I won't leave you

There was special moment in the studio that I didn’t quite understand at the time. I was in recording session with a fellow musician, Stolar, working on a song for my upcoming album. The song is based on a concept I had for a music video about a woman who saves a stranger's life.

We were listening to the music, talking about the lyrics, when Stolar asked how the concept related to me. I told him it didn't. But Stolar kept on the subject, asking me some more questions. Suddenly, I was overcome by a memory of when I tried to save a man's life. As we got deeper into the song, I burst into tears and kept repeating, "People are stupid, people are stupid…"

I struggled to understand why I was so upset about this event that happened a few years earlier. The event didn’t leave such an impression on me, so why all these feelings now?

As an Aspie, processing and communicating these emotions are especially hard for me. I struggle to find the words to communicate my feelings and the delayed response to this traumatic event was heavy and so emotionally confusing. This is a big part of why music is so important to me. What I cannot say in words alone, I express through music.

After finishing the song, I was emotionally exhausted, but I felt grateful for this song which brought this memory on. The emotions were raw and difficult, but I now have a way to share this experience and heal.

I saved this man when I was still living in Malaysia.

I was driving through my neighborhood when I spotted a man lying on the side of the road. His face was blue, and he was barely conscious. I pulled over and tried to grab people’s attention. The man was too heavy for me alone to move, so I needed help getting him into my car.

People either drove past us or stopped, saw what was happening, and then quickly drove away. I tried so many things. I alerted people on the street, knocked on doors and told anyone willing to listen about this dying man. No one believed me. Some people thought it was a scam; others just ignored me.

I was shocked.

How could so many people be so unwilling to help a dying person? Every moment that passed tore at me because I knew every moment counted. I was finally able to get some help after calling a family member. Together, we put the stranger into the backseat of my car and rushed him to the hospital. 

Later, while the man was in the ER, I went through his wallet and backpack in search of his name and contact information so that I could call his family. I felt strangely close to the man. From what I’d found in his backpack, I could tell that he was tidy and neat like me. He wore a button-down shirt that was tucked in with care. He also wore eyeglasses and he had a backpack. His wallet was clean, organized and contained a collection of bus passes. Somehow, he struck me as the loner type. Thinking back, I get the feeling he may have been autistic.

This was before my official diagnosis, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. Autistic people tend to share qualities that other autistic people recognize. I instantly felt a kinship with this stranger whose life I saved.

Later, at the hospital, the doctor announced that the man had passed away. The cause of death was a heart attack. I cried when I heard the news. I knew I’d done my best to try and help the man but hearing that he died despite my efforts hurt so terribly.

The man's family arrived at the hospital later that day. Grateful for my help, they invited me to dinner to thank me for what I’d done. They told me the man was working on his Ph.D. at a local university. They said he’d always been a loner and that he loved his tidy home and books, which were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. None of these detailed surprised me. 

Days after our recording session, I still couldn't figure out why I got so upset over something that happened so long ago to a stranger. For about a week, every time I played back the song, I’d cry.

Why was I crying?

I didn't feel guilty because I tried my best to save him; it was beyond my control. But maybe I really did feel guilty. Maybe I told myself I didn’t because the pain was too great to hold.

I recently started therapy for the first time. I told my therapist about these bouts of crying and about the stranger I saw lying on the ground. I told him my feelings were confusing and that I did not know why I was feeling this years later.

My therapist said that in my heart, I knew why I had these strong feelings. Humanity had disappointed me that day.

He was right.

Watching people drive by and ignore me and this dying man… This was profoundly disappointing… so much so that after all these years, it still crushed me. If someone, anyone, had just helped us that afternoon then that man may be alive today.

After some time with these thoughts and feelings, I was able to put the disturbing memory to rest after praying for the man and talking to him in my thoughts.

I wished him well and I hope he is doing well—wherever he is now.