Being Broken but not Rebuilt

Why is it that we can be broken into millions of tiny pieces by any given person on any given day, but it takes damn near a whole lifetime to be put back together?

Why can’t it be the other way around? What is it about our human  selves that allow us to be shattered so easily? It’s like we build up walls around ourselves and then someone says something, does something, even just insinuates something and that wall crumbles to microscopic bits. After this attack on our hearts we build this sort of partition wall to replace the wall that once stood. This partition does well at keeping the ones who care about us out because they don’t make an effort to push us too far.. but it’s shit at keeping the enemy at bay. Those who want to hurt us, look at this sorry excuse of a wall and laugh as they tear us down once more.

Are we capable of building ourselves back up to our former glory?

One hurtful word can destroy us yet one million sincere compliments couldn’t put us back together…
Are we any stronger emotionally than Humpty Dumpty was physically? He falls off a wall once and that’s it, he’s done, there is no putting him back together. Once we get hurt is there any real hope at the careful reconstruction of our fragile little hearts?

And it sucks because it’s not like I enjoy feeling under the water all the time but then there are nights like this when I almost want to feel all the pain all at once. (*Possible trigger warning*) I want to tear my skin apart. I want to go jump off the bridge by my house. I want to disappear. But I know I’m stuck here but at the same time, my blade is right there and to feel the sting of the sharp edging slicing through my thighs calm me down some, by feeling the physical pain it sort of numbs the emotional pain of this reality I’m forced to live in. There are nights like this when I long for someone to reach out and even just ask how I’m doing and then listen when I admit I feel like shit, but at the same time I don’t want help. I don’t want anyone to tell me that everything is going to be okay or that suicide isn’t the answer because dammit right now it sure feels like it  is.

I just want to move away,  start over. One of the girls I sort of rant to about my shitty home life told me that she wouldn’t be surprised if I moved away and got a legal name change, dyed my hair, changed my clothing style, and all-in-all change everything I was here. And for years ,that has been the plan. Get out. Start over, from scratch. Pretend the hell you went through never happened. Be the person you’ve always wanted to be.

That’s what I’m going to do, and honestly, I would suggest it to anyone and everyone.


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