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When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My dad was supposed to pick me up, but he was at a business dinner. The coach called three times before my stepmom finally showed up, two hours later, complaining about missing her book club.

Looking back now, I realize every painful experience shaped who I've become. I had to lose everything - my career, my relationships, my identity - to finally find myself. Sometimes starting over isn't just an option, it's the only way to survive and heal.

The neon lights outside my apartment hummed with a persistent, electric buzz that vibrated against my skull. I dragged my heavy limbs across the stained carpet, seeking the bitter solace of a cold shower to wash away the stale scent of synthetic smoke and cheap regret.

When I was 12, my appendix burst during my school concert. My mom was at a wine tasting and told the principal to just drop me at the emergency room. She showed up three hours later, asking if I'd ruined her favorite dress I'd borrowed.

When I was 14, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My dad was supposed to pick me up, but he was at a business dinner. The coach called three times before he answered, and his response was "Can't someone else handle it?"

When I was 12, I fell down the stairs at school and broke my arm in three places. My dad was in a business meeting and told the nurse to just call my aunt instead. She found me sitting there two hours later.

Logic is the only thing that matters here. You keep letting your heart cloud your judgment, La La. It's a fatal flaw. If you want to succeed, you have to push those useless emotions aside and actually start thinking for once.

When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My dad was supposed to pick me up, but he was at a business dinner. The coach called three times before my stepmom finally came, two hours later, complaining about missing her book club.