The pain is enormous. My chest is heaving, I’m fighting for breath and feel weak. I can see twisted metal and smashed glass everywhere. My girlfriend next to me is silent; her head bent forward, blood running from her nostrils. It’s thick, rich, crimson, and I can smell it. It comes from a place deep within her brutally broken body. It tells of damaged organs that cannot be fixed.

I feel sick and vomit all over myself. Old food and stomach fluid leak out of my smashed mouth onto my chest. The vile stench fills my nostrils and my stomach tightens. I vomit again.

My girlfriend’s forehead is resting on what’s left of the dashboard of my car. I can see she’s felt the full force of the violent impact. She’s trapped so badly I think my car is crushing her to death.

Her beautiful face is so disfigured she will be scarred for the rest of her life — if she lives. I don’t recognise her. I see parts of her scalp embedded into the smashed windscreen from the massive impact, long strands of her once beautiful hair still attached. She is twitching, but I know she is not with me; it’s her body fighting for life and losing. What have I done?

Where is everybody? I can barely move my head. I think my neck is broken. Oh God, please don’t let me be paralysed. I can’t feel a thing below my waist and deep down I know something is terribly wrong.

The steering wheel is pushing hard into my chest, starving me of air. Why won’t anyone come and help? I can’t keep this up much longer. Everything is getting dark.

I try to move my arms, but they are pinned fast. My body has been compressed into a small, crushing space between the dash and the seat. My body is useless, nothing is working and I know it never will again. I have done this to myself; I have done this to my girl. I feel disgust and self-loathing like never before.

A face appears at the window. She looks at me. Her look of horror, her wide, frightened eyes, hand over her mouth, tell of the nightmare that has just begun. I see her on the phone talking frantically. She turns her back and leaves me, moving quickly away from my car.

I look through what is left of the windscreen and see a power pole. It is deeply wedged into the front of my car pushing everything back onto my girl and me. I am conscious of a presence behind me and I remember I had two friends in the back of my car.

Oh, God, will this ever end? I strain to turn my head to see them, but it refuses to obey me. If I am so badly crushed here, they must be torn apart in the back because there is no room anywhere.

I keep smelling blood. I had no idea it smelled so bad, but I can’t escape my prison and I am forced to inhale the horrible odour.

“My mates will look after me if there’s any trouble.”

I remember drag racing, but not much else. The drugs and beer at the party were great and flowed like water. I can’t understand how this has happened because I’ve done it heaps of times before and got away with it. My mates were in a car next to me, racing, laughing as we were speeding. Where are they? Why didn’t they stop? Why have they left us to die? Aren’t they supposed to be my mates?

“I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do.”

I hear sirens. They are way off and it scares me. They come for my girl and me and my friends, but what can they do when I have damaged us so much? The vomiting starts again.

I see uniforms. I can make out the different colours and badges, but my head is swirling. I can’t make sense of it all. A firefighter and ambulance officer appear in the window next to me. They are talking, but I can’t understand a word. I hear an engine start and a huge pair of scissors starts to cut my mangled car from around me.

The firefighters working frantically to get me out are sweating in their big jackets, wrestling with their gear. Why aren’t they trying to get my girl out first? What’s wrong? What’s going on?

I try to talk and a paramedic puts her ear close to my mouth, but nothing comes out. I want to tell her how much I am hurting all over, but no sound comes from me. I am cold and lonely and no one can hear me. I have done this to myself. The car shudders and jerks. The door next to me comes off and the firefighters toss it aside. I see one squat on the ground and look down at my trapped legs. He looks worried and talks quietly and quickly with another. I am terrified by the look on everyone’s faces.

The firefighters get back to work and as the pain shoots through my body, I scream. But no one notices. Not a sound has come from me, just more frothy blood at my lips. I can’t stand the pain, but my rescuers are oblivious as they cut away at my car.

My screaming goes on and on as the pain builds, but I make no noise. The paramedic is working on me, but struggles to find a spot to plunge a needle in.

I try to look to my side. The police are there helping the firefighters. I am seeing these people in a different way. They are my saviours, but will also witness my death. I can see the stress and strain etched on their faces. A look of horror controlled for me as a victim, but I see clearly now the price they are paying. I want to reach for them and say sorry, but my body is giving up and won’t respond.

I start to negotiate with God. I beg for my life. I ask for a second chance to make this right. A second chance to live and love again. Another moment in time to say no, when all I did was say yes.

“It will never happen to me.”

I know I am dying. My car is my coffin. The Grim Reaper has pointed me out and I cannot do a thing about it. I have given him all the tools he needs to kill me — drugs, alcohol, speed, my own stupidity. I have thrown away every good thing in my life to end up like this — a bloody, smashed, vomit-covered mess trapped in my car with my dying girlfriend.

A few minutes ago I was a big, strong man, but now I am human wreckage, brutally torn apart beyond repair, and I am frightened.

I am shaking with fear and I want my mum and dad, but they are not here and I will never see them again. Ever.

Never again will I feel the embrace of my beautiful woman or make love. I will never know what it’s like to be a father or kiss a child goodnight. I will never again go fishing, play footy or run on the beach. I will never again laugh with my family, taste a BBQ sausage, argue with my brother, debate politics with my father, watch my little sister win another trophy for netball. I will never again feel the tropical sun on my face, the dry season breeze in my hair, the monsoon rain on my shoulders. I will not live to see a sunset or a sunrise, a full moon or an eclipse.

I have taken all of this away from myself and snatched it away from my girl and my two friends. In killing me, I have killed my family, because they will never recover from this. I will not be around to explain to them why, as they weep for years to come.

My life that is so precious has been tossed away and I have done this. I am responsible and as I sit here bleeding out, I am paying the ultimate price — pointless and meaningless death before my time.

“I am a Territorian, just like you.”

Nick Bell is Watch Commander with NT Police. He and his colleagues see this tragedy on a regular basis. They wish everyone a Merry Christmas and remind readers that drink, drugs and driving don’t mix.