The Things That Are Broken

I can remember back to when I was a child, when I was being overly hyper and rambunctious and managed to break something I was sure my mom would have my hide for, I remember the fear that swept over me knowing that I had broken something. Something that, whether or not it was mine, I couldn’t manage to fix on my own.

I remember that feeling of helplessness that came over me, as all my options were spent and there was nothing left for me to do but wait. Wait for my mother to discover what I had done and suffer the punishments. Those moments passed like years, each second dragging on as my heart beat heavily in my chest.

And after my punishment, I would sit there all upset wishing for me to be a grown up. Old enough so that when I break something there would be no one in the world I would have to answer to, because I am an adult and can break whatsoever I wanted.

This was my thought, the childish and foolish thoughts of just that… a child.

Now that I am older, I realize that I break my things all the time and have to replace them. And like I predicted, usually I don’t have to answer to anyone about it. But what I hadn’t planned on was discovering that there are so many things in this world I can break that I can’t even touch with my hands. And the punishments I would recieve for breaking those things were so much worse.

I see it every day, when I start another stupid fight with my boyfriend. When we pass the night with so much more then just space between us in bed. And when we wake up to that same space the next day. I realize that, just like that careless little girl that I thought I had left behind, I had broken something. I had broken a trust between two lovers, I had broken the faith that he had in me, and maybe with stupid words I had broken the bond between us and faltered the the love he held in his heart for me.

And in breaking all of those things, I had also broken something in myself. A heart that was so full of hope and belief in the impossible.

In those moments, in the hours I spend alone the next day thinking over all the things I had done that had led up to this moment, all I can do is be sad. Because more then anything I wish I was a little girl answering to someone else for breaking what I had broken. And I would stand my ground and accept my punishment and then move past it all.

Things don’t work out as simple as those days. When I make a mistake, there isn’t always the option to try again, when I fall sometimes something inside me disappears and makes it all but impossible for me to get up. And when I break things, I end up breaking something far more important then a vase, or a remote control.

I break something that cannot be so easily replaced and if I can not find a solution, what’s broken can shake my whole life, change everything that I am.

A stern talking to, a smack and being sent to my room is something that seems so reasonable to me now as I think of the punishment I receive now. As I beat myself up day in and day out until I am emotionally worn and don’t know what else to do with myself. As I realize that even as an adult, I can’t always fix the things that are broken.

But I wish and hope to God that this time I can.

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3 thoughts on “The Things That Are Broken

  1. Hey Shaye!

    So far have read two posts and I can say already I found what I’m looking for in a outside blog. Unable to right now but later I will leave proper comments on the posts that inspire them. I waste so much time being active in the WordPress community so I’m happy I found a diamond blog.

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