Fugue States and Freedom

An essay about my fugue-induced car accident, its repercussions and finding freedom afterwords with my service dog in training Tugboat by my side.

When I crashed my car into a pole this spring while driving solo, I thought my life as I knew it was over. It was the first time I experienced a fugue-induced car accident and the very idea that this body and being of mine could hurt someone when I got behind the wheel each day absolutely terrified me.

I have had innumerable fugue states since I started having them in my twenties after I was sexually assaulted, but I have never gotten in a car accident during one. I have also never hurt anyone else in a fugue state, only myself. But this spring, as my neck snapped to and the shock of my car slamming to a halt reverberated through my whole spine, I reckoned in panic with my condition’s potential to harm others.

After the accident,  as I drove fifteen miles an hour blasting sing-alongs with the windows wide open to the frigid night air to keep me alert and attentive, I replayed the night over and over again. What had happened? Where did I go? What if I had hurt someone? Of course, I didn’t remember anything. That is how fugue states work. The mind severs the connection with the body in pursuit of self protection and memories of that time period completely disappear. Sometimes, memories return in the form of night terrors, but oftentimes they are gone for good. 

That night, just like my memory of the evening, I thought my freedom was gone for good too. As soon as I made it sluggishly yet safely home, my immediate reaction was to email my care team and announce my decision to never drive again. I went to bed thinking that was it – that I would never know the freedom I once had – that I would forever be dependent on someone else to go anywhere ever again. 

I wept myself to sleep that night. Freedom was all I had fought for, and the very idea that it could be taken from me by me felt heartbreaking. I awoke to the same sorrow I went to bed with but to my surprise, my inbox was full of emails from my care team telling me that not driving again was not an option. They told me not driving was the exact opposite of what I needed to do. They said I actually needed to get behind the wheel even more. 

I spent the next week fighting their decision – trying to change their minds. But no matter how hard I fought or how clever the argument I came up with, the only concession my heated words empowered was for them to prescribe that I drive with both Tugboat and Waffle for the time being.

Getting behind the wheel again was a practice of exhausting exposure therapy but I did it. I followed their instructions. Every day, I got behind the wheel and did what terrified me. Every day, I took on the fear and the potential for fugue states and learned again to trust this mind and body of mine. I started with driving on my little dead end dirt road. Then, I drove other quiet dirt roads. And finally, even though the weeks that had passed were panic filled, I took to the highway once more. 

It’s been four months since I crashed into that pole in that grocery store parking lot and this past week, I spent four days in Washington DC with my best friends from college and Tuggie. Boarding the bus, going through security, stepping onto a plane, and landing in a new city — it all felt like getting behind the wheel for the first time after my fugue-induced accident. It was scary in all the ways. But, I did it. I followed the instructions I had written myself after the very first flight Waffle and I had taken. I put on Tuggie’s vest and did what terrified me.

The long weekend with my best friends was just what I needed. Each day was immeasurably full of laughter, storytelling, urban adventures and love – so so much love. We took the metro, rode escalators, walked the monuments, went to The Kennedy Center and ate the most delicious food. With each thing we did — each delicious meal we ate – each new street we walked, I remembered a little bit more of who I am without The Dogist. The whole weekend passed in a joyful blur and Tuggie did extraordinarily. It was honestly everything I needed to finally turn the page and move on from The Dogist. 

Before boarding the flight back, I re-read the instructions I had written myself after Waffle and my first flight but this time, as I read them, I scrolled all the way to the bottom, to a note far beneath the final step. It read, Freedom lies in the work you are avoiding, Kate. May you never stop doing the work. I smiled as I read those words, beamed actually. I was right. Freedom does indeed lie in the work we avoid.

Beneath that final note, I decided to add a few more:

And freedom is always worth it. The work for freedom is always worth it.

I’ll be back next week with the next Chapter of Maura and me. In the meantime, enjoy these photos of a woman who again found freedom last weekend — a woman who is finally ready to step into the next chapter of her life by writing the memoir she has been dreaming of relentlessly for years.

With so much love and of course – a dork dance.

Kindly,

Kate