Broken

Part I:1

The days go on as they always do: a hustle and bustle of both necessary and superfluous activities, balanced out with the shifts of the wind and springs of the step. Laughter echoes through the halls, living like restless spirits within the walls of my room. Menial tasks and major projects get accomplished as needed, and interaction with others is near constant. I am at peace with life, with the air that blows through the molting trees, and with the fact that everything happens for a reason. My faith is strong so long as the sun shines and even a thunderstorm only rears its head for a little while. Life is good, and I am even better. I have my health, my heart and my strength. I am complete.2

The night, however, is a different beast. The night brings a terrible loneliness in its shadows. My heart goes from feeling light as a feather to heavy as a stone; one that is being continually pelted with mallets and glass. The night tears me up inside with claws of panic, and it rips open my vitals with the oh-so-creative institution of something resembling a wooden spoon. Pain is the primary focus of my mind. The shadows swallow me whole, immersing my soul in turmoil and despair fit for nowhere save Hell. Why? What have I done to deserve such harsh treatment?3

I fell in love. I fell in love, and in falling I toppled over a cliff and hit every rock, tree, and creature on the way down. My body is tired, and my spirit is dwindling. It has been said that part of my sparkle as died as well. I am broken inside, and the tools to mend myself are just out of reach. I am broken, and I’m afraid that the only one on this earth who can fix me would rather walk away than break a sweat for his butterscotch baby.4

I hope I’m wrong. Please, God let me be wrong. I don’t want to be broken anymore; my sparkle is gone and I’ve grown to have quite a distaste for the dark. I want to be myself again, and know that my heart is safe from being raped by that monster Anxiety. I deserve more than this.5

I was doing so well, too.6

The sun needs to come out again. I need my sunshine. I need my angel.7

I need a miracle.8

Part II:9

Why am I so scared? Why does it feel like nothing I do is ever good enough? Why can’t I stop looking out for other people instead of myself? I lied when I said I could handle this. I can’t. Logic prevails; yet I’m still huddled in a corner, fearing the sun because I know that with the sun travels the time of truth. I would almost rather be disillusioned and content than face the potential of being alone. What has happened to me?10

I can feel myself change. In the past five and a half months, I have changed considerably. Parts of me have come alive with the fire of a thousand suns, and at times it is a glorious feeling. On the other hand, parts of me seem to have died as well. I am no longer the strong, independent woman I was. I have fallen into an emotional entrapment, and allowed myself glorious ignorance of the severity of the situation until recently. I can be ignorant no longer; I’m too smart to let that happen. I have too much to live for to remain voluntarily blind. 11

Why is it so hard to compromise? I have given everything I have, and gotten a very appreciated little in return. Does he realize what this is doing to me? I’m at the end of my rope; there’s nowhere else for me to go from here, except away. Far away. If I try to stretch myself any further, I will truly be broken. I will be no better than the beaten wives or a BDSM slave. I need no master; I am my own person. 12

At least, I thought I was. I don’t understand how one person could’ve changed me so much in so little time. I know that it’s love on my part, the reason I put up with things… but I can’t put up with any more. I can’t allow myself to play by his rules. His rules will eventually get me hurt in different ways than just the heart. 13

I truly, honestly love him; and what’s more, I truly, honestly want to be with him. There isn’t another girl on this earth who loves him more than I do; I truly believe that. I can’t imagine being with someone who cares about me as much as I care about him, and voluntarily entertaining the idea of walking away. Does he know what a mistake that will be? Does he care?14

So many questions; so little time. I have one shot at this. One shot, to make or break my sanity. One chance to let my tears do the talking and hope it hits a nerve or brings on a revelation. Just one. Can I do it? I have to.15

I have to. No one can do it but me. 16

Thanksgiving break shouldn’t be this stressful. Fuck.17

Part III:18

In the past seven years it is as though I have aged 100. Parts of me have grown while others have withered and died, and I have left much of my childhood behind. No longer am I the quick, over-achieving spectacle that I was. I have walked into a world of people as smart as or smarter than myself, and I am just another face in the crowd. Reality has hit with the force of Katrina, and I am lost amidst the rubble.19

I have overcome the death of loved ones, and the emergence of potentially terminal illnesses in others. I have been the source of important and frivolous advice, as well as a fount of unwavering friendship and strength. I have emigrated to a life far different than that from which I came, and I continue to struggle with it daily.20

There are times at night when I feel worthless; a blight on my family’s name. I am weak at night, vulnerable to my surroundings and the relentless prodding of the realization that part of me is not as it should be. I no longer have the strength to follow my course of action; both my bark and my bite have gotten soft. I am an adult now – no one can make my decisions for me. I have gotten myself into something that will be very hard to get myself out of. At least, that’s what I tell myself. The truth is that I am afraid. I am more frightened than I ever have been, and it is making me soft. I cannot afford to be soft; especially now, with something this serious. If I don’t kill it, it will kill me. My sparkle is already gone; my eyes are dull and my mind is like a wasteland. I am almost broken.21

Love is an interesting thing. There are so many kinds; so many variations. I love my family, I love my friends. I love the man I… love. That last kind, that last kind of love is brutal. It is the kind of love that buries a person. It is the love that would just as soon gut you and leave you to die as it would sweep you up, dancing like you were with the stars. It is the awful love that is so awe-inspiring (when things are good) that you can’t imagine life any other way. It is the love that, when things are bad, causes you to want to run away and die.22

How can you love a person so much that you’d do just about anything for them? How can one person be the chief reason you wake up every morning? How do you devote yourself so completely, so willingly, to a person that is just as able to walk away as birds are to molt their feathers? How can you want to spend every waking moment looking into the eyes of someone who says they love you, but has yet to show you the respect you deserve? More importantly, how can you love someone who forces you to kill a part of yourself every time you want to spend time with them?23

When you find an answer, let me know.24

Love is a bitch; a nasty, horrible, gnarl-toothed hag of a bitch. Sometimes.