3 years.

I more than likely won't be writing to 'you',  my imaginary friend, tomorrow.

Tomorrow is my 3 year anniversary of my motorcycle accident.

It's not that I'll be too busy celebrating my life and thinking about how lucky I am to be here writing.

It's not that I'll be taking care of my emotions around this dreaded day I remember every year, for 3 years now.

It's also not that I'm taking a day off of everything and just letting myself 'be', knowing that I won the lottery of life, making it out of a horrid situation without being permanently stuck in a wheelchair, brain injury and P.T.S.D.

No.

I'll be sitting in a room with lawyers from my insurance company who will be doing their best to trip me up, in order to make me look like a liar.

They will badger me into answering too quickly for my now slow acting brain in an attempt to make me look like I'm making things up, and therefore, a dishonest witness.

They will make me out to be a lazy ass who sits around getting high on pain killers.

... even though i'm probably the hardest working, unemployable person you've ever met ...

Yes.

I am going to be in probably the most stressful event since my accident.

I've had to go to their doctors before.  That's been pretty stressful as well.

Last week, one of them practically dislocated my 'worst knee'.  Not to be confused with my other 'bad knee'.

I guess he didn't realize how fragile my body really is.

I suppose he thought I was a liar as well.

But when he almost had my knee cap flipping to the outside of my knee, with a knee jerk reaction ...

... yes ... pun intended ...

... I firmly grabbed his wrist and scared him a wee bit.

I'm pretty sure he thought I was going to get violent, considering the way he backed up and had the look of fear on his face, while trying to keep his hand from being ripped off at the wrist.

I think he believed me from that point forward, that I was telling the truth about my more than likely, permanently injured body.

From this moment forward, he allowed me to put my knees where they needed to be on my own.

I was grateful.

Anyway, the point of all this, is that my stomach is turning and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to take a sleep aid tonight in order to keep my mind asleep.

I'm also pretty sure that they are completely aware of my P.T.S.D. and booked my discovery on the anniversary of my accident.

They're not stupid.

It indeed is the worst day for me to have to be psychologically poked and prodded.  I will have to go really slow ...

... story of my new life is 'everything slow' ...

... and think about what they've asked very carefully.

My biggest fear is that I will be forced to look at the pictures of my destroyed motorcycle, the hood of the car that I tumbled over, and the parked car I laid frozen beneath until they pulled me out.

Just writing that paragraph brings me the beginning of a panic attack, with many flashbacks to follow.

So, I'm positive I won't be writing to you tomorrow.

I'm pretty sure my hands will be shaking too much to tippity-tappity type about anything, because they're already weakening just writing about it.

I will be practising my breathing tomorrow like never before.

... in ...

... out ...

... in to my lungs as low as the air can go without passing out ...

... out very slowly so i don't get dizzy ...

Tomorrow.

I won't be seeing you.

But I truly hope your tomorrow finds you joy.