I’d taken to telling everyone and thinking of myself as a broken doll that needed super glue (the mega pricey kind) to fix.
I’d say to my boyfriend, hey honey, I’m broken and basically worthless now, so how could you love someone like me?
I received two gentle ear tugs for that.
Going through life with this sort of thinking is fucking miserable.
Then I realized after much thought, solitude and reading about trauma (especially of the domestic abuse kind) that what I was actually in need of was spiritual and emotional healing.
The people who hurt me, those are the ones who need fixing, not me.
Because I am not broken.
Repeat that to yourself if you feel the desire.
I Am Not Broken.
I’m doubtful that anyone would willfully go into an abusive relationship, but once you find yourself stuck in one (and don’t even realize it!) it’s sincerely fucking difficult to find your way out.
I had honed my survival skills in order to function and then out of nowhere, I got hit with a life-changing whammy. The man who had sworn to love and protect me was a lying, cheating sack of perverted shit and I had been totally duped.
My wounds will heal and scar over. Because I’m human, I will periodically pick at them.
He had done his best to do me harm and destroy me, but you see, it is he who is the broken one, for only the truly fractured purposely hurt the ones that they claim to love.
I’m not on any sort of high horse. I realize that this process of healing will be time-consuming and there’s an excellent chance that my wounds will often become infected.
But I’m hellbent on changing my perspective.