Imagine the grayest ugliest day you can think of … the clouds stretch on forever and the rain falls in torrents. …there is no variation in the color and the humidity is stifling. I cannot breathe. Occasionally the sun peeks out and I feel a brief moment of respite. But the clouds come crowding back in again. I try to turn all the lights on, but I cannot fool myself and I turn them off again. I sit in the semi-darkness and I ask myself how can this be. Am I broken?
How can this be? I am broken? Life broke me, or perhaps I broke myself. I don’t know. I can say that and I am ok with it. I have spent so long trying to not be broken that I really don’t know how I came to be this way. I have tried putting myself back together. The shattered pieces spread across the continent like dandelion fluff in a strong wind. Try finding all the pieces. I don’t know where they are or if they still exist.
To be whole? Does this thing really exist? I don’t know. I do not think it really matters. You can’t ever put the pieces back together the same way. I have a handful of extra pieces, missing chinks, cracks, and crinkles in the fabric… I am like a patchwork quilt. Different fabrics and threads. Multi color stitching. Mismatched but still forming a pattern that mirrors life’s catastrophic events. Recovered yet not.
I still exist. I still smile but not so frequently. I wish to move about life quietly, unimpeded. There is no more fight in me left to fix my broken. I just simply do not care. I am ok with my patchwork quiltiness. I break myself when I hope for more but I can’t help myself. This is life. Breaking and putting back together. Moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Am I broken? I think not.
Oh look. The sun is out.
