I remember all the firsts we shared with each other. My first camp, tournament, college game, and the first time I told myself I wanted nothing to do with you anymore. You were my first love until my first love came along and there will always be apart of me that loves you, but right now you don't make me happy.

I always had this passion for volleyball ever since I first learned how to play. Anywhere I could, I would get touches. I would pepper with a friend, my dad, or even the siding of the back of my garage. I would spend hours in the summer perfecting my jump serve in the backyard and hours during the winter in a gym where I would finally leave an hour after practice ended. I was the first one there and the last one out, but I always had a smile on my face.

Even when I had crazy coaches, I still always came back because nothing could separate my love for volleyball. I couldn't go days without touching a volleyball without going crazy. Flash forward to freshman year of college and I went two months without touching a volleyball and it didn't phase me whatsoever. How do you get to the point where you have no feeling for something you once loved?

After all the constant hours of working on the cut four shot, the jump float serve, and being the team cheerleader, something clicked saying it wasn't worth it. I was putting my body through hell and wasn't receiving a reward. I have to deal with a sprained ACL, arthritis, a kneecap coming off track, and little cartilage under my patella, all in the same knee. For going through all of this, I'm expecting some love.

I didn't expect tears in the middle of practice telling myself I'm just having a rough day. I didn't expect having to tell myself to think of all the reasons why I shouldn't quit. I didn't expect having to convince myself that I love this sport.

So to the sport that failed me, I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. Hopefully we can rekindle before I get over you, but if not, know that I love you.