Pistol Whipped, Face Down on the Curb: Lessons from a Carjacking

The setting was Jackson, MS, and the year was 2015. I recently moved to Jackson to take on the General Management position at a fast-food chain.

It was a normal night. I went to meet a friend at a bar in a relatively safe part of town called Fondren. We enjoyed the night catching up. Old friends since high school, we had been through a lot together, both romantic and platonic. In this phase of my life, I struggled with mental health issues. Anxiety, depression, and an identity crisis had left me in a state of malaise lasting years.

We drank until the bar and grill closed in Fondren and decided to continue to another bar downtown. We had a good night, talking about our lives and discussing our own personal struggles. She and I were both experiencing tumultuous times in our inner and outer lives and we helped each other as friends do.

As the night came to an end, we left the bar and sat in her car, continuing our conversation.

Depression was thick at that time, and I was struggling with suicidal ideation.

Then came the tap on the window.

I looked to my right, and all I could see was the barrel of a revolver pressed against the window. A split second later, the shouting began, and my friend’s and my doors were opened, and the barrel I saw was now firmly pressed against my temple.

“Empty your pockets,”

was all I heard. My instincts kicked in; I looked down at my legs, put my hands where the robber could see them, and said, “You can have everything. I am not going to look at your face, and I don’t care about any of this stuff, just take it.” I pulled out my wallet, which was in my pocket, and handed it to him.

Then he told both of us to get out of the car. The barrel of the gun was transferred from my temple to the back of my head.

I put my hands up, kept my eyes on the ground and slowly got out of the car.

“Get on the ground, bitch,”

he said with soulless hate. I complied. Hands in the air, I slowly made my way down to the ground. On the way down, I felt a crack at the top of my head. Then the blood running down my neck. I fell the rest of the way.

As I lay there, I felt the barrel on the back of my head and I will never forget the look of the pavement. As I stared at that pavement, I realized this was the end of my life. He had put me in the execution pose and was about to pull the trigger. I visualized the sound and the instant end. It still haunts me to this day.

Then the barrel lifted off my head, I heard the door to the car shut, and the car zipped off, followed by the getaway car.

Luckily, it was fall, and I had a hoodie on; my cellphone was in my hoodie pocket, along with the keys to my car. We both jumped up, got in my car, and rushed to her house to call the police.

This is one of the closest brushes with death I have experienced.

When we learned more about the situation, we discovered that it was a series of carjackings. They had murdered the person just before us and opened fire on the guy they attacked right after us.

Their 13 car spree ended in a gun fight with the police. These were murderers and we were profoundly lucky.

When the dust settled on this experience, I had a profound realization. For months, I had suffered from depression and had suicidal ideations. This would have been the perfect out. Why didn’t I resist? He would have shot me, and it would have all been over.

They say your life flashes before your eyes at the moment before your death. Mine didn’t, but all the important people in my life did. My family. I saw them all.

When I looked at that pavement and felt the barrel of the gun on the back of my head, I realized, then and there, something simple and profound.

This realization has stayed with me for 8 years. The depression and ideations ceased. Every moment since has been a blessing. I still have my ups and downs, but that moment, that barrel, that pavement served as a catalyst that when the reality of mortality was right in-front of me,

I wanted to live.

What I am reading about mental health

Charles Amemiya writes about his own struggles with OCD and how he implemented self directed Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) to overcome his fears of social settings and take control of his OCD.

“I’ve survived a lot of shit in life — an abusive dad, a bad childhood, prison, divorce, and the death of close family members. There’s gotta be a way out of this, too.”

Read it here:

Another Great Story about Mental Health:

Zeem tells a great story of “3 Golden Rules” for mental happiness.

“I suffered deep depression for so many priceless years of my life. I wasted so many golden opportunities to be mentally happy…Then one day, a diamond human being came into my life. He let me know the real face of happiness.”

Read the story here: