It was thirst that woke me up. I had to have water. The pain was manageable, and the bitter cold was all but gone. I noticed it was daytime, around noon.
With my pants still around my knees, I crawled toward the other end of the concrete culvert, dragging the blanket with me. I later learned that it was some kind of cloth packing blanket.
I finally got to the larger entrance where I could stand. I managed to pull up my pants. Luckily, both my shirt and jeans were black, and all the dried blood wouldn't be so noticable. I rolled my sleeves down to cover my mutilated wrists. I shakily made my way out of there, to the blacktop. I had to have water.
I started back across the overpass, and picked up an empty plastic water bottle, with a lid, that someone had tossed out of their car.
I had to sit on the guardrail a few times, as I was so weak. When I got closer to the truck stop, I checked the surroundings for any of those young people from the day before. It looked clear, so I headed to the pumps, staggering. Found a water faucet on the outside of the building, with a short hose attached.
I must have guzzled about a half a gallon of water, and immediately felt refreshed, stronger. Then I filled the bottle up, and headed back. I figured it took a good hour, just to get there and back.
I grabbed my pack and sat down just outside the opening, in the sun. I fished out an old sock from my bag, and began to tenderly clean my wounds. Seemed strange that when I was cutting myself to shreds the night before, I had felt no pain at all. But they sure hurt then.
The worst one, was the x shaped cut I had been digging around in before. I used the clean water to help get all the dirt it had collected from the night before.
Later that day, I rummaged through a McDonald's trash can, found some half eaten burgers, and some fries. I lived out of the trash cans there, and at the truck stop, for another day, getting my strength back.
On the third day, I walked to a convenience store that happened to have a Western Union. I used the payphone out front to call a friend, and he agreed to wire me fifty bucks.
Got my money and headed to the truck stop. It was a Flying J, and they have a washer and dryer, and also showers. First I bought a small box of detergent, then changed into a pair of shorts, and waited while the rest was washed and dried.
Then I went and got a shower key, and got some gauze and tape. I took a long hot shower, dried up, and bandaged my wounds.
I then went around the back where the semis were parked, found a couple that allowed me to use their CB, to send out my need of a ride from anyone heading to Texas.
Wasn't too long before a guy hauling a load of cars said he was heading that way. So I went.
I still cannot find any conceivable reason for what I had survived. I should have, by all accounts, died. And it wasn't for lack of trying. I mean, I watched myself bleed out, for Christ's sake!
It wasn't until a few years ago, that I realized that those young people were the trigger for my self termination programming.
And, also that was my first experience with "gangstalkers", and somehow they would be there at just every place I would stop at. Not the same people, but always telling me hello, or cursing me. Still happens. But now, I don't turn around and walk the other way, or act like I didn't hear them. Now I cuss them right back. I've been waiting for years for someone with enough guts to put a bullet in my head. So far, nothing. But then, maybe it has something to do with what that woman's voice had said, about how they couldn't do anything,......yet.