I’m sick of feeling like I’m being ripped apart, dissected. Piece by piece, destroyed by probing minds simply because I can’t get a grasp on the inner workings of my own by myself anymore if I ever had before. Layer by layer, peeling away the years that have been buried away, hidden for reasons that I can’t fathom right now. But they’ve been pounding these past few years now, demanding to be dug out, willing me to let them breathe. I want to set them free. I want to let them go. I need to. All this self-realization that I’m attempting is being done in hopes that I’ll be able to breathe on my own again. If I could just lift this thousand pound weight off my chest, throw it all out of my mind, and free it all from my heart, maybe then I’d be able to breathe and live and love. I don’t want to be broken anymore.

If anything else, I wish I had never realized I was damaged to begin with. If only I hadn’t joined but I did… If only I didn’t hate it so much but I do…

And so, the jack has jumped his box and, thus, here I stand.

So, here’s to living broken but in the process of being repaired. It’s a strange feeling realizing things about yourself you’ve never known before simply because you’ve never wanted to face it. I’m a broken record skipping back and forth between verses, never finishing anything I start, always replacing one with another broken attempt, watching the cycle spin again and getting the same results.

Proposition from almost 2 years ago (back when I was the freest I ever remember being) failed.

Attempt number 2: proposition revisited.

I’ve been afraid my entire life of becoming broken and now, look at me, I’ve been broken anyways. I’ve built walls out of straw and hay and left trails of their destruction behind me. Brick is where it’s at. I’ll build this so high that I’ll be touching sky when I stand on top of it. And maybe by the time I’m done, i’ll know how to fly on my own. I won’t need the wall anymore.

Because who’d be able to get to me if I know that I can always fly away and still be intact and ok?

I’m going to find myself buried in the rubble. You’re welcome to visit, i’ll build windows and doors into the walls. But if you don’t intend on staying when things get rough (and they will) I don’t know that I could take it yet. Just wait until the mortor has set otherwise the holes I dig to find the memories of my past might find my present making a home in them as well.