Shattered Glass


Recently – all too recently – I became a mess. An unhandled mess. I started becoming manic. I started crying, I started fantasizing my own death.

It is not anything new. I have dealt with this sort of crazy all my life. It comes, it goes.

When it comes, it is scary – beyond any horror movie, beyond any sort of imagination. I am someone else.

At times, and there have been many, I have become so irratic. I think of putting myself in an institution for a while, just so someone can watch over me.

I cannot stop the thoughts. I cannot stop the pain. I can only become aware that it is here, and I must deal with the fantasies, the mania, the crying, the insanity, in my own way.

Unfortunately, it seeps out for others to see. It oozes and they wonder if I will be okay.

I have to go on. I know this. I am here for some unspoken reason, beyond anything I can see. I am here to help, to guide, to give purpose, when I have nothing to give.

To all who have seen my insanity, do not worry, it comes and it goes, like the tide.

I only have to be aware it is here. I have to reach into the depths of who I am and pull out the last shards of hope I have left, which seem to fill when I am sure I have nothing left.

I have to apprectiate the times when I am somewhat normal – when my insanity is at bay; sleeping.

This is what it is like to have an unwired brain. To have your synapses misfire. To live inside yourself, never finding a way out.

I am a mere poster child for mental health. I am your friend who is not quite right. It is in my gene pool. I am hardwired to be the weird one. You love me, but you’re scared. You hold tight, but you space yourself when I escape your box.

I am not normal. I was never meant to be. But please, please never lose sight of me.

During the course of this blog, I have revealed many things about myself. If you have followed along, you may have pieced them together.

I am broken. I have a lot of issues. I have seen therapists, psychiatrists, and I have diagnosed myself. The most anyone can say is this: I certainly have anxiety, PTSD, and I may have low grade schizophrenia, coupled with major depressive disorder. Some think I have bipolar 1. Some think I have a personality disorder.

I am tired of lables, so I decided I am just me, a mess.

Recently, I snapped. It was not a full break. It was a partial misalignment.

During my manic phase of insanity, I wrote something. I do not remeber what I wrote. Truthfully, I am scared to open my notebook. I am scared to read the words. They reveal something I would rather hide, I am sure.

I am going to read what I wrote, and post it below.

The point of these jumbled words written above and below, is to give you a glimpse of my mind. A glimpse of what it is like coming out of my insanity to reach my normal, and what is like when my insanity has me trapped.

I am here to help, to give, to receive, and to teach. When you look at me, you see a seemingly normal person who probably has it all together. I am anything but. I am everything, and I am nothing.

Thank you for following me on my journey. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my friend. May we live another day. May we grow to love each other.

I am opening my notebook now…

I feel this strong, urgent need to hurt myself.

I need to punish myself.

The urge is real, feeling diminished by these words, making it feel fake.

If I tell you, you would not understand.

no one understands.

I feel strong anger toward myself.

Toward these thoughts.

These horrible, raging thoughts.

If anyone here is damaged, it is me.

Like a broken mirror, hopelessly glued back together.

The shards are cutting me. With each piece forcefully being put into place.

I am a broken mirror.

no one can see the cracks but me.

no one knows how deep the glass cuts.

I am a broken reflection

If I find a piece, it is too late.

I already put another piece there

but it did not fit

I am a broken mirror

constantly skewed and never the same

let the glass become who you are

broken and smeared with pain

filled with tears

let your reflection show the real you

shattered, distorted, scarred

just fill in the holes

with more glue

so the black is hidden

do not let anyone see behind the mirror

it is barely holding you together

it was never strong enough from the beginning

you’re a shattered mess

filled with scars and tears

you’re broken, sharred, splintered

shattered

you’re cracking again

get the glue

we are out

then the tape will do

It wasn’t as bad as I thought.

Until next time…

3 thoughts on “Shattered Glass

  1. I hope you are able to see some mental health person as I feel you would benefit from either in hospital help or regular outpatient help. And you maybe seeing someone on outpatient, if so good. If not or not regularly, maybe add more visits if possible.
    At l east this blog is a good place to vent.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I agree. When I had a therapist, it was free. When I had a psychologist, insurance paid. I do not have the resources for either anymore. Now days I just try to fight through until I can find what will work best. I have a best friend who always checks on me and I live with my family at the moment. Those things really help. And this blog. Writing has always been a way to find release.

      Like

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