Dear Past Me,

I never thought I would spend my Friday night staring at the top of the humming MRI tube, trying not to move and wishing I could be with my friends at the football game. But here I am. I never imagined it would grow monotonous and routine to visit the doctor, get my blood pressure checked, and prescriptions written. But it is. I’ve been asked “How’s your pain?” so many times my response is automatic. I never thought my life could change completely in one tiny little second, but I was proved wrong.

The loud, open gym throws echoes of shouts off the tall walls. The room is split into three sections with red curtains draped down. On each court a game is being played. Sunlight streams down, scattering bright beams of light off the dusty, wood floors. Feet pound as kids sprint and jump for the flying Frisbees. I see my teammate receive the disk and I find a path open right in front of me. I take off, pushing hard with my legs as I glide effortlessly down the floor, never knowing that would be the last time I would run without pain. I get her attention and she sends the Frisbee soaring up higher than I can reach. I turn back around and leap high to grab the plastic disk but I never even touch it. I am slammed into and I see a flash of blonde hair, a grey t-shirt, and arms flailing. The world spins and I feel another body smash into me, reversing my direction and propelling me to the floor. I hit the ground and the bright lights of the gym go black.

That same young girl now stands slumped over. Her two arms are draped over the metal rungs of the crutches supporting her weary, battered body. Her left leg stands firmly and balances her body. Her right leg is bent slightly and elevated off the ground. There is a slight bulge around the right ankle as the swelling presses against her pants. Her triceps and forearms burn with the weight of her body and injury pressing down on them. She clenches her jaw as a burst of pain runs up her leg. Her brown eyes bore straight ahead, focused and fake. They are pretending like nothing hurts, that it is just a break, because that is what it looks like. To anyone passing by she just looks like an injured athlete. They can’t see the millions of nerves misfiring constantly in her ankle and bombarding the brain with pain signals that don’t exist. They don’t see the gruesome, green foot and swollen limb. They don’t see the little girl who grew up climbing army-green chain-link fences pretending to rob homeruns. The same girl who climbed trees five times her size with no hesitation. The same girl who played baseball with boys three years older than her and intimidated them. This girl feels her heart break with the realization that she wasn’t invincible this time and that she will have to put her dreams on hold, maybe forever, to deal with this injury.

So now you know what is coming for you to carry: a year and a half of intense pain, sitting on the sideline, pretending to be healthier than you are, and battling to be able to move like you used to. It sounds pretty terrible and I’m not going to lie, it’s the lowest point of your life so far. There is no part of it that I would want to relive and when I think of certain things I still wince at the memories. And it’s still not all gone almost two years later, and there’s no guarantee it will ever be gone completely. But it’s not all bad. This has caused you to work a million times harder to fully develop your talent for softball and have the best season you’ve ever had. This has shown you how much the people in your life love and support you because they cried, prayed, and suffered through this injury with you. This has made you be so grateful for the little things that you used to take for granted like being able to run up and down the stairs or walk through the grocery store. So while you carry this pain from the injury, you also carry strength. So remember that while you are looking up at that MRI tube for the third time, or you are about to give up at physical therapy because it’s so hard, or when you are watching the basketball team practice and you are dying inside because you can’t be a part of it. Having this injury made you carry bravery, determination, and character too. And those aren’t bad things to carry.

Good Luck,
Future Me