People underestimate the strength it takes to pull oneself out of the depths of darkness. In the Summer of 2022, I found myself suicidal due to the physical pain I was experiencing from injuries sustained in a car accident.
In June of that year, most of the world had just reopened after years of lockdowns and social distancing. Looking to reconnect with my community in familiar territory, I went to Tribeca (one of the first major film festivals to open in the US), excited to support a colleague’s film premiere. I left the festival feeling invigorated and inspired by the energy of being out in the world again.
Upon my return to LA, my life was changed in a split second. A drunk driver was driving in the wrong lane and rear-ended me. I saw my life flash before my eyes. My car (affectionately named Fussili because she was Italian and shaped like pasta) was totaled. I sustained several internal injuries, muscle contusions on my back and right hip, bruised arms, and a torn ligament on my right ankle. Suddenly, I was disabled and navigating the world with invisible injuries.
I naïvely thought I would be back on my feet in a month. But a month turned into a year, and a year turned into 3.5 years.
My poorly-insulated apartment in The Valley is like a hot box if not properly cooled down. During the first two months of my recovery, which were also peak summer, I experienced excruciating pain from my injuries as well as debilitating heat. I couldn’t walk without the support of a cane. I couldn’t sit for too long, lie down for too long, or stand up for too long. I was in a melting box without any relief and got to the point where I had suicidal thoughts, believing it would be better to depart this realm. In the darkness of it all, at the bottom, I kept looking for the light. A chance visit by a friend saved me from the depths of my depression when she encouraged me to go to TIFF, something I had written off as a possibility for that year.
I researched how to travel with limited mobility and how to navigate TIFF, since the festival has long lines. I figured out how to use a wheelchair to navigate the airports and made use of the festival’s accessibility services. While it was challenging for me to maneuver, being in that space truly saved my life as I was able to be in an environment that celebrates film. I absolutely love watching movies and can average 5 films a day, but that year, I could barely sit through a single film.
After TIFF, I realized that I needed to work diligently to get myself into communities that fed my soul. Through my injuries, I continued to pursue the opportunities that would foster my creativity. Living in California, where I have no blood relatives close by, I learned to ask for help and patience from the people around me. I found that I had friends who I can call family, who showed up for me consistently. Words could never explicitly express my deepest gratitude.
I was lucky enough to be accepted into the Presidential Leadership Scholars, Film Independent Amplifier, Red Sea Lodge, and the Realness Development Executive Trainee program. These fellowships and the various festivals I attended motivated me to keep championing my projects and to reintegrate into society in a way that allowed me to show up for my recovery. Through these opportunities, I met incredible people who genuinely leaned in with empathy and patience. They shared their own stories of overcoming obstacles and encouraged me to keep pushing forward.
All in all, as I reflect back on my recovery journey, I learned that recovery is as much mental as it is physical, and above everything, community is essential for succeeding at our healing and our wellbeing.
