He gets to walk away perfectly fine. Good as new. No pain. He doesn’t have to give up the things he loves. He doesn’t have to be careful about how he turns around when someone calls his name or how he stands when he’s waiting in line. He doesn’t have to think twice about getting in the car alone and doesn’t have to take a deep breath before he lets a friend drive. The man who hit my car gets to walk away fine. I, on the other hand, do not.

Every day since the accident, I live with anxiety and in pain. There are thousands of others who are injured or even killed in crashes just like mine, but the difference? Those felt like just stories. But this? This one is mine. So listen up, friends. This one is personal.

I was sitting at a stop light in front of a busy intersection, just waiting to make the final turn into the parking lot of where I would work one of my final shifts before I left for school in a few weeks. I was the first car in the turn lane. The little arrow turned from red to green. About 100 yards away I could see a grey truck rounding the corner, approaching the intersection. I thought nothing of it. Because you would assume, that the driver would stop. I had not thought that he wouldn’t. Instead, he accelerated through the intersection, ignoring the red light he passed under, and demolished the front of my car. I was alone in the car that day. Thank God that I was. Because the passenger side of my car was about an inch away from being completely crushed in. I thank God every day that my younger sister hadn’t asked to come to the mall that day while I worked. If she had, this would be a very different story.

The driver of the other car was a bit shaken, and I was as well. But there was something different about the way that we were both standing. He was pacing nervously between the two cars. And me? Well, I couldn’t stand up straight.

Since that car crash, I have felt back pain like I cannot describe. A constant hum of pain in the background of my day, never ceasing. A sharp shoot up my back when I sit, or breath, or talk, or laugh. I was an athlete. I can’t even walk up the stairs without wincing. I loved to run. Now, I cannot even walk without pain.

Want to know why the crash occurred? I say crash, by the way, because it wasn’t an accident. Nothing about it was an accident. You see, the driver of that grey, beat-up truck made a choice. He decided that that text he was reading was worth turning my life upside down. He made the choice. So we can’t call it an accident. He chose to change that song rather than protect my life. He chose to care more about opening a Snapchat that about my ability to live pain-free. It was no accident. He picked up his phone. And he took a part of my life away from me. And I struggle every single day to not hate him for it.

So to everyone who refuses to put their phone down, is it worth it? Is that Snapchat worth your life? Worth my pain? Or even more, the child in the car passing us right now, who’s future that you have the potential to take away? Can you honestly not wait five minutes to open that text? Because let me tell you, the man that hit me thought that it would be fine. He had done it a million times and nothing had happened, so why worry? I’ll tell you why. Worry for me. Or for the person a few miles away who is trusting the drivers around them to let them get home to their families safe. Whatever it takes, I beg you to stop. Please. I promise it isn’t worth it.