Broken

A real-life PERSONAL update.  Like, about me, not just stuff.  Enjoy :)


I'm not satisfied with being broken, is I think why I do this.  I'm sensitive, and life is life, and somewhere between the two I took a beating or three and learned to be scared.  This fear, of people and things that people do, inspired me to absent myself from their company for much of my early life; I sat in corners and read, hoping I'd be left alone.  I'd cry, or scream at them sometimes, when they'd out me for being distant and strange like being distant makes you, which of course just reinforced the problem(jesus I can still taste that pain like acid in the back of my throat..).  That distance, in turn, removed me from a lot of important social development activities; I usually had a friend, and sometimes even several, so I'm not entirely sure where this impression of my past comes from.  That running-away habit when things got hard, maybe?  Possibly that I kept quiet through most group activities so I could pretend I was included the way everyone else way.  I'm really not sure.

I grew, but kept being scared, and so kept avoiding people(maybe that's it, I just couldn't bring myself to like them through that fear).  I had friends, because people usually like me, but something remained off about it.  While I was twenty-one, I hit a psychological low point where I just hated existing.  I've never had an instinct for suicide, so maybe I don't know as much of suffering as others who do, and even then I never wanted to die.  I just didn't want to exist, alive or dead or oblivious or scared or confused, anymore.  It likely didn't help that my life was particularly stressful at the time; I'd just dropped out of college without really meaning to, was working 60-hour weeks of boring night shifts with little sleep, making up for that with heavy amphetamine abuse, and this all contributed to my being much more socially isolated than usual, leaving me to stew in that poisonous atmosphere I'd created.

Things got bad, but life never stands still.  The job ended, I had a decent chunk of money set aside from it, so I picked up an old habit and ran.  I left my home behind, because that's where I was the person who hated existing.  I went somewhere else, started work on healing myself, and have been at it ever since.  Thing is, I think maybe I've been dodging around the central problem.  I've picked up some great skills, to be sure, improved my bodily health immensely and, more recently, reached some sublime insights.  But still I run, and still I hide; I don't think cowardice is the right word, because I don't hide from knowing this.  Weakness, maybe?

Broken I am, but that's not what I want to be.  I'm not content to be like a recovering alcoholic, making the most of the mess left behind by the problem they almost died trying to figure out.  This may well get worse before I have it figured out, but the battle is making me stronger and wiser, and I think I can do it.

Because weak I may be, but I'm also smart.  Like, really smart, and confident enough in my intelligence to take on the big problems no one's ever made it back from; also possibly just mad, but in either event I think a lot and come up with really useful conclusions.  I really don't believe in anything I can't figure out, though I'm sure there are issues I'll need to grow into before I can overcome them.  I won't run from this.  I'm scared to death of losing it, but if I must then it'll just be one more thing, won't it?