Goddamned Appointments
I survived the crash. I survived the hospital. Now I’m just trying to survive the goddamned appointments long enough to get back to being me.
The Part I Can’t Remember Still Won’t Let Me Go
I don’t remember the accident. That’s the part that still eats at me. The details are gone, but the questions aren’t, and every new inference feels like reopening a wound that never fully closed.
Between Torque and Grief
My bike is finally done, brighter and louder and harder to ignore than ever. And somehow, that joy exists right next to grief, anger, and the quiet realization that my life has been reduced to a number in someone else’s legal game.
The Universe Has Jokes
Life has a way of circling a point. The accident didn’t just break my body; it rearranged my goddamned face. My front tooth now points outward like it’s trying to escape, and a piece of my lip went missing along the way. But as my brain and body claw their way back, I’ve discovered something hilarious in the chaos: the universe has jokes, and apparently I’m one of them.
Where To Begin?
After losing a week of memory to the accident and waking up in the ICU with pain in every inch of my body, I’ve spent these past days learning how to be myself again — slowly, deliberately, stubbornly. Now I wait for the moment I can go home, rebuild my strength, and eventually throw a leg over Aurora once more. The road back is uncertain, but marching into the unknown is what I do.