I'm spiteful against myself. I have a cycle of things I hate and fear becoming the things I desire or become indifferent to. Fear was debilitating before and was the only thing stopping me from getting what I wanted. I tread over fear with exercise. Fear was synonymous with physical exertion because when I felt as if I couldn't take it anymore, I knew I could push farther. Each step became lighter. My breath would come back to me and I knew tomorrow would get better. The storm would pass. To run is a tangible disintegration of my anxiety. I was a dressed in neon, a flag symbolizing my freedom. Now that I've overcome my fear, there is nothing I believed could stop me. Physically, obstacles always seemed abstract. To be honest, everything is abstract until it happens to you.

My friend challenged me to a bike race as I was always challenging him. We both were riding yellow bikes, that were free on campus transportation. Free meaning old. My bike didn't have a seat, but that wasn't going to stop me.

Riding as fast as I could physically go, the stars were watching me as I heard a metallic pop and I was projected into the air. Imagine a black screen in a movie where the sound and dialogue persists. Sensually, I remember my skin grinding on the road. My friends calling my name as my mind pulsed. I was dizzy even though I wasn't moving. It was as if I was waking up from a deep sleep. The first thing I could feel was the embarrassment that I had fell off a bike, or had lost the race, rather than the lack of skin on my limbs. My friend Zac yelled at me incredulously because I mentioned my bike reputation. I was always trying to be the best biker. Are you serious? He didn't understand that things like this didn't happen to me. Injury. I was in shock. I received medical attention, but the next days I was hammered with quaking headaches. Sometimes it wasn't the pain, but the actual strain of my mind physically stopped me when I tried to do basic thinking. It was the sun that became my worst enemy. Sunglasses were my solace. Over the next week, I suffered from mild amnesia. I forgot how my little sister broke her leg, what a beaver was or the classes I took last year. Most of this was minimal, but I prided myself on how detailed I could remember things. Trying to explain a topic I was passionate about or something that happened hours before was like trying to solve aRubix cube.

I couldn't cry because I couldn't stop the panic. I had so much I needed to do. It was a sick joke. A month ago I had run out of the library with thirty books concerning interesting topics regarding science. Things that could take me farther than my introductory courses I had no patience for. Exasperated, I asked my professor how I could retain this information better. Now I had a reason to forget this information. This concussion couldn't be happening at such a pivotal moment in my life.

I never prepared for when something external other than my anxiety could stop me. I joked that I never believed I was human. But a part of that remained true. I never expected to have physical limitations. Even as I recovered. I remember most my panic came when I couldn't remember anything I should have been able to and when I thought about the future effects of this concussion; it made me value my life more and how blessed I was. It showed me how something so small--fun with friends--could take something so precious away from me like my memory. This experience showed me that all of my actions matter and plays a role on how I end up. Damn me if I ever let a small decision wreck what I have going for me right now.