I used to be the fastest racing car. I had a few dents, but I ignored them, still speeding around my track and driving endlessly. One day, my alignment started to become messed up. I couldn’t stay on the same straight racing path as all the other cars. The roads became blurry, and I couldn’t race as well. Warning lights kept popping up right in front of me, telling me I should slow down and take a break from my races. Slowly, I began to run out of gas. I realized that no matter how much fuel was put into me, nothing could make me the fastest racing car again. I pushed myself continuously, with other cars telling me I just had to be better and that I wasn’t trying hard enough. That made me push myself harder than I ever had in my entire life. Even with all my dents and messed-up alignment, I was still fighting to be that same racing car I had always been for the past 15 years of my life. That was, until my tires began to fall flat, and the swerving made it so I couldn’t race anymore. I needed something to lean on, but racing cars can’t have a crutch to support them. I, the fastest racing car, became useless. No one wanted a dented, sick car. I was cursed to forever sit on the sidelines, longing to join the other cars on the track. I felt so alone. What good is a car that cannot drive? Why couldn’t I drive? Why couldn’t I be a normal car like the rest of them? It was so frustrating to see the shift from speeding down the road to breaking down after driving even the shortest distance. Most days, I found it hard to even leave my driveway without running out of gas. All the other cars tried to push me when I broke down, but my engine was sputtering and gasping for air. I was being towed all around the state to different mechanics, trying to diagnose what was wrong with my engine. No one seemed to figure out what exactly was wrong, even though so many diagnostic tests were run. In the middle of Miami, I found the best mechanic I had ever been to. This mechanic made me feel comfortable and understood all of the symptoms I had described. After all those diagnostic tests, they gave me a diagnosis, and I was ready to drive again. Except, it wasn’t that easy. The mechanic gave me things to manage the symptoms, but sometimes I still need my crutch. I wanted to be a racing car again. I wanted to have a purpose. When I was beginning to give up, I found the best pit crew back at home to always support me and help me feel better. My pit crew bandaged me up until my brokenness was somewhat healed. Without the pressure of being the fastest racing car, I found my forever support system within my pit crew and countless mechanics. Slowly, I began to drive those short distances. The roads were still challenging, and my tires were still going flat, but I was determined. I wanted to go see the other cars. Watching them race was still so enjoyable. Supporting the other cars on the sideline became my distraction. I found other cars around me experiencing similar issues, and I didn’t feel as alone anymore. I am still a racing car, and I’ll be back to my race track with my team members as soon as I can.