It’s weird to be broken on the outside when you’re also broken on the inside. Although I guess I’m not so broken on the outside, that’s still pretty inside too, it’d be pretty easy to believe I’m totally fine. But trust me, broken backs are no joke. I’m a lot tougher than most people give me credit for. Sure, I may whine and complain over a paper cut but when it comes to real pain, like when I’m lying in the sand of the arena exactly where I landed and haven’t moved in over 10 minutes because I couldn’t, I am tough as nails. I didn’t cry until I lost my vision and most of my hearing and even then, I cried more because of fear than pain. At the hospital was a whole different story, I kept being moved around, rolled over, getting into and then out of the CT machine. That had me screaming. A lot. That hurt. That was real pain.

It’s interesting too, because you do find out who your real friends are in situations like that. I am lucky that most of the people I spend time with regularly are all real friends. I’ve had lots of help, lots of visitors, lots of “gifts” to keep me entertained while I sit on the couch or lay in bed for weeks. It hasn’t even been two full weeks yet and I am bored. So that is nice. However, it ties in to that guilt I had mentioned before. I am lucky in a lot of ways, but the funny thing about depression is that it doesn’t matter how lucky you are, it doesn’t change the depression. So I feel guilty for feeling so depressed but there’s nothing I can do about it. And no matter how many TV series or documentaries I watch or books I read, I can’t help but sit and think all the time and I’m going even more crazy than usual.

But I am incredibly grateful that I have reached that blissful state of numbness. I’ve been anxious for this callous to build around my broken heart, so I could stop feeling all the feelings so strongly, and I am so grateful that it’s finally happened. I was able to distance myself from the root of some of my pain and build that wall back up between my feelings and my ability to feel them. That doesn’t stop some of them from slipping through the cracks though. The angry, the bitter, the confused, the heartbroken. The reality check that is the rest of my life. But it’s a nice break from the pain constantly leaking out my tear ducts.

I am more broken on the inside than the outside. My heart, my soul, they just feel shattered into sharp little pieces. I’m nothing but frayed endings and incomplete parts. And what’s even worse is that I still hope for something better. At least kind of. I’m scared to really want anything too much because I’m too scared and it’s too likely that it’ll never happen. But I’d love to be broken in front of someone, on a regular basis, to be with someone who can wrap their arms around me through the worst of it, and god to have someone still want me in my truly fractured state, someone who knows all the unseemly parts of me and isn’t afraid, who doesn’t run away from it. But here comes that reality check; most of them will run away from it. From me.

I’m too afraid to want it that much, if I want it too much, it’s that much harder for me when it doesn’t happen. I’d settle for something smaller. I’d settle for someone just knowing what they need to know and staying. I can do the rest of it alone, I’ve been managing for the most part and I can keep squashing it down, if someone could just stay, with their arms wrapped around me. If someone could face the surface and still find something worth sticking around for. It may not be everything, but my, wouldn’t it be lovely?