Dear All,

My name is Destiny, though I prefer to be called Nini—a name that holds a special place in my heart, lovingly given to me by my mother. It embodies warmth, familiarity, and the love of family, and it is under this name that I wish to share a deeply personal experience that has profoundly influenced my journey toward healing and resilience.

On March 9, 2021, my life was irrevocably changed by a traumatic event that I had never anticipated: I was shot. This incident not only shattered my physical state but also left a lasting impact on my emotions, relationships, and perceptions of the world. By sharing my story, I hope to cultivate empathy and connection with those who may have endured similar hardships or find themselves in extraordinary circumstances.

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting, I found myself enveloped in a surreal sense of confusion and disorientation. I vividly remember that fateful night—I was in a deep sleep, nestled comfortably under my blankets when I was abruptly jolted awake by a cacophony of loud, chaotic noises echoing from outside my window. The discordant sounds felt entirely foreign to the peaceful world I had known; it was as if someone had pulled me from a dream into a waking nightmare. In my dazed state, I stumbled out of bed, landing unceremoniously on the floor, my heart racing with an overwhelming surge of anxiety and disbelief.

In those frantic moments, my mother burst into my room, her face a mask of panic, her eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay?" she asked emphatically, her voice trembling with fear. I nodded, though inside, I was anything but reassured. I could sense her anxiety seeping through the room; she was gripped by the fear that danger was just beyond our door, threatening the sanctuary of our home.

As adrenaline coursed through my veins, I started to experience a strange and uncomfortable sensation in my abdomen—an overwhelming pressure that felt reminiscent of severe menstrual cramps. Alarmed, I instinctively hurried to the bathroom, desperate to understand the source of this discomfort. However, upon entering, I was met with a sight that would forever alter the course of my life: a shocking amount of blood pooled before me. At first, I foolishly thought it was merely a complication related to my menstrual cycle—an unfortunate circumstance I had encountered before. Yet, the stark truth quickly unraveled that assumption. There, vividly illuminated against the canvas of my skin, was the gunshot wound I had tragically sustained.

A wave of panic crashed over me, propelling me back toward my mother’s room. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat marked by urgency and fear. The moment our eyes locked, I could see her expression morph—shock, horror, and an overwhelming sense of dread washed over her face, creating an indescribable chasm of fear between us. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dashed to my sister's room, her voice sharp with urgency as she implored my sister to wake up and call the police. I could hear the tremor in her voice, the raw anxiety spilling out as we all instinctively moved towards the door, waiting for the sirens that felt both distant and hauntingly near.

In those moments of waiting, time seemed to stretch infinitely. Each second felt like an eternity and with the fear of the unknown