In a slip of a dress and high-end lingerie, I must look like hell, a torn, blood-covered, ragged mess who was dragged through a bush backward. Filthy and damp, and I can't even imagine how my face looks if my makeup is smeared everywhere or entirely washed off. My hair is probably like a bird's nest, my expensive cut and color ruined. Most of my acrylic nails are snapped or scuffed up on my shredded hands. I'm probably facially blood-covered, crusted and gritty like my arms and legs.

My chin drops to my chest, and I collapse. I've done it several times, and with each setback, I give myself a...