I turned off the water and looked in the bathroom mirror. I smiled, and a foreign idea emerged. I thought, “I like the way I look and feel.” A similar assessment had not crossed my mind in more than 18 years.

The effects of a traumatic brain injury are physically, mentally, and emotionally devastating. I sustained a TBI in 2005 after falling 30 feet from a highway overpass. Miraculously, my mental faculties were not irreparably damaged. My physical attributes, however, will never be the same.

I was the bee’s knees. Before my accident, I had a bloated self-image. I thought I was so cool, checking off many status boxes. I was the president of my fraternity in college. During my college summers, I worked as a beach lifeguard. One year after I graduated, I moved cross-country and lived in beach towns in Low Cal, where I surfed and exercised regularly.

I bailed on the Best Coast and moved back to Philadelphia. When I went out to bars at night, I believed the patrons turned their heads when I walked in. Everything changed on Memorial Day Weekend 2005.

On Saturday, May 30, 2005, I worked a full day at the clothing store I assisted in managing before driving to a beach town in New Jersey to hang out for the remainder of the weekend with some buddies from college. When I arrived at the house, we drank beers and laughed before heading out.

We went to our favorite bar, where I was a regular during my days as a lifeguard on the local beach patrol. The place was packed with folks from 21 (or so said their I.D.) to 61. I was a binge drinker in my twenties and downed shots as well as bottles of Budweiser during the night.

At some point, I separated from the crew with whom I had gone out. No worries, I was friends with different crowds there that night. When the bar closed at 2:30 A.M., I walked alone to my friend’s house, located only a few blocks away. As I stumbled back, an ex-girlfriend called and said she wanted to hang out. I explained that I was not in Philadelphia, but maybe I’d return from the beach in the next day or two and visit her. But instead of rejoining my buddies for late-night shenanigans, I made a life-changing mistake.

Although I was blacked out drunk, I pulled out my keys, got into my car, and drove back to Philly. Somehow (probably because the highways were empty along the route at 3 A.M.), I cruised for about 75 minutes without incident. However, my foolish journey ended as I rode down I-95 near the Philadelphia International Airport, less than 20 minutes from my destination.

I fell asleep at the wheel. My Honda Accord drifted left and slammed into the guardrail. The car was totaled, but I was relatively unhurt. I stood on the shoulder when another motorist pulled over to help. He called the police, and we waited together.

We chatted as a driver seemingly lost control and barreled directly towards us. To avoid being struck, we hopped the guardrail I had mangled. But we were standing on an overpass. So, when we jumped the barrier, we fell 30 feet and landed on a street below the highway. The car we sought to evade did not hit us or our vehicles.

Police officers arrived, saw two unoccupied cars, and wondered, “Where are the drivers?” A patrolman peered over the guardrail and saw two bodies in the street. I was rushed to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury as well as a host of fractures. Doctors removed my spleen because it burst when I completed my swan dive.

The Good Samaritan did not survive the fall. I wish I could thank him for stopping to assist me.

I was in a coma for two weeks, stayed in an intensive care unit for a few more weeks, and then transferred to a rehabilitation hospital, where I was discharged from inpatient care after two months. I was jettisoned from outpatient physical and occupational rehab six months later when the insurance company refused to continue making payments due to a “lack of future goals.” F- insurance companies and their bottom lines.

From March 2006, I spearheaded my rehabilitation from a brain injury. There were periods of hopelessness and thoughts of suicide. My self-image remained in the toilet for at least a decade. But I am proud of the person–outside and inside–I am today. I am a better man for enduring the formidable challenge.

I now smile when I see my reflection in a mirror.

*Thank you for reading this long, true story. I’ll expound and release it as a book.