 When you look at me, what do you see? Freak. Disgusting, unable, crippled, broken, disabled, less than, gross, demented, handicapped, incapable, weak. I mean, I've had people say some pretty cool things, ew, point, you know. Some people have said, like, cripple. But honestly, none of it really bothers me. It's not really about the physical scars. It's more about the scars that are up here. My scars tell my story. I got my scars from a bad car accident that put me into a three-month coma. I was pulling a ladder in through a window, and the end of the ladder came close to a power line. The electricity from the power line traveled through the ladder along my forearms, down my back, and out through my left knee. So I had a car accident 12 years ago, and I had broken both my femurs and my tibia. And I had to get my foot amputated. We're driving home. It's raining like crazy. And in nowhere, my car decides it's a tree. My brain operated on twice. Had to learn how to walk, talk, read, write, eat, swallow, drink liquids, eat hard food all over again. Exactly like being reborn and brought back to life. In the beginning, I felt very self-conscious about my scars. I always wanted to cover them up, and I never really wanted to leave the house. But after some time, I have learned to run to accept them. My scars are in places I can't hide. But even if I wanted to hide them, I don't want to. When you look at me, what do you see? I am strong. Independent. Courageous. I'm thankful. Powerful. Loving. Brave. Baddest. I am loved. I am valued. Awesome. I am beautiful. And so are my scars. My name is Steve. My name is Felix. My name is John. My name is Kaylee. I am a survivor.