When I was in elementary school, I wanted to try every single sport out there. I was adventurous and eager to do something new every day. After playing almost everything under the sun, three sports stuck with me: soccer, basketball and softball. I lived and breathed these sports for years. Unfortunately, sooner than I expected, my soccer and basketball careers came to an end. I was lucky enough to be able to continue playing softball, as it was not a high contact sport like the other two.

Here's my letter to the sport I miss more than anything in the world, and the one I was forced to walk away from, basketball.

Dear Basketball,

Starting in third grade, you and I officially met. You certainly aren't easy for a vertically challenged person. Very early on I was told that I was too short to succeed. That didn't stop me. A year later, I tried out for the fourth grade travel team; I didn't make it and I was distraught. That also didn't stop me. You gave me the opportunity to prove coaches, parents and other players wrong. The following year, I tried out for the fifth grade team and made it. Finally, a long career with you was about to begin.

I spent years of hard work, blood, sweat and tears on you. I gave you thousands of hours in the gym practicing and playing. You gave me a new meaning of life. You showed me that through determination and patience, I could accomplish anything.

Through the games of playing bruised, cut up and battered, you let me find the strength to persevere. I will carry this strength you taught me throughout the rest of my life.

Through the games of playing with a broken arm and cast wrapped in bubble wrap / foam padding, you showed me that I am capable of succeeding under any condition.

Through the years upon years of getting screamed at by coaches, you gave me the strength to take criticism. You taught me to be mentally tough through all of the insults, critiques and rude comments that were made to my teammates and I. However, never again do I want to experience something so degrading and hurtful.

You gave me the opportunity to make incredible friends and great memories. Through the pasta parties, team sleepovers, tough days in the gym and huge team wins, I gained an even greater appreciation for my teammates and created a lasting bond with them.

You gave me a feeling that no other sport has given me. Nothing was better than game day. I loved listening to my pregame playlist, lacing up my braces and customized Nike sneakers, and weirdly enough, frantically memorizing the opposing team’s scouting report that I would be quizzed on before heading out on the court.

You let me shine in moments that I will remember forever. You allowed me to have a smile on my face when I drained three-point shots, made a steal or did something that actually made my insane coach proud of me.

A lot of people love you. A lot of people play you and others watch you. I had the amazing opportunity to do both. I just as much enjoyed watching the NBA and college basketball as I did when I played the game myself.

I never knew how much I loved you until I lost you.

As some say, all good things must come to an end. On one blustery February day in 2012, you and I split. In the game of my life, I received a severe concussion off of a blatant and dirty illegal screen (that was never actually called). After that moment, you caused me pain, suffering, a lot of hospital visits, a lot of tears and no happiness.

This was different for me. I was so used to you bringing a smile to my face every morning. I was blessed with the opportunity to be on a varsity team, play competitively and succeed at being a great three-point shooter and defender. I was just starting to play really well my sophomore year, and was excited to improve to even greater heights the following two years. That didn't happen.

I couldn't stand being on the sidelines watching my teammates play the game I loved. I couldn't go back to playing you for nine months. The next season, I didn't get so much as a month into playing when I received my next concussion, and that was the final straw. I guess you didn't want me anymore. That hurt. A lot.

After that day, I never played again. You have since caused me a lot of suffering. There is nothing that makes me more upset than having to end my time with you so short and so unexpectedly. I walked away from you in tears. A part of me is gone and I will never really get you back.

Since being forced to walk away from you, things have been harder than you can imagine. I have done everything in my power to get back to you and nothing has worked -- not a single medication, not physical therapy, nothing. My head just says no. Not only is it tough to stop doing something you love, but the physical and mental angst I have gone through because of your sport's injuries is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

It is extremely difficult to watch you now, whether it's my brother's high school games, college or the NBA, because I know that every single person that I'm watching has something that I don't. They get to play the game that I love while I can never lace up those shoes again. For some reason though, I'll still take any chance I can get to watch you. I don't understand why, as it makes me so upset each and every time.

I still love you; that is something nobody or no injury can ever take away from me. I have found new ways to explore you now that I can't play. I now write about you and report for the teams I love. I have been able to still incorporate you into my daily life.

Even through this, I'd do anything to actually be able to really get back to you again. The reporting and writing is great, but it doesn't give me the feeling and adrenaline that I got from playing. I wish there was some way to go back.

I wish we didn't have to part ways how we did. I will forever be heartbroken at the doctor's words, "You should not play basketball again." I find myself missing you a lot -- everyday, actually. I envy every single person who can still play. Please, cherish every moment you have, because there are people like me out there who would absolutely love to do what you do.

Love,

Me