As an athlete, the worst news you could possibly get is that you may never be able to play at your full potential again.

That is the tragic news I received six months ago.

I am a softball player to the core. When I was a little girl, I fell in love with the game of softball and never looked back. Before I knew it, I had found the one thing that even comes close to my love for softball - pitching. From the first real pitch I threw (which, by the way, was a strike) I knew I was made to pitch. The pitching mound is more than a dirt circle with a plate. It is my happy place, my absolute love, and my escape from the world. When I'm in the circle, it's just me, the dirt, and the yellow ball with red stitches. Nothing else matters. Nothing else compares to the feeling of stepping on the mound for the first time that game, or that pitch the freezes the batter, or best of all, that clutch strikeout. These things define me because it is more than just throwing a pitch. It is having strength, physically and mentally. It is about having self confidence and believing in yourself. It is being a leader, on and off the field. It is something that takes a lot of hard work and self discipline. It has been more to me than I thought it could ever be.

I'm not ready to not be an athlete. I'm not ready to not be a softball player or pitcher. I'm not ready to lace up my cleats for the last time, or to walk on the field as a player for the last time. I'm not ready for my last at-bat or my last pitch thrown.

I'm not ready... I thought I had more time. I was suppose to have at least three more years left. How? How did this happen to me?

It's crazy to me how not playing the game can destroy you, but the game will still be the game... with or without you. People will replace you on the field and it just goes on, and that's life. I don't know how I feel about that, it just doesn't feel right. You give your all to the game, and then one day you're told you can't play anymore. And while you're breaking down, because this is the end of the journey for you, someone new is being recruited to take the spot you took all your life to get.

In an instant, all your hard work, dedication, love and passion is replaced. The next girl takes the mound, takes your number, and you are just... done.

It is all taken from you, and you are supposed to move on like everything is okay. But you don't feel okay. You feel like your identity has been stolen, like you have been robbed from something that is yours. Like your heart was snapped in half. You wonder if you could have done things differently. If that one PT appointment you skipped would've made a difference. If you just didn't push yourself so hard on days your body wasn't feeling it, if you wouldn't be saying goodbye to the thing you love so much and hold so dearly to your heart. You second guess every choice you made and every play you've made and wonder if anything really could've changed your fate... or if you were just destined to be cut short from the journey of the game.

But I'm not ready for this to be my fate.

For the last six months, I have been rehabbing. It has taken quite a toll on me physically and mentally, and has been such a slow progress. But to me, it is worth it. I have still yet to throw a softball in the last six months, but just the thought of being able to throw again one day is enough to push me through.

It'll probably be a year before I can even try to play in a game again, but to me it does not matter how long it takes, as long as I get to play the sport I love at least one more time.

The worst injuries make for the best comebacks, and mine is no exception.