Life is all about second chances. I'm 25, and I've lived several times over already.
Two years ago I had a devastating injury that took away the innate joy that I'd otherwise taken for granted. I made a conscious decision to stay with someone who gave me about 25% of what I needed, because I knew he was as good as I could do. He was an athlete, he was loyal, he was hot, he knew what it meant to be injured. And I'd moved here for him. The ignorance, the jealousy, the judgment, the control, that was just my lot in life.
I had friends who loved me and cared for me as best they knew, but still fell below the bar that I had the consciousness to recognize floating above my current lifestyle. The recklessness, the rumors, the drugs, the hypocrisy, the ignorant arrogance, again, that was the best I could hope for.
The only appearance my athletic ability and love of dance made was as a rumor that I spread around when extra-unhappy or drunk.
The cult I was raised in had swallowed up and spit out a family whose last semblance of reliability was the guaranteed weekly appearance in the newspaper police blotter.
So I ran away and poured it into a story. No wonder the main character lives in the land of the dead.
And now, two years of pain and necessary compromise later, I live like a rock star again.
I feel like I've lived, died, and reawoken excited to try it all over again.