Americaphiles

The Story Of My Fucking Life

One-thirty-eight

Posted by ilbebe on April 28, 2013

Something I need to remember more often is that someone saved my life. When I think about the amount of time I’ve spent pondering my self-worth, it boggles my mind that I haven’t more time spent meditating on the fact that one time I actually might have died, but a friend saved my life.

I was 19. Bummed. It was a  Monday in February, it was cold. I was hanging out at the house where several friends including my ex-girlfriend lived, drinking vodka and feeling lonely and getting sloshed on a weekday for one of the first times ever as some some lame half-experiment/half-cry-for-help. Absolutely nothing memorable happened, and I passed out on my back on the living room floor. At some point in the middle of the night, my friend Stephanie heard an awful sound and rushed in to find me choking on vomit. She rolled me over and I started breathing again.

I’ve mentioned this story pretty casually to people over the years, but as I’m thinking about now it’s as if I’ve really considered it, as if the full gravity and significance of this have finally sunk in, after thirteen years. Just when you were hoping for a nice little bit of type of growth that happens when yr still growing.

There was a dream, ahh…

-1:18AM, 4/28/13, home, Avett Brothers, as has been the case for so many inspired moments over the past sixteen months.

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