When I think of beautiful things in my life, I think of everything except brokenness. Despite living in a world where Compassion exists everywhere we want to try looking for it, I still fall short of my keenness to look for the good side of broken things.
I was broken once upon a time. It was something I considered to be a shameful piece of me. Yet, I considered every goal under the world to be something I could use to move past my pain. In the inevitable case that you find yourself in the same position, I want you to know that brokenness is a part of our humanity. It actually connects me to myself deeper than anything else ever has.
It wasn't until I began to ask the deeper questions in life, thanks to the Kindness of Strangers, that I began to reckon with my brokenness. I did not believe that therapy or friends would help me. I shut out every kind word from my mom. In other words, I learned the hard way on how to deal with the complex emotions and feelings that my brokenness presented to me on a daily basis. Furthermore, I became isolated to the point of existing as an Island before I realized how much help I needed.
The same things that broke me are the same things that fix me. I do not know why life is absurd and full of such complexity. I become myself when I revisit the past hurts and painful memories that I once buried deep within my sub-conscious. When I focus on what needs healing, it is my broken relationship to a parent. A brother. A neighbour. A friend. An entire support system teetering on the brink of disaster. This is how I feel all the time. It is encapsulated as my brokenness. But it is also partially a response I get from my Anxiousness to people. I am surrounded by a demiseful interpretation of myself which reckons me to construct reality integers apart from endorphins.
You can love real people if you remember the real integers in your facade: Intelligence, Usury, Integrity, Intentions, Greatness, Diligence, Economics Of Humanity.
Can I ever become this person again?
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