(FIRST! This is technically a repost. I posted this a few nights ago, and while it made it to the front page, it got removed for "breaking community rules." I messaged Sarah, and she said its removal "must have been a moderator mistake." Many people messaged me asking where the post went, and so I am reposting it now that it is back. Thank you for everyone who cares <3" When I was little, all I wanted in the world was to be a dancer.

When I was 12 I got into a terrible biking accident, snapping my left arm in half. (You can almost see the break if you look very carefully.) From that day on, being hospitalized became a very common occurrence for me.

I spent three years on and off of crutches due to countless broken ankles, toes, dislocated hips and fractured feet.

But, on October 13th 2011, when I was 16 years old, I was officially put into a wheelchair. I was dancing, and all I can remember is feeling like I had been shot in my right hip, my body seizing up in pain, and collapsing. I couldn't walk, I could barely sit, the only thing that would relieve (most) of my pain was lying down, taking any and all pressure off of my hip joints. I tried to stay positive, but being an athlete confided to a wheel chair is a nearly impossible task to handle...

I had to sit in this machine for six hours a day for three weeks after each surgery. It is a machine that slowly (god so slowly) moves your leg back and forth so that the muscles have less of a chance to atrophy after the trauma. It was absolutely horrible.

I was in a beautiful duet this past year choreographed by the amazing Macarena Gandarillas that was one of the best experiences I have ever had. I wish I could tell you the story ends here with a happy ending... But, unfortunately... I can't.