Female partypooper

I remember how that damned creature cornered me, biting me with the sharp mouth on one of its arms. I wasn't able to scream, cry or physically react. Blue, leathery skin began painfully replacing my flesh until I could no longer feel my muscles. All I could do was curse in my mind, and curse at the world. To my horror, my mind retained its humanity, and I saw myself as the monster I became, a reflection that shouldn’t have been my own. I cursed at myself for having survived the transformation while others didn't. The others had the chance of embracing mindless monstrosity, at least at peace with their new purpose and effectively dying as the people they were with dignity. Why did I end up different? What went wrong? My skin was rubbery and disgusting and I felt compressed by it, as if my old body was turning into remains. Nothing I attempted managed to put a stop to it. I had to learn everything back from scratch. How to walk with my oversized legs, how to communicate with my mind rather than a mouth, how to recognize and accept myself… It was difficult, but I pushed through thanks to others who were in my same situation. We met over time, all of us confused and scared. We decided to stick together out of survival, only to start treating each other like a family —our last string that kept us sane. Even if I knew deep in my heart I was still human, I no longer felt like one. I struggled to believe in that humanity, as every inch of my now monstrous body was tormenting me into forgetting who I was. The inability to hold a pen properly or to cook without pathetically dropping the things I'm holding is one of the most agonizing experiences I had to endure. The fact that I'll never be able to see my expressions in the mirror or even sing a song again is further salt in my wound. The Backrooms are truly a vile realm, but I will not let it destroy me, even in this new form… I am loved. I have people who want me to keep going and I need to push through for them.