"Is there anyone we can call?" the EMT inquired, hovering above me as I lifted a trembling hand to my left collarbone, feeling an abnormal bulge. I sat on the pavement, my Madewell jeans marked by a long black streak down the left leg, still clad in my motorcycle helmet. My elbow was shattered into three fragments, with pain radiating down my arm to my pinky and ring finger, where my wedding band once rested.
A Moment of Desperation and Realization
"No, there's no one. I have no one!" I panicked, worrying about who would walk my elderly, rescued basset hound at bedtime if I went to the emergency room. Glancing at my Vespa—an impractical divorce gift to myself—lying on its side with deep dents and scuffs marring its beautiful mint green finish, I realized my phone and rainbow pride keychain were trapped under the tan leather seat. Just months prior, after undergoing ketamine treatments as a last-ditch effort to alleviate relentless existential depression, I had told my husband I couldn't remain married because I was meant to be with a woman. Now, alone in the ambulance during a cataclysmic event, a feeling of "It's supposed to be this way" reassured me that, like ending my marriage and coming out as a lesbian, this accident was part of my life path.
The Awakening Through Ketamine
A year earlier, when I began IV ketamine treatments that ultimately sparked my sexual awakening, no one warned me about potential ego death. "If this is what death feels like, I'm totally OK with it," I thought, sinking into blissful emptiness. Recalling past suicidal thoughts, I realized that without fear of the unknown, returning to my "waking life" terrified me; death seemed preferable to perpetual self-hatred.
As the nurse removed the IV, I broke down in tears. "I don't want to live like this anymore!" I wailed. My husband held my hand to steady my breathing, while the nurse whispered to him, "I don't know what's wrong with her. I've never seen anyone react this way."
Years of Hidden Struggle
Reflecting on our wedding, I remembered mistaking a deep pit in my stomach for typical jitters. Externally smiling, an inner voice screamed to run. I hated myself for failing to provide the love and intimacy my husband deserved; during infrequent sex, I was drunk, closed my eyes, and left my body until it ended, feeling broken and ashamed.
Over the years, we progressed in careers, moved cities, and bought larger homes, but a persistent sense of something being off worsened my depression and binge drinking. I avoided our starter home's basement, imagining hanging from cast-iron pipes. In Texas, I often drove home drunk in my convertible, disregarding my husband's pain because I didn't care if I returned.
One night, after consuming two bottles of red wine, Googling gay bars, and failing an "Am I gay?" quiz online, I shut myself in a closet, curled into a fetal position, and cried until passing out. Later, I emerged and quietly admitted, "I think I'm bi. What does that mean?" I wanted to say "gay" but wasn't ready, still hoping to avoid ruining our lives without ever kissing a woman. He took a deep breath and said, "I always knew this was coming."
Breaking Free and Healing
Looking at my bandaged fingers from picking cuticles until they bled, I recalled wild animals chewing off trapped feet to escape. "I kept quiet as long as I could. It feels like I don't have a choice anymore." I signed a lease for a city apartment with rainbow flags in windows. Carrying a houseplant and my dog's leash into the sun-filled space, I felt "this is where you heal" rise within me. Placing the plant down, I crumpled to the floor in tears, hugging my dog and reassuring us, "We're gonna be okay."
My upbringing had hardwired me to view same-sex attraction as dirty and shameful, something to lock away to fit others' expectations—like cutting out part of my soul to be loved.
Embracing Freedom and Facing Challenges
In the following months, I flourished in newfound freedom, with people noting they'd never seen me so happy. I dated myself, attending concerts alone and making solo dinner reservations. I never imagined a fun night out would end in a life-changing accident.
The physical recovery was excruciating: eight weeks lying in my living room for surgical incisions and bones to heal, plus three months of physical therapy to regain elbow and shoulder motion. My thrifted travel books reminded me of the life I always wanted. Amid despair and pain, I realized how lucky I was to be alive, recalling the ego death's divine love and guidance toward my destined life.
Moving Forward with Gratitude
"I think you'll be really happy with the settlement amount," my personal injury lawyer said, prompting me to mute the phone and cry tears of joy. "Just sign the paperwork, come get your check, and you'll be all set." My ex-husband moved home and found someone to build a new life with, now having the loving marriage he deserved—one I couldn't provide despite wanting to. Speaking up and him letting go allowed us both to find happiness.
The travel guides are finally used, and I've discovered joy in solo trips abroad, finding healing in Mexico and gratitude in Italy. Recently in Paris alone, I never felt lonely.
Continuing the Journey
I continue dating, yet to find a first girlfriend beyond a casual romance. I remind myself that this time alone was needed to build community, make friends, heal physically and emotionally, and undo a lifetime of hiding. I'm still looking for the love I made myself available for when realizing I couldn't stay married, confident I'll feel it in my now-healed bones when I find her. I trust she's out there, on her way, and we'll both know when the time is right.
Choosing Love Over Fear
That ambulance night, I thought, None of this would be happening if I were still married. Had the Universe not presented an ultimatum during ego death—speak up or never be happy—I'd still be pretending. I'd have the comfort and security of marriage to my best friend but wouldn't love myself. Even in desperation and pain, I knew speaking my truth was right, reassured this was my divine path. When faced with life-altering choices—"Do I say something? Do I ruin our lives?"—we can decide from fear or love. Staying quiet with my ex-husband would have been fear-driven; in absolute uncertainty, I chose love by honoring my inner voice.
I now know I'm meant to be here, despite years of wishing otherwise. Though I haven't found my person, I feel more joy than ever thought possible, and I am so freaking grateful for that.
Erika Hearthstone is a pseudonym for an author in Texas writing about identity and healing, focusing on queerness, spirituality, and courageous self-acceptance, while working on a collection of personal essays.
