Broken (in the best possible way)

The world is shattered and we wander barefoot through one another’s broken shards and glittering slivers.

We’re all built differently, and maybe for you the missing piece is religion or trust or love or acceptance, but we’re all shattered in our own way and we all pick up pieces that others leave behind.

Life is full of these moments that are supposed to be amazing but end up being questionable at best.

Because who can hold rain in their bones? Rain that hasn’t even come? I know who. The same person who holds fog in her head. Who is undone by the pull of full moons. Who is far too sensitive to the strange whims of a body and mind that listen too much to the world.

It’s a strange thing … to be tangled up in things no one else really cares about. To be so busy with worry that your constant back-and-forth looks like utter inaction.

I tell myself I will be me again soon. But until I am, I may be a broken dove, reminding others of the terrible but fantastic visions that come with an unquiet mind and the strange burden of sometimes becoming a shadow.

To be exhausted by a marathon that looks like complete paralysis on the outside but feels like being on both sides of a violent tug-of-war on the inside.

I’m in that bad part of depression. That step past sad. The step into numb. It’s not a good numb. It’s uncomfortable and out of control and I wonder if I’m even real.

I don’t know what it’s like not to have anxiety but I assume it’s like that. It’s probably not exhausting.