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My already broken heart was ripped out my chest and thrown into a high velocity fan exactly four hundred and eleven days ago.  I’m still alive.  I still have a career.  I’m not a heroin addict.  I’m not in prison.  Gathering the mangled pieces of my most precious organ wasn’t easy. I’ve even successfully put some of those pieces back together with a variety of media in a way only a brilliant sculptor could.  The rest of the organ is proving difficult to rebuild.  I am here to hold myself accountable.  I will restore, regenerate, and reinvent my way through the rest of this process.  Trauma is a wonderful teacher.  Trauma can be quite beautiful.