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I thought only objects could be broken. Things that could fall to the ground, splitting into pieces and skidding on the floor.
But I was mistaken.
Because people could be broken too.
Their hearts, from heartbreak.
Their minds, from anxiety or depression.
Their body, from physical abuse or pain.
I’m broken. Somewhere along the journey that I’ve taken, along the path I’ve walked all the way from birth to where I stand right now, I’ve been broken.
It happens piece by piece. One day after another, like rocks being pushed against each other, erasing each other, forgetting each other.
I’ve been forgotten by many. I’ve been forgotten by the cashiers I’ve said hi to at the store. I’ve been forgotten by the boy who betrayed me so long ago. I’ve been forgotten by friends who pulled away from me, slowly floating away.
Some forgettings are good, for the better.
But some are harsh, painful, they cut through invisible skin, invisible muscle, invisible bone.
It’s for the better. Unless it’s not.
I thought only objects could be broken. Things that fall, or break, or end up on the ground somehow.
Only, I didn’t realize it could be people too. People can fall to the ground. People can be driven to the breaking point, where they don’t know how to breathe anymore, love anymore, live anymore. People can end up on the ground. Pushed away by their loved ones, their friends, the people they thought they could trust.
Broken. So many definitions. So many meanings. So many people on the internet, attempting to explain to me what it means to be broken, to be wronged. To be broken. To be hurt.
I cry myself to sleep some nights. I wish that I had done something different, said something different, meant something different.
Broken. I can’t hold my tongue back sometimes, I just say it. And then I wish I don’t.
Broken. If you tell me that you’re not broken in some way, you are lying.
Broken. EVERYONE is broken. We keep our secrets to ourselves. We plaster these smiles on our faces, cover our eyes with strands of hair to hide the tears.