I remember being young and thinking I would have my life together when I was older.
That I was going to grow up and at some magical point, life would get better. Because I would be an adult and as an adult I would have infinite choices.

Infinite control.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the naivety of children protects them from foresight. They can’t think about the logistics.
Only the beginning and ending of dreams - never flanked with concern of the pathway in between.

Thus, as a child, I thought I would grow up, gain a sense of control, and have it all together. That I would be able to stop my parents from fighting, work a really fun job, and hang out with my brother on weekends. As a child, that’s honestly how I saw the world. I thought that the problems encountered by adults could be easily fixed because they were adults and they had control.

But I was wrong.
Death, among many other things, cannot be fixed.

I think that these beliefs held by children can be so strong that no matter how many adults tell them life is hard, they just can’t believe it. A sense of innocence so dense in nature protects children. They are so dearly sheltered, so entirely shielded from reality, they can’t imagine its entirety.

Five-year-old me knew nothing about this world.

That its entirety is built upon a give and take of growing physically and shrinking mentally and emotionally.
In which biologically, cells are reproducing and hearts are pumping blood but mentally and emotionally things are breaking down and all the time pieces are being stripped away. Pieces that won’t be given back.  
Ever.

It’s sort of awful really.
Because nobody realizes until it’s too late. Until you’ve seen so many people break, you start to wonder if you’ve been broken too or if you’re still waiting.
For you tests, your trials, your tribulations.

As we age, we are broken over and over, only to sometimes be rebuilt. Sometimes rebuilt better and sometimes never rebuilt at all; never fixed.
And the worst part is the realization. Looking around and beginning to see the broken bits everybody has hanging by a thread; a quick patch up so they could go to work that day.

But patch ups don't last forever.
And sometimes things break more than once.
Sometimes the same exact wounds are reopened.

And sometimes, once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t be fixed.
Like an outdated piece of technology, that part just isn’t made anymore.

And nobody ever tells you this growing up. They can’t because you’re protected.
So as you go through life, your shield begins to wear and you begin to notice.
And after noticing it, you’re suspect to watch as people break one by one.
And then you’re left to ponder the arrival of your turn.
Or wonder if it’s already happened.

I will take this. I have to.
Even if it breaks me.
Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again.

And it has.

It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as

“damaged goods”

Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again.
Normal is a thing of the past.
This is what’s happening now.

Broken pieces.

Everywhere.

Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time.

It’s like screaming without a voice.

They said there’d be waves.
They essentially promised.
They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in.

Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart.

But there haven’t been any waves.
They were wrong.

Instead the pain is dull. It is constant.
But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time.
The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire.

It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through.

They get out.

This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop.

It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go.

It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically.
I. Am. Too. Weak.

Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well.

But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”.
And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me.

There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time.

There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up.

And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop.

In hopes that one day, I can go on without him.

So I’ll pray.

Some don't believe it
Because some can't see
To most they're cloaked in invisibility

But
There are actually

Little broken bits of human

All over the ground.

You try to hit where it hurts.

But it doesn't hurt anywhere anymore.

Jokes.
On.
You.

I used to strongly believe that you could never know too much
That no matter how dangerous a piece of information, it was always wise to touch.

But then the pieces became jagged and the sharply broken pained to grasp
And I suddenly was struck with the realization that nothing ever lasts.

These delicate little pieces of information I once so coyly sought out
Were now being traced as the infectious seed that caused this very drought.

No more smiles or rainbows, the red curtain has now been drawn
Or perhaps a curtain has lifted and I can see all the goings on.

And the scene isn't pretty. Whichever way you wish to look.
The sun was much brighter, when I skipped pages in this book.

But now that I've read into all there is and know just a tad too much
The facade is broken, and the glass pieces hurt to touch.

At the ripe young age of twenty, take or give a couple days
I've learned that ignorance is bliss and to never stare fully at the grey.

Tactfully draw the line where white meets black.
And never too closely analyze the grey.

For you may find out too much.


And it will steal your happiness away.

I see things I can’t make sense of
I strive to be with attributes that don’t exist
I meet gunners every day.

I try to find happiness in the most caffeinated liquids.
But the light never shines and cannot be found
My darkest suspicions is that it’s been buried underground.

Not only can I not find a shovel but I also lack the energy to dig.
I’m feeling so empty.
Drained with nothing to give.

And there’s nobody to reach out to.
Flailing limps, discerning manic.
I can’t escape this attack.
Cortisol levels rising

And

I

Begin

To

Panic.

Dark and full of doom
Yet miracle prone.

Everyday in the office
I fix broken bones.

I piece back together
What gets carelessly torn.

Precisely placed sutures,
So skin is reborn.

Racing against a clock
Trying to never lose.

Feelings aren't relevant,
They scientifically can't bruise.

Each day a new patient.
Each day a new story.
Each day a new surgery
That most would find gory.

But when you've shut out feelings
For the most part of your life
It's easy to patch up others
Whose bodies have seen strife.

Fixing broken bones
The curer of a heart.

Fixing others while I'm broken

Is a complicated art.