It is late. Way too late for me to be awake if I’m going to get up tomorrow morning and be worth anything. Yet, I’m sitting here with music playing and doing everything possible to keep myself from climbing into that bed, alone, and go to sleep.

Sleep is when it comes back. When my eyes close and my breathing becomes deep and even, it is there. During the day I can fight it off, albeit, not completely, as I’ve had multiple panic attacks. Night though, I can’t stop it at all.

Six days out from the incident* and I am just not dealing well. The act of writing about the nightmares alone is bringing on the feelings. I can feel the inability to move or breath there; I can see the people around me thinking I’m just scared, then feel myself pitch forward as the oxygen level gets too low to substain me.

My hands are trembling now. The incident traumatized me much deeper than I thought possible. It is not just the fact that the negligence of others almost cost me my life but, the fact that when everything went black, it went black. There was nothingness.

I’ve been struggling with faith, or the lack thereof, for some time now. Now, I know with a lot of people this incident would have made them pray and bring them closer to God, or their version of God. Yet, I don’t feel that way. If I was dying and I was, and it was all black, is that it?

Is the last time we draw breath the end of us? Do we not really have souls in the way I was taught every Tuesday afternoon at CCD classes? Will we just go away, our bodies into the ground, and that is all?

What happened to the white light and all of that? Where were those who had gone before me? Are you really that alone as you drift out of existence?

The more I reflect on all of this, the harder it is to believe in anything. The last bit of faith is trickling away. I don’t know what to think about this. I don’t know how to get past the incident.

And, I don’t know what, if anything, I believe in anymore. That is tearing me apart inside. 31 years of faith and now it is trickling away. How can I look back on all those years and think I was wrong?

There are too many questions surrounding this. The nightmares, the blackness, the faith or none, all of it, I just don’t know how to process it.

*I have no idea of what else to call it. I think of it as “the big fuck up” but, is that appropriate?