I am not broken...

That's me in the bottom right corner of the picture. I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. My mom was french braiding my hair. She used to do this every third day. I had hair down to my butt at that time.

Anyway, that age... there in the photo, that is about the time that I think I started to feel broken. Less than human. Different. Isolated. Flawed. Worthless. It wasn't too bad at that time, but it got worse. Much worse over the years.

One of my dearest friends told me a week or so ago, "You are not broken." Those four words have been rolling around my head since then. I've been going to shrinks, hating myself, taking anti-depressants, trying to find the missing piece. Well, fuck! There isn't one. I am not broken or incomplete.

I am who I am. I am sick of being on stupid pills that are supposed to make me not crazy, but don't really succeed. I am sick of trying to figure out the flaw in me that made certain people in my life turn away from me or keep their distance. Who fucking knew that all of this time, that was their issue. Not mine.

I am not broken. Holy shit?! It is so simple, but yet... so fucking complex. I am amazed at what I've done over the years to try and make reparations to myself. I am amazed at the things that I have missed over the years because I figured that the people involved would not want a broken person with them.



I was talking to my mom the other day. She told me that she thought that there were three distinct phases of my relationship with my Father. First, she said I was Suzy Golden-hair who could do no wrong. I went everywhere with him. I was treated like a princess. I was his sidekick. Then, after the divorce, I became a possession to be bartered and fought over. He was so focused on the dissolution of the relationship with my mom that he lost sight of the little girl who used to be his buddy. Then, about the time I hit adolescents, I could do no right. Everything I did was a fucking mistake. From the jobs I chose to the kid I had. Hell the place I lived was a mistake. Then men I dated. The friends I had. The relationship with my mother. It was all wrong.

I don't remember the first stage, not really. I remember being Daddy's little girl. I must. That is the feeling I have been trying to get back to for 25 fucking years. I remember being the tool of emotional wars. I remember not being able to do a damn thing right (how can I forget that, I am still there). Somewhere along the line, his attitude change towards me helped me down the path to feeling broken.

Well, I am fucking done. I am not broken. I am not some shitty human being that doesn't deserve the life, love, family, and friends that I have. I am a good, whole person who needs to realize that her father is not worth her time.

So, why am I writing this? I dunno. I haven't written anything like this in years. I don't blog. I don't LJ. I just was laying in bed and realized that my fear of being broken was no longer useful in my life. I need to move the fuck on. So, I guess that is why I am writing this. To share with you all that I am not broken. I never was and I never will be.

luvs
binks