State of Mind (My Mental State at the Time)
I regained consciousness. I can’t remember if I heard voices in the distance or not, but when I suddenly woke up, there were several faces around me. My mother’s face, my father’s face, my aunt’s face, and my girlfriend’s face. My eyesight was poor, my contact lenses had been removed, and I was still in a foggy state of consciousness, so I don’t clearly remember who was actually there.
It felt like the fact that I had been in an accident had been imprinted on me while I was unconscious. When I woke up and saw my family and girlfriend’s faces, I instinctively said these words:
“It’s okay.”
With a tube in my nose and oxygen being administered to my mouth, no sound came out.
The words “It’s okay” never turned into sound. But I was trying desperately, without even understanding my situation, to say, “It’s okay.”
It’s truly strange that even while I was unconscious, the fact that I had been in an accident was somehow imprinted on me. The fact that I was in a hospital was also something that had been imprinted from the moment I first regained consciousness. Without mentally grasping the accident or understanding anything about my situation, I tried my hardest to tell my family and my girlfriend, “It’s okay,” “It’s okay,” “It’ll be okay,” “I’m okay.” When I look back on it, there’s something both sad and heartbreaking about it—this desperate attempt to reassure them.
Was saying “It’s okay” my unconscious way of trying to comfort those around me?
In truth, maybe by telling myself “It’s okay,” I was trying to cling to my consciousness, which was slipping away. Maybe I was pleading with my body, which was still in a critical condition. Or maybe I was trying to cast a spell on myself, to convince myself that I would definitely be okay, so that I could feel a sense of peace.
“It’s okay,”
“It’s okay,”
“It’s okay,”
“It’s okay,”
By saying it over and over again, unconsciously repeating it again and again, I survived.