I am here.

I have no idea what I am doing.

I have no idea what I’m about to write about.

I have no idea who I am.

I am here to write. To write about my life, my thoughts, my recovery, my journey! I am here to write and share it with you. It is entirely up to you whether you like what I write or not. If you hate it, just change your perspective. Maybe you’ll like it, unless you don’t.

I’m 28 and a half. Yes, I just said “and a half…” because I like to act like a child. I like humor, especially to take away from the demons that crawl inside my head. We’ll come back to that, I promise. But right now, let’s try to figure this out. I was a terrible student, I only cared about sports when I was in school. I sucked at writing, english, and reading. I didn’t get history. I was good at math. I freaking loved, still love, science. In conclusion, I didn’t particularly love school. I got by though. I got by because I played sports. That was my outlet. Soccer, basketball, anything outdoors. Plus a few teachers that cared enough about me to help me get through.

Until I broke my leg.

Pain pills. My escape. My detach from life, sleep all day, not have to feel the pain in my leg and my mind medicine. Those came with the leg break, the three surgeries, and all my crushed dreams- so I thought. Later on I would realize that this was all a part of my journey, a part of the life that the Universe created ONLY for me.

When I was a senior in high school I broke my leg playing soccer. I broke both of my bones in my shin, the Tibia and the Fibula. This ended my sports career for what felt like forever. And since that was my outlet, I didn’t know what else to do. About a month after breaking it, I had my first surgery to get a rod placed down my Tibia. Three months later, I had some screws removed and another small procedure. A few months after that, I had a plate put on the lower part of my fibula. This was it for me. This was the end of the world. I had nothing left to give. The next ten years of my life involved heartache, anger, love, frustration, envy, gluttony, selfish and self seeking behaviors, and a lot of drugs and alcohol.

This is why I am writing. It feels good to write. It feels good to get things out and put them somewhere for others to see. It’s terrifying to be vulnerable. Like Brene Brown says, “We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can’t have both. Not at the same time. Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it’s our greatest measure of courage. People who wade into discomfort and vulnerability and tell the truth about their stories are the real badasses.”

I hope you’ll accompany me on this journey of vulnerability. This journey of courage. I am here to tell my story, whatever that looks like.

Today I choose to be a badass.

Until next time.