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Welcome Aboard!

--"Izzy, how did you start dancing?"

--"What got you into martial arts?"

--"What kind of dancer/martial artist/writer are you?

--"How do you deal with brain damage, bodily injury and 

     C-PTSD, yet still dance, write, train, live the way you do?"

--"How do you still find joy and beauty amidst pain and loss?"

--"Wow, you should write your memoirs!" 

    This Is My Story

NSFW, 18+

  • Writer's pictureBella Dancer

Love and Crap...and Love

There are times when only 2 groups of words do not utterly fail when a friend gives you their bad news:

"I love you." "Shit. Fuck. Dammit. FUCK."

This is pretty much the case at every moment of every day. We just get too wrapped up in bullshit to realize that, until the reminder is staring us in the face. Hopefully we notice the reminder. Hopefully we remember that, at any millisecond, it could be the last time you ever hear me say:

I love you.

And this could be the last millisecond you ever have the chance to say those words to a heart that inspires them in yours.

Kind of a thing with me. Being catapulted out of my own body in one unexpected millisecond--but not actually croaking--will do that to you. If I had to choose one life's mission, it would probably be this: to eliminate as many regrets as possible when I look back on my life the next time Death stares me down and breathes on me...and to remind everyone in my sphere that they could do that, too. If it's something that interests them.



--UP NEXT: THE BIG BLUE BEAST - I Open the Huge Binder of My Car Wreck Paperwork After 18 Years

--OR FROM DARKNESS: THE LIGHT- A Letter From CoronaVirus on Spring Equinox



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