Wake up call

"That Chinese food didn't taste right."

Potential food poisoning and the droning of some repetitive news network put me to sleep. It was a long day, and getting longer. Sitting in a comfortable chair was not as relaxing as it would have been at another person's apartment. I dated "her" for three years and loved her for ten, so comfort just wasn't that easy for us anymore.

I stopped at her job after work and took her keys so I could rest at her apartment and wait for her to get off. I kept telling everyone at work I didn't feel that well, but I guess people don't care how a sales associate feels if she can fold clothes and smile.

An Ohio snow storm is mostly unpleasant, especially for the lucky ones, like myself, with no heat in their cars. I drove from my job, to her job, to the Chinese restaurant with one hand on my steering wheel. My other hand served as an extra windshield wiper to scrape frost off of the inside of my car and rub my legs for warmth.

After I spent a day staring at people's hand-me-downs, arguing with middle-aged women, and belittling myself just to get along, I was exhausted. I couldn't wait to get to her apartment, even if it meant I would be forced to be alone with my thoughts.

The night before the snow storm was a storm of its own. I was angry at myself for leaving a bar in tears because of news that should not have upset me as it did. People date. Stop dating. And date other people. Life is just like that. But the simplicity of the matter doesn't make the emotions of the matter less complicated.

I didn't want to remember leaving a crowd in tears. Who would? I thought some Chinese food and decent television would distract me. The chair was so soft. Even if it was furniture meant to be "ours," I could appreciate its cushions for a few hours.

I'm not sure how much time passed between my slumber and my living nightmare. I could not look at the clock above the television because I realized my body wouldn't let me. I was hyperventilating, and my heart was pounding too fast. Something wasn't right.

My legs crumbled under me as I tried to get help, so I resolved to crawling "army style" across the floor to her roommate's door. I pounded harder than my heart beat, wondering if I had to entrust my life to someone who didn't even like me that much.

I spoke in irrational fragments when he opened the door. I was panicking because I couldn't breathe, and it wasn't getting better. My heart rate was chasing the speed of my current lifestyle, and both could not co-exist. I told her roommate to call for help. He told me the paramedics were on their way.

I shook on the floor wondering if I would ever see my ex again. Or our dog. Or my roommates. Or my sister. Or my mother. Or the should-have-beens. Or the should-not-have-beens.

Every person I loved or loathed came to remembrance as I tried to keep myself conscious. I pictured my sister telling me a funny joke. I re-created my first kiss with the only girl I ever loved. I hallucinated my dog resting in my shaking arms. I even felt the latest taste of rejection graze my lips, mimicking the kiss I remembered/ thought I remembered from last night.

Then, those comforting feelings turned to sadness. What if there was something I said or did to someone I couldn't change? Did I miss the chance to meet my soul mate? Did I meet my soul mate without recognizing it?

I begged an unseen presence for help, and I yelled some kind of incoherent prayer.

The paramedics came, and my heart rate slowed. They decided an ambulance ride was unnecessary after asking me questions, both relevant and irrelevant. One paramedic was convinced I was a coke addict, an insult that would not register until later.

After waiting about an hour, my ex came to my rescue as she always does. Her smiling face rounded the corner, and she assured me everything would be all right. I cried, and she mistook my tears as a sign that I feared losing her.

As a doctor diagnosed me with severe dehydration, I felt completely numb. A life with no sleep, excessive caffeine, endless stress, and too much liquor finally caught up with me. And almost killed me.

Now I sit in my living room riding the coattails of a year that nearly killed me, in more ways than one. If I would have died in her living room, would those drinks and those insecurities have been worth it? Would my legacy be a legacy at all?

I don't have to make resolutions for 2010. I resolve to live. In every sense of the word. I am done relishing in memories and chasing impossible futures. Both disguise the reality of my present. Some things were. And some things will be.

But life does not stop. Even for a selfish 21-year-old who thinks she has it all figured out. And wraps herself up in people and things that only masquerade as important.

Life would have continued without me, but I don't want it to. I want to be a contributor, instead of a bystander, in my own life.