? My ex-boyfriend and my current boyfriend are both here in the hospital? Together? Who are my friends? Where am I? Who paid for all this? Can they afford it? What year is it? How old am I, again? Is it really 2017?
Those were the first questions that came to mind—the ones I asked my friends and family over and over again. Yes, a car ran me over on February 14—Valentine’s Day. I was supposed to move to another house the next morning. I left my boyfriend’s house at 2 AM, and I back to my place because I had to move. The move was keeping me very busy. I know all this because my friends and family have told me about it—I currently have post-traumatic amnesia. So yeah, that happened.
When the accident happened, I didn’t have an ID with me—I had left it at my boyfriend’s with a lot of other stuff. The day after I was hit, my boyfriend got worried about me because he couldn’t find me anywhere, so he started asking my friends to see if I was with them. When no one knew where I was, my roommate gave him the idea of calling Locatel (a missing persons call service). When he said my name to Locatel, it didn’t bring up any records, so he had to give a description of my looks.
It was because of my tattoos that they were able to find me. There I was, in Hospital General, in Mexico City. My boyfriend asked his best friend to go with him because he was freaking out, and didn’t know what to expect. When they found me in the emergency ward, they called my best friend so she could call my mom.
I injured my thalamus, broke my arm, my left eye is closed, I had scratches all over my face, a deep cut above my knee on my left leg, amnesia, and now after the hospital, I’m having trouble walking on my weakened legs. I also have trouble breathing because of my allergies. Being in a sterile place like a hospital room for so long can weaken your ability to resist pollution. My asthma was so bad after the accident that they had to open my throat to perform a tracheotomy. When my boyfriend found me in the hospital, I was unconscious, and in a coma the doctors induced because of my brain injury.
I was in the hospital for almost two months. My life has changed a lot. At first I was very depressed. Even looking at myself in the mirror feels weird. These haven’t been the best days. All this has made me realize how lucky I am to have people around me who make me feel good. I’m very lucky to have them. They have motivated me to try to be a better person.
This is why I decided to make a photo diary of my life these days for my favorite magazine. (I didn’t forget Rookie, just like I didn’t forget how to speak English and how to use a camera.) This is a safe place where I feel comfortable sharing my experiences. If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, or have to take care of a loved person, or if have a car accident, stay calm—everything is going to get better.
Thank you to 13 Producciones (Isra, Cuauh and David especially). Celeste, Jerry, Karla, Anabel Rangel, Ana, Leo, and all my friends from high school who sent money to help. Moncho, Santiago, my mom, dad, and my sisters Daniela and María. Josè, Nacho, Perla, Uncle Chava, Uncle Gastón, Aunt Eugenia, cousins Chavita, Eugenia and Renata, my boyfriend Roi, Zaid, María, Lalli, Manuel, Cat, Adri, Mario, Cheryl, Monse, Diego, Andrea, Caro, Norma, Ximena, Gabriel, Dario, Iván, Fabu, Delia, Allz, and my dog Vinicio. My sister’s dog Canela, Morris (RIP), Luzma, Regis and Fer from physical therapy, Karla my current psychologist, and Alejandro, my former psychoanalyst.