by Martin O’Malley
Excerpts from I Have Outlived Myself
The End of My First Life
The miraculous catastrophe initiating my new life began building momentum on a Friday night, all night, and continued picking up steam the following Saturday evening. That’s when I slammed my car into a tree and was ejected through the canvas roof of my 1996 Saab convertible.
I landed on the frozen grass-covered ground not far past the tree. The car bounced backward, settling upside down in the middle of the road. I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt, which is one known factor that saved my life. I say it’s one known factor because, in the big picture, I am left clueless as to how I survived such a violent crash. I had been driving 100 mph before losing control.
The night before the crash was Friday, January 9th, 2004. I had been partying with a woman named Marissa. Marissa and I had grown up across the street from one another, and she had just moved home from Brooklyn. We had been involved romantically on and off for the previous couple of years with drugs and alcohol quite frankly serving as our rudder.
Earlier that day, Marissa had gotten a job as a paralegal at a local law firm, so I took her to a Thai restaurant in Nyack. I loved drinking in Nyack, and I can tell from the way Marissa described the evening I must have been like a stick of dynamite. Marissa had to fill me in about what happened because not only was the accident erased, but also months of memory, before and after, were lost. As she recounted the events, I could almost feel how juiced I felt that night. Apparently, I was an accident waiting to happen. I had been sober for about a year before Marrissa and I rekindled our faded flames in October. At the time of my accident, I was 28 and had been getting high and drunk with Marissa periodically for three months.
During that prior sober year, believe me, my life had gotten good. When Marissa came knockin’ in October, I remember deluding myself that I could hang out with her and not get high. That was a fantasy. Nevertheless, the fact I had been sober for a year bought me time, which meant I had a nice lead on the consequence hounds who would be tracking me down. Something else you can believe: they always track me down. While considering this weekend, I realize I must have subconsciously felt invincible. I say “subconsciously” because I’ve never really been an overtly cocky guy. Feeling invincible was at least partially a carryover from how healthy I had been living during my sober year. My feelings of invincibility were also based on how consequence-free the previous three months of partying had been.
Obviously, the party gods were setting me up for a seismic rope-a-dope.
As far as being on top of the world, I was a shallow 28-year-old who had two relatively attractive girlfriends, was in pretty solid physical shape, and had good friends and a beautiful dog. I had also completed my master’s degree in special education weeks before my accident. Most of the gifts gained during my year of sobriety, if not given away in a flash, would have been lost eventually.
Currently, I surprise myself by achieving what I consider unlikely accomplishments; that is, of course, with my disabilities. When I was 28, I was not a big mouth or a show-off, and even though I did my fair share of crazy shit, I preferred to fly under the radar. I just felt like my thing was to show what I was ready to do, and any talking could be done by the onlookers. I wondered again and again, what the hell was I thinking that evening? I finally realized my downfall had much less to do with what I was thinking and much more to do with what I was feeling. Due to my memory loss, I can only conjecture my feelings that evening. I have been in similar situations enough to confidently suppose I was walking a familiarly dangerous tightrope. I remember life seeming so easy, which is ironic because it was about to get wickedly difficult. It was that easy notion that made me think life’s rules simply didn’t apply to me. In regard to this invincibility that so smoothly delivered me right to death’s door, it is a feeling that doesn’t have to, but often will, flush reason down the toilet. The average person would probably think, “Why wouldn’t you just get a grip on yourself and realize this is a bad idea?”
In a word: cocaine.
* * *
The word “miracle” is a word frequently used to describe what happened. I can’t disagree. I hope some alcoholics and addicts give my story a read because I’d bet, I may be speaking their language. For those with bipolar disorder or depression, or the grand prize winners like myself who suffer bipolar depression, I will say I’ve been down so low and been so depressed that if I had a gun, I’d be gone. On the other hand, I’ve also been so high, and not just because of cocaine, but due to my mania, I’ve felt so electric and juiced that it’s truly miraculous I haven’t hurt myself or someone else (since the accident). I’d be remiss to exclude my traumatic brain injury which makes my own personal trifecta of treacherous pools of quicksand.
When I consider how my tribulation has thrusted me into useful purpose, I’m reminded of two great thinkers. The first is Friedrich Nietzsche who said, “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” The second is Jonathan Haidt, who explores something mirroring Nietzsche’s famous quote. In his book The Happiness Hypothesis, Haidt explains his “adversity hypothesis,” which describes how an adverse experience certainly can but doesn’t always propel an individual to excel. He further explains that it absolutely matters at what age the trauma occurs and how debilitating the trauma is. I believe I was in the adversity Goldilocks zone. Meaning, I had lived enough and maintained enough capabilities that my trauma has propelled me as it obviously can do. However, I certainly got lost in the thick weeds while coming out of the gate of my new existence. I was in shock and then I groped for relief from substances and from female companionship. The former, early on, had always been a dead end, and the latter set me up for rounds of painful rejection. I realize now I was always poised to excel, and I don’t mean that in an arrogant way. I just feel that by staying sober, I’m living my best life. The early years of my new life simply overwhelmed me. I insisted on figuratively trying to run before I could walk. Actually, that’s not far off in a literal sense as well, but I was so discouraged it would be many years until I ran again. The harder I pressed, the deeper I got lost trying to navigate my new life. All told, by now, I have done enough internal sorting to stop sabotaging my existence. The things that have held me down for longer than I otherwise would have been held have been removed.
I remember thinking every time someone would remind me how lucky I was, that to have a brain injury and paralyzed right arm, I’m as lucky as a guy can get. That interpretation was from days gone by. Today, my life is working for me, and I hope there is at least one young person who might happen across this book. I know I could have used a book like this.
Without a Doubt
Without a Doubt
When I wrangled the beast of doubt
It was then I became free
I blamed the world for how I felt
Until I realized doubt sprang from me
I found myself behind the eightball and know I would have gotten ahead much sooner. I don’t regret my costly miscues. My mistakes can be warning signs for anyone with similar struggles. Maybe there was someone who could have warned me, but I’ve always been a stove toucher.
Even though I hesitated to begin exercising, I soon learned the importance of momentum when I began exercising and will say that exercise has been invaluable. My brain injury made me balk for years and it’s one of my biggest regrets. If anyone is thinking about exercising, it might be the biggest favor you do yourself. If you’re hesitating, think of Plato’s words, “The beginning is the most important part of the work.” Or consider Lao Tzu’s, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” Or in my words, “The development of any muscle begins with one rep.”
Who and What Would I Be?
While I carried and nursed the albatross of addiction, it was dominating my ever-shrinking world. Currently, at twenty-one years post-accident and after significant mending, strangers have no way of knowing how I had been mangled. I say that because after the accident, for at least a couple years, I looked and sounded like someone who was intoxicated. Let me explain. I was not badly deformed except for my right arm, which still is quite unattractive, but I’m working on it. An arm can be hidden but not a face, so whenever I saw myself in the mirror or photos, I winced. I was looking at a different face. Apparently, my brain injury affected my facial muscles, and in turn, my customary visage, my smile, and my smirks were gone.
Was I supposed to realize this was temporary? Over time, it’s almost as if my face has unfrozen and slowly come back to life. Early on, I tried to let my smile shine, but I sure as hell did not know then what would be now, and it seriously bothered me. At the same time, I realized my smile was not exactly a tragic loss. But it was sad when I realized it. I was having lunch with a friend of my ex-girlfriend Jessica. Jessica apparently told her friend I looked noticeably different. To hear your face looks noticeably different is like a dagger. I mean I knew I wasn’t the same, but to hear that was obviously disturbing. Of course, this observation convinced me I was the joker and always would be. I didn’t consider myself vain until I sensed women responding differently to me or just not responding as they once had. For some time, my appearance and what others thought was breaking me up were both like a bad dream.
Serendipitously, as I’ve healed and grown stronger psychologically, my face and my speech have repaired themselves. Ultimately, the change really was both gradual and imperceptible, though I’ll always be able to retrieve the feelings of desperation that dogged me during that time in my life. It was a miserable loneliness, and although I’ve escaped, I’ll always remember my feelings of desperation.
What A.A. Has Taught Me
I was 28 years old when I crashed and as I am recounting my story to you all, I am 49. When you read about my first 28 years, you are likely to take note of the fact I’ve had a few worthwhile accomplishments. At the same time, it will be hard not to notice that I sabotaged myself repeatedly. From a young age, I tended to push the envelope. Long story short, I bought the Hollywood bullshit hook, line, and sinker. I mistook boredom for sadness and raged against this perceived sadness. When trouble didn’t find me, pervasive feelings of doom and gloom often tracked me down throughout my life.
You’ll also read how I was able to reach the top of the world only to quickly retreat back down to some place lower than where I’d begun my ascent. Many of these incidents of self-sabotage were times when I chose to be a passive bystander within my mind while watching my ego proceed to punish me. In time, I discovered I wasn’t obliged to stand by and observe while my ego orchestrated more punishment, punishment that up until recently, I chalked up to bad luck. It was quite freeing to realize that the voice I had always figured was my authentic self, was not, and that the imposter had been quite busy trying to make me miserable. I realize this duality of mind has been depicted in many ways. I finally discovered if I connect with my authentic self, I will greatly increase my chances for success.
Eventually, I understood it was possible to take control or at least be aware of what my dangerous, imposter mind was up to. I had previously relinquished my power and allowed negative thoughts to control me. These thoughts led me astray, all the while convincing me being lost was what I really desired. I was not yet aware that whatever my ego instructed was not a direct order, and for a long time questioning these orders was inconceivable. Put simply, I lacked what the nuns in Catholic school referred to as “good sense.”
Nevertheless, I know my patterns. When all is well, my mind starts to get a little restless, and I tend to forget to “play the tape.” Fortunately, big-picture contextualizing comes more naturally now. Although “play the tape” is not one of A.A.’s official slogans, it is quite a popular and useful suggestion. For me, playing the tape has become an indispensable concept. It means to consider one’s decisions and what they will bring from start to finish. What for me has been quite cunning about addiction is that there have been plenty of times when I believed I have handled drugs and alcohol flawlessly. That’s the addiction rope-a-dope because even if it only goes sideways one out of five or even ten times—one hit is all it takes for me to tear my life down. I’ve attended two meetings within one week where each speaker had tragically killed someone while driving drunk. The mental trap I’ve fallen into repeatedly is that I have both convinced myself and wholeheartedly believed I would make damn sure that things would be different this time around. Sure, certain details vary but harsh consequences always show up. Playing the tape keeps people honest. The program stresses the importance of honesty, openness, and willingness.
A tricky fact is that usually the very beginning of getting high hits the sweet spot. The more desperate addicts throw time and money and relationships away just to feel the hug from their old mistress—whatever drug she may be. Of course, everyone’s pain tolerance is different, so one addict’s costly mistake is another addict’s stubbed toe.
For years, I was only partially able to grasp for myself the true meaning and worth of the AA slogans. I believe they are so simple and succinct that my ego prevented me from utilizing them and taking advantage of their wisdom. I can confidently state the AA slogans are the most valuable life skill mantras and are potentially too obvious to be utilized: First things first. Keep it simple. This too shall pass. And another gem: To thine own self be true. The truth is almost everyone is an addict in some form; what varies and dictates seriousness and acceptability are the consequences. Our society has surrounded us with limitless temptations presenting many alluring paths leading directly to our potential demise.
Something I can say about being ready for recovery is that it is not simply a matter of being ready but also of staying ready. If you’re new to getting clean and you want sobriety and you’re earnestly trying, then you’ve basically done the first step. Stay humble and find and listen to someone you can trust.
My final piece of advice for now is if you start feeling overwhelmed in AA by what seems like a lot of literature, or the customs and culture, relax. Just don’t pick up a drink. Instead, keep making meetings and soon enough you’ll be chairing meetings; it can be that easy.
My Drama, Unremitting
Early on I benefited from being around other seriously injured people. I often considered myself not gravely injured even if, in fact, I was as debilitated, or even more, than some. That fact didn’t exactly soothe me, but communing in a place of healing did. I was only fleetingly aware of how my emotions ebbed and flowed as I was just feeling and reacting. My mind was agile enough, but I could only be aware of what I was aware of. Big-picture contextualizing was not my thing. My TBI (traumatic brain injury) had also considerably narrowed my perspective.
To experience the neuroplasticity of my brain has been to live the miracle of regaining and surpassing its limits. I thank God for sparing my cognitive abilities. Books have been my life raft. I think for the first year or two while still trying to swallow what happened to me, I was probably in shock. I was snatching and grabbing whatever comforts I could grab on to, most of which of course, never stuck around. Even though this lesson had been pestering me steadily and took some time, it finally registered that all unearned comfort will expire.
Every therapist I worked with provided worthwhile assistance by not only leading me through exercises designed to help me recover, but more importantly, they taught me how to help myself recover.
Other Disabled
I so badly want to communicate what I know is the excruciating pain of loss created by a debilitating injury. The loss is like standing in front of the bars of a prison cell. What you had been and so badly wish you could be again is on the other side, and although you can see what you’ve lost, you will never do more than look at it.
I have gained useful insights along the way. It hasn’t been exclusively losses. The idea hit me that I can share how people can find a hope they may not realize is within them. I base this idea on something I learned from Malcolm Gladwell interviewing David Epstein about his fascinating book, Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World. These are two writers with sharp insight. Their discussion veered towards running, and Gladwell makes the point we’ve all got more fight in us, particularly when we think we don’t. That sentiment makes me want to push myself and tell all my disabled brothers and sisters to hold on to this idea. Don’t ever give up. I don’t think one must be a runner in order to experience what I’ll refer to as the “reserve tank phenomenon,” but perhaps this phenomenon is more pronounced for runners. We have a reserve tank—just believe it, just push on. We owe it to ourselves! Whether you are disabled or not, when you think you’re done, trust me you’re not. I believe our brains are our human headquarters, so for severely disabled individuals who cannot run, there are books and audiobooks supplying endless amounts of information available for both learning and entertainment. Before I could run, books got my mind running.
Often when I’m running, I think of the Grateful Dead song “The Wheel.” The song has such a great line, “Won’t you try just a little bit harder, couldn’t you try just a little bit more? A little bit harder, just a little bit more, a little bit further than you’ve gone before.”
Thankfully, I am alive and feel such a unique brand of gratitude. I’ve gone from being seriously jealous of the accidental deaths of others to being in ecstasy because I’m alive and capable of feeling normal again. Please remember—I must remember to remain grateful.
© 2025 Martin O’Malley All rights reserved.
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