On Thursday, February 1st, my mother found me unconscious. It was only three weeks after being told I was not receiving a heart transplant anytime in the near future.

My artificial heart was alarming, but not pumping. The only thing I remember was waking up in the ambulance, without a single clue as to what was going on.

This is what I'm really afraid of.

I'm afraid of not knowing what's happening, and dying and not knowing that I am. I'm afraid of being lost in my mind again, with those nightmares of choking, of not being able to breathe because I'm stuck underwater.

Those dreams that were at one point in my life whimsical and fun, now terrify me. There are nights when I wake up completely out of breath, nights where I wake up softly crying in fear that I'll never see my family again.

I know those are just nightmares, some of my worst fears manifesting themselves in my sleep. Some of my worst fears are those that don't show up anywhere. Fears that I pray that, If I just ignore them, they'll go away.

It doesn't work like that.

I worry that when I die, I'll only be remembered as that girl whose life was saved by modern science.

I am not that girl.

I am Breanne.

I loved piercings, tattoos, and men that were awful for me. My sense of style often made my family cringe, but my grandmother was my best friend. She never judged me or my decisions.

My sister was my partner in crime, always involving me in activities that Mommy would yell at us for later. My other half was a female to male transgender, and goddamnit if I wasn't proud of him for it.

My father and I were never really good at communicating, but we tried our hardest nonetheless.

I fell in love with fictional characters. I submerged myself in music that brought me to life.

I sang like no one else was listening, and I always tried my hardest to make my finished product come to life.

On Thursday, February 1st, my mother found me unconscious, only three weeks after being told I was not receiving a heart transplant anytime in the near future. My artificial heart was alarming, but not pumping.

The only thing I remember was waking up in the ambulance, with the fear that I was going to die.

When we arrived at the hospital, I laid in the observation room. I waited for my family. I waited for the doctors to tell me what had happened and whether or not I was okay.

My biggest fear was dying in that hospital, only as the girl with the plastic heart and not as Me.

My name is Breanne Dayton. I was born on February 15th, 1997. I received a heart transplant in 1998. I received a Total Artificial Heart implant in 2016.

I am afraid of being forgotten.