Fight or Flight, this was the situation I was in. But flight was not a viable option, because my attacker had me backed into a very tight space with no place for me to run. Fighting did not seem like a wise choice either because I was greatly out matched. I needed to get Carolina out of my room. It was the only way for me to survive.
I didn’t even think about it, I just did it. There wasn’t any time to think. At this point, I seemed to be moving on automatic pilot, when I did something that I would have thought was impossible: I picked Carolina up and threw her out of my room.
How did I do that? I was an underweight teenage girl. Carolina was a very large woman. She probably weighed at least three times as much as I weighed. And yet, I picked her up. With one hand. With my left, non-dominant hand. I grabbed the front of her dress somewhere near her neck, I lifted her high up off the floor and I threw her.
Carolina went flying through the air, all the way out of my room, all the way across the hall, and then she slammed into the wall. How many feet away was the wall? I don’t know, but I am guessing it was at least fifteen feet at the minimum, from where I was standing. Although my room was little more than a cubby hole, the hall was wide enough that there were high-backed wooden rocking chairs lined up along both sides, with a fairly spacious walkway down the center between the chairs.
When Carolina slammed into the wall, she hit the wall above the chairs that were lined up on the far side of the hall. Then she slid down, falling between two of the rocking chairs. Part of her body hit one of the chair arms as she came crashing down, which caused that chair to tip over as she landed on the floor. Luckily, no one was sitting in any of those chairs at the moment. The other patients tended to congregate around the television during the day, which was quite a distance from where we were when this happened.
I will never forget the look of shocked disbelief on Carolina’s face as she was flying through the air and sliding down the wall. Several people called out from down the hall: “Hey! What happened?”, as they apparently saw Carolina come flying out of my room. But she just picked herself up off the floor and limped away without saying a word to anyone.
How did I do that? How was it even possible? It shouldn’t have been possible, right? It was like something you see in a wild dream or in a fantasy movie. But it was real. I know it was real. It was as real as anything I have ever experienced in my entire life.
For many years, I never told anyone about this. I was too stunned to talk about it, when it happened. As far as I know, Carolina did not talk about it, either. But she also never came near me again.
Have you ever heard a story like this, or maybe seen reports in the news of a person singlehandedly lifting a wrecked car or a large tractor or a massive boulder off of someone to save their life? I have heard it said that a tremendous surge of adrenaline can give a person super human strength, in the case of a life or death emergency. If this is true, then I assume that’s what happened to me. But in reality, only God knows.
I have to admit something right now: I am really scared to post this on my blog, and I am also having second thoughts about including this episode in my memoir. I’m afraid people may read this and either think that I am lying, or else they may believe that I really was very crazy and hallucinated this weird experience. I’m tempted to leave this out of my memoir, and to delete the parts of this story that I have already posted on my blog.
But I want to be bigger than my fear about ‘what will people think’. I want to tell my truth, all of my truth, and hopefully by not holding anything important back, I will encourage others who may have had weird things happen in their lives, things they’ve been afraid to tell anyone about, for fear of being called a liar or crazy.
Not only that: I keep thinking that someone may read this and later be in a situation where they are attacked by a person who is bigger and stronger. And maybe my story of how I escaped from almost being strangled to death, will give them the courage to fight to stay alive.
Seven people are alive today who would never have been born if I had been killed when I was fifteen years old: my two sons, my daughter, my two granddaughters, my grandson, and my eight-year-old great-grandson. How awesome is that?
Thank You, Lord Jesus, for saving my life and saving my soul!
PS: I want my readers to know that I am not going to take offense if some of you have doubts about the veracity of my story. I won’t blame anyone for feeling that way, and I would probably feel the same if I were you. This is one of those things you almost have to see and experience yourself, to fully believe.
The fact that I was in a mental institution at the time is a huge strike against me, I know. Although I have had numerous doctors and therapists over the years tell me that I am not crazy and I never should have been put in a psychiatric hospital at the age of fourteen, it is still a really big stigma to live down.
Anyway — believe it or not, this is my true story. But we can still be friends, even if you don’t believe this happened the way I remember it. Just please be courteous in your comments. 😀
Thank you for stopping by. I love my blogger friends. God bless! ❤❤❤
This is the cover I’ve designed for my book. Growing Up Crazy, A Memoir, is still a work in progress and has not yet been published.