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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.