It feels like glass cracking. You know how glass cracks and cracks before it finally shatters? That’s what it feels like.
You can feel it even if no one else can see or understand it, you know; you know in your heart of hearts this glass is going to shatter.
You’re going to shatter into a million tiny pieces.
The strong ones don’t get the luxury of shattering with sympathy, I’ve found.
We are the strong ones. We pick others up. We carry the loads. We suck it the fuck up.
But just because we ignore the cracks does not mean they are not there, and it doesn’t mean that we don’t also deserve the love and forgiveness we so readily hand out to those we love because we feel the shards within ourselves poking through. Yet, mercy seems to be something many stingily hold onto for the strong.
I’ve always been the one to stand up and speak when others don’t want to rock the boat. I feel an innate NEED to defend those who are weaker than I am. Yet it often feels that when I am weak, it’s an inconvenience to others; like a permission slip for some time off to fall apart that I failed to turn in to everyone I know.
I struggle a lot. I fail a lot. I internalize this a lot. I fake that I’m okay A LOT. I don’t have time to fall apart.
Yet, the glass still cracks be it ever so slowly until I know, I know it will give way and I’m trying.
I shattered completely once before about 12 years ago. Many things led to it, but all I remember of that day was it literally felt like a *ting* and the glass shattered and I couldn’t stop crying. I had let it go too long. I had not taken care of myself before others. I shattered into a million tiny pieces. Some pieces never found their place again. Part of me was never the same. It took me 2 years to put it back together again. I never want to be in that dark place ever again.
And yet, I could feel the cracking of the glass. I could feel things starting to give way again. My anxiety kept me awake for days sleeping only a few hours here and there. My tears came too easily. My smiles were harder to fake. My anxiety manifests often as agitation. When I feel this I throw up the iron gates because I can’t let anyone watch me shatter.
I’m the strong one. I’m the one who speaks up and stands up for others. I’m the one who goes it alone in life and figures things out and makes things happen. I can’t shatter and dissolve into salty tears. Yet, here I was again. Here I was again crying out to those closest to me, and again I was met with bewilderment and resentment and “pull yourself together, it’s not that bad!” I’m even having those closest to me demand an apology for falling apart.
I’m sorry that I’m not indestructible. I am. You hate this? I hate this more.
I hate this more.
Which is why I am doing what I need to do to fix it so that I don’t have to put it all back together again and lose pieces of myself.
All I’m asking for is a little bit of mercy and to not abandon me for being so tragically human sometimes.
Is that too much to ask?