Brokenness

I wrote this a couple of years ago about myself. It's my testimony in a relative nutshell.

Her brokenness...there was nothing beautiful about it, no ray of sunshine could make it through the darkness to hit the shattered glass and cause a glimmer of hope. There was just...nothing there. At least, that's what she wished were there. Sometimes she could feel nothing and that brought a modicum of...a sort of peace...into her life. But it never lasted. There was always something to pull her back down into darkness again. A glance misinterpreted, a whisper misconstrued...that was all it took to push her under.

Other days she was more afraid of feeling nothing than she was of feeling the horrendous pain that aloneness brought. There was only one way, only one way...only one way. And it was such a shameful way...she shouldn't even be thinking of it...because it was just so...wrong. Everything about it was distasteful. But maybe it would make someone realize how wrong her life was, how hard she was trying to keep going, struggling to find light. Maybe they would finally pay attention and just HELP her. Just...help her.

Every time she hurt herself she fell farther into the pit, farther from beauty, farther from love, farther from everything. There was nothing to hold her back anymore, except the shame...and that also helped to push, more than it pulled her away from hurting herself. And yet no one paid any attention, unless it was to mock her. Mercilessly. Call attention to her problem and then. Pick her apart. Into little little pieces. Tiny. And then step on her and push her back where she belonged. Except she didn't belong there. She never did, but she didn't no any place else she was welcome. So she clung to the darkness, hiding from the light and anyone who might have saved her, if they had cared enough...or if she hadn't been so ashamed to tell them.

Then one day...she found them. More like herself. People she could innately trust and be comfortable with because they were like her. They knew her pain. What she was going through. And it felt nice to be understood...no matter how dangerous it was. She liked it. For once there was no shame. There was no aloneness. She was...whole? Or a close replica of it...completely distorted by smoke and mirrors, of course. They helped her with her pain. Helped take it away. But...it couldn't last...because it was even more wrong than before. So much much more wrong. And the light was slowly coming in, to expose the darkness for what it was...and it scared her. She tried to run and fight it off, but there is no fighting the Light when it wants you. And it wanted her...badly. She could her it whispering, calling, pleading for her to return. To let the shattered glass shine more beautifully than ever before. Should she? She knew she should. Could she? She could. She knew that much. But...would she? No...it was too scary.

You must, it told her. It was scary...the darkness was grey now and getting lighter. There was nowhere to hide anymore. But the shame was still there...and she couldn't get away from it but she couldn't hide it, either. The grey failed her like the darkness never had. But slowly, slowly, she realized how wrong, how twisted her thinking had become. The light...it hurt...but it was good to hurt again...in a healthy way. To face the darkness and tell it off. To tell it to leave her be. It felt healthy...clean...safe...to embrace the light. But sometimes she still saw the darkness lurking in the corners, reaching, marring the cleanliness with its tendrils. But it was a matter of turning her back on the darkness and running farther into the light.

But what about the others? What about the ones that had tried to help? She didn't know...she never really found out...she found that whenever she returned to the edge of the darkness to call for them, she felt the dark taking her again and she had to leave them there. And did her shattered glass shine brighter? She hopes it does...she thinks it does. It's something about the eyes.