Fade to Black – Eric A – Orlando

 “ Fade To Black” is the term used to denote the end. This was to be the scroll on my headstone. The fortunate thing is that the end of the story is still to be written. Let me take a moment to explain. I started out in life with a loving family, a good creative mind, and a great personality. I was fairly good at sports and an all around good guy. I breezed through high school, got a four year scholarship to an Ivy League college and received support from my family and friends. Things seemed to be going well until my second year when I was in a serious car accident where two people were killed, and I was badly injured. As a matter of fact, it was not my fault. The other driver, who also died, was deemed as the wrong party. Nonetheless, I felt guilty and dove into the bottle. It seemed like drinking was the only way I could get through the day and avoid the horrible nightmares that were a constant in my life. I dropped out of school and was attending a therapy group for survivors of automobile accidents. I attended the meetings on a weekly basis but got little to no relief. The bottle took me out of the doom and gloom misery I was in daily. I drank morning, noon and night. I cursed GOD for not taking me. My parents and friends tried to help but I pushed them further and further away. I got arrested several times for disorderly conduct and even got a D.U.I. I guess it was Divine intervention that kept me out of jail even though I did not know it at the time. I don’t know how to explain to someone who has never been there what it feels like to wake up or come to everyday wanting desperately to die. Even as much as I was angry with GOD, each and everyday I begged him to take my life. The clinical therapist said one day that I should stop feeling sorry for myself and get back in the game of life. She suggested that I start attending AA meetings. I went for a few months and drank after every meeting until one day I heard a woman speak about losing her husband and children to a car crash and how she, too, dove into the bottle, but one day she heard a voice say, “This is not what your family would want you to do with your life.” Well, I heard her voice loud and clear. It said that I should get off the pity pot and start living again. That was the start of my journey back from the walking dead. FADE TO BLACK – not hardly – life is just beginning. I have a room full of people who don’t allow me to feel sorry for myself. I talk to the woman who carried the message that saved my life on a daily basis. She and I run a support group for survivors of accidents, and I am even enrolled in school. The only thing FADED these days are my washed out jeans.