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Broken like a murmured heartbeat
Dec. 9th, 2018 09:25 pmI was thinking today, that there is something poetic to how I identify with the word "broken".
I use it most often to describe my brain. It doesn't do things the way I want it too, it reacts strangely to things it shouldn't. It rejects praise, almost unilaterally. It's broken.
But see, my body is broken too, or maybe it's that my body was broken _first_. I have six inches of white-stitched flesh in a curving crescent to attest to that. The scar sits just under my left shoulderblade, because I was so small they chose to go in through the back.
My heart didn't work right, when I was born. A valve that never did learn to close, and had to be stitched shut. I don't know how old I was when I learned the sentence "I had heart surgery". I don't even remember learning the fact about me, how could I remember the event itself?
Broken, as a word, fits because conscious or not, I've always known it applied. Oh sure, I can work as hard as I can towards "scarred" (because "fixed" isn't a real thing, you can't make trauma-echoes go away completely) but you don't make scars unless there was damage in the first place. My brain (my heart) is broken, and I have never been quite-whole.
It's a part of having a sickeningly strong self-awareness, that I know and recognize and Understand that I am broken. Some of the broken I vaguely think I should fix --I do talk to a therapist, every other week or so. Some of the broken is so fundamental I don't think it can be repaired. When the Walls are working properly, it's pretty easy to hide being broken, so long as I am not deemed worthy of praise (I am not.)
(I don't know if other people can see that half-shadow insistence pass my eyes when they try to call me worthy. I do things because they must be done. If my doing them is impressive, it's only because no one else was willing or able to step up.)
((Except in jokes? I don't think I wince when I say something clever and it makes people laugh. I try to do it less, because I always talk too fucking much and I shouldn't interrupt, but I don't think I am made off-center by being funny, and maybe that is the third thing I am allowed to be arrogant about, except it's really not a thing to be arrogant about at all. Perhaps I can actually call it confidence, but that sounds like such a double-edged word.))
Anyways, there's a lot of words in this post, and I don't know that the flow and pattern makes sense to anyone but me. You're (always) welcome to ask questions, if you think it would help make sense (if sense is a thing you'd like, you never have to.)
~Sor
MOOP!
I use it most often to describe my brain. It doesn't do things the way I want it too, it reacts strangely to things it shouldn't. It rejects praise, almost unilaterally. It's broken.
But see, my body is broken too, or maybe it's that my body was broken _first_. I have six inches of white-stitched flesh in a curving crescent to attest to that. The scar sits just under my left shoulderblade, because I was so small they chose to go in through the back.
My heart didn't work right, when I was born. A valve that never did learn to close, and had to be stitched shut. I don't know how old I was when I learned the sentence "I had heart surgery". I don't even remember learning the fact about me, how could I remember the event itself?
Broken, as a word, fits because conscious or not, I've always known it applied. Oh sure, I can work as hard as I can towards "scarred" (because "fixed" isn't a real thing, you can't make trauma-echoes go away completely) but you don't make scars unless there was damage in the first place. My brain (my heart) is broken, and I have never been quite-whole.
It's a part of having a sickeningly strong self-awareness, that I know and recognize and Understand that I am broken. Some of the broken I vaguely think I should fix --I do talk to a therapist, every other week or so. Some of the broken is so fundamental I don't think it can be repaired. When the Walls are working properly, it's pretty easy to hide being broken, so long as I am not deemed worthy of praise (I am not.)
(I don't know if other people can see that half-shadow insistence pass my eyes when they try to call me worthy. I do things because they must be done. If my doing them is impressive, it's only because no one else was willing or able to step up.)
((Except in jokes? I don't think I wince when I say something clever and it makes people laugh. I try to do it less, because I always talk too fucking much and I shouldn't interrupt, but I don't think I am made off-center by being funny, and maybe that is the third thing I am allowed to be arrogant about, except it's really not a thing to be arrogant about at all. Perhaps I can actually call it confidence, but that sounds like such a double-edged word.))
Anyways, there's a lot of words in this post, and I don't know that the flow and pattern makes sense to anyone but me. You're (always) welcome to ask questions, if you think it would help make sense (if sense is a thing you'd like, you never have to.)
~Sor
MOOP!