I Am Not Broken

I think I start out in personal writing by saying this a lot, but I've been thinking (like always) about the people I've met and that I love and what they've 'done to me' and what they've done for me, and what I've done in return, etc.

I mostly think about the broken people I know. My best friend, who despite being abused as a tiny child, still loves her father, and sees him every other weekend. Who still sits with bad friends who constantly give her back-handed comments despite their own, various flaws. Who trusts too much and has too much kindness to be 'normal'. My aunt, who's always been called fat and ugly, and tries so hard to trust each time she's shattered a little more. Who's closest friend is her dear niece, because everyone else has taken their own swing. Who everyone loves and adores but suffers alone every night, because everyone only sees her smile and her hears her jokes, and doesn't see beyond, to the depression and confusion and need to feel really loved and appreciated.

These people will never have what others have. I really hope and wish that they will. But as I see it, it's an uphill battle. Neither of these people and others unnamed, will find love. Not easily. They'll continue to be abused and used and stabbed in the back, because they want to believe that people can be trusted. They're broken. They'll never be 'normal'. Not a bad normal, but the normal of being able to have a good relationship and a happy family and people to rely on. Because the ones they tried to have, broke them.

And sometimes I've felt broken. I hadn't in a long time until June-ish. I smiled and stayed up late playing video games and watching tv like the rest of my friends and siblings, but when I was left alone in my head, I could barely stop myself from crying. I felt so utterly alone. Just the things that I've been trying to figure out with myself, I couldn't talk to anyone about. I was too scared to even talk to someone online about it, because they'd think I was strange. I admitted to myself I didn't think anyone would ever really love me. I agreed with myself, I was broken.

But I don't want to be broken. I've always been sensible and smart, despite my faults and fears. No matter how much I wanted to not be myself and for awhile, just not be anyone, I could put on a brave face and continue on. Because I can't give up. I'd have to be killed to give up. And maybe it's a curse, but in some crevice of my mind, there will still be hope. I may be cracked and scarred and burned, but I can pull myself together. These imperfections make me me, and I'm proud to be this thing that I am. I've done so much this way, being flawed. It's a strange feeling to be proud of yourself, more like you're proud of your child. It's like a video game. I'm proud of this thing I've made. I want to keep playing. Because this thing is amazing, and this thing may have a lot of quests to complete, but that makes this whole life thing fun. And at the end of the final boss battle, all these scars and scrapes and marks will make this thing look more amazing than the blank canvas it started as.

I think for now, that's all I have to say. I've written things like this a lot, but never have I kept them around, let alone let other people see it. I'm glad. I hope something here can give somebody a little hope, or a little insight at least. Thank you to anybody for reading. It means a lot that you care at all about my existential ramblings.