I miss it.

Figure skating was my thing. It made me feel alive. Those perfectly sharp blades, the slicing sound as they carved in the ice. The tight boots and the leathery squeaks they made when I flexed my ankles. The chilly air nipping against my cheeks and blowing back my hair. The spray of ice when I stopped and the power with every stroke I took. Nobody else I knew loved it as much as I did...it was passion. Every single worry that I had would be left behind as I flew...I took off. I soared. I skated poetry in the little movements...the bending, swirling, jumping. Skating was my release. It was the way I could forget about the world. Forget about everything...just skate. Focus.

Surgery. It all ends in just a tiny snap of time. One tick of the second hand on a clock. In words that fit on a single breath.

“You need surgery”

Skating is over.  

The one chance I had to not get surgery--those painful, painful shots. Those shots that were living hell--didn’t work. I held my breath and for a second I actually let myself hope. Maybe it worked.

It didn’t. Skating is over. Pointe is over. Skating is over. 

I need to breath...I need to relax for a moment. Let it sink in. I need to take a break from reality and just pause. The dream I have been chasing for 7 ½ years is gone in a flash. My coach hasn’t said a word to me...my club has moved on...my parents don’t care...everyone has forgotten about me. But I haven’t. I miss the ice, I miss the dedication, I miss the tears and the bruises and kicking the ice from frustration. I miss the whiplash, the burning muscles and the butterflies from competition. The smell of the hair gel and the nerves as the girls before you skate. The hot tears when you get last. The shaky legs. The joy. The instruction from your coach, choreography, passion. I miss everything about it. I miss me.

I keep telling myself I’ll get over it, But will I? I keep telling those around me I’m fine. But am I? We’ll see...maybe, but as of right now, I am struggling every morning to just simply get out of bed and plaster that fake smile on my face. Every time I see the figure skater sticker on my car or the posters on my wall my heart gets a little emptier. Figure skating was my thing. It is what defined me. Now what do I have?

Exactly. Nothing. 

Me as a 'who' in 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas'. I was so proud!