I wrote this back while I was in Las Vegas, shortly after mom had died. Shortly after a phone conversation with Zane. This writing ended up getting neglected on my desktop as events unfolded. It was never forgotten but the writing was interrupted and by the time I got back to it the moment had past and so it was no longer appropriate to write more. I wasn’t in “that moment” any longer, and with the need to survive and manage everything with mom being the only thoughts most of the time, posting this writing never hit very high on the to-do list.
I want to post it though. I post all of my writings, and that includes the angry ramblings of a time past but not forgotten.
I am not broken. This past month proves that. To my self. To the world. To everyone who knows anything about what I have been through. I am strong, and while I may be injured and recovering I will never be broken.
I’m glad I have this writing to look back on. I’m glad I remember the feelings of lostness and fear and confusion. I’m glad I can remember this time because it shows how far I have come and how much more solid I am even if I still doubt it sometimes.
I am not broken.
I refuse to allow myself to believe that I am. Broken to me implies that I cannot be fixed, or that I’ve lost, given up. It means that something else was better, and I refuse, REFUSE, to allow that to be a truth that I accept about myself.
I am NOT broken.
Injured, yes. I fully admit that I am not ok. That I am deeply hurt, in a way that will never “heal” properly. I will always have this whatever it is with me. This hole, this scar, this ache. It will never go away. It will never magically change and not exist anymore.
I am injured, which means I can recover. Not broken, which implies I’m a lost cause.
Figuring out that statement makes me feel better about taking my year of mourning. That’s what I’m referring to it as. My Year. It helps me feel like it’s not be being selfish or weak or running away from my problems.
I need time to recover. Maybe more than most people but I feel more than most people, which I’m sure “most people” are going to read that and think that I’m arrogant or something, but it’s the truth. I’m extremely sensitive to all emotions. Joy, happiness, anger, guilt, and I guess now grief.
I still don’t understand it, this collection of emotions I have in my chest. There was more anger last night, and since I was on the phone with Zane it got mildly directed at him. He says I need to stop lashing out at people. In my mind I only lash out when I’m retaliating against something that hurts me more.
I am going to be giving him the car. He’s going to take over the loan payments and everything will be switched to his name. This is because we’re going to be able to keep mom’s car and it’s easier for me to use her car than to drive mine cross country.
There’s the added issue of “my car” not feeling like mine if I got it back from Zane in a year. He would have used it to go on dates and whatever else he wanted to do. It wouldn’t smell like me, it wouldn’t feel like me. I wouldn’t want it back so I would have made payments for a year for something that wasn’t mine, that I never got to use. Not really interested in that.
So currently we’re going to look into doing that when I go back to Orlando, which we got mom’s ashs back yesterday, so I leave to go to South Carolina tomorrow…. All of the things… All at once… >.<;
Anyway, Zane called me yesterday and said that when I got into Orlando he wanted to get a written agreement drafted between us saying that I was going to transfer the car to him because through this whole situation he doesn’t trust me to not screw him over.
Pardon me while I sit here not giving a fuck because I have a marble urn full of my mom’s ashes sitting on my kitchen table.
That ended up being an hour long conversation with ups and downs. He’s the one who said I was broken. That I have been for a long time.
Every time he said it I got angry and replied with, “I’m not broken.”
“Ok,” a single word which held so much, “I don’t believe you but I’ll say ok so we don’t fight,” that it only made me angrier.
Broken people don’t make to-do lists and figure shit out, and go talk to lawyers about how to handle the estate and make budgets for the year to see what is possible and what isn’t. Broken people don’t switch over accounts so the apartment can be kept, and make rent arrangements. Broken people don’t research into car loans to see if they can be transferred to another person.
Broken people don’t spend days searching for a new sensei to continue with spiritual growth and healing. Broken people don’t spend days looking for tattoo reference material and additional days going to tattoo parlors looking for the “right” artist. They don’t go to the recruitment office for the military branches and talk about future plans and what needs to happen now, and what types of training / conditioning groups there are.
I’m NOT broken because I’ve done all of those things and more. I’m functioning. I’m not ok. And I know I’m not ok. I haven’t been ok for a while and I told you the whole time that I wasn’t. So don’t make it seem like it’s a shocker or news, because it’s not. But just because I’m not ok doesn’t give you the right to make me seem less than, or that it’s my fault that I’m the way I am.
I’m injured because of the events in my life, and I’ve been coping with the relationship side of it for longer than I should have. And now my mom is dead and I have that to contend with as well, not just our dysfunctional relationship.
It makes me realize how much I didn’t know myself. I thought I did, but if I truly did I don’t think I would feel so lost right now, so floaty and ungrounded.
Several people have written me amazing comments. I am strong, I am beautiful, smart, resourceful, independent. They have written adjectives about me, rather than nouns.
Being a teacher or a student or a companion does not define who I am. I was reminded of that fact the other day and it is something I have been chewing over inside of my head.
I may at one point have been those things, but those things are not me. I am still smart even if I’m not a teacher. I am still resourceful even if I am not a student. I am myself even if my life is going to be drastically different, and just because I am going in a different direction does not mean I am running away.
I feel confident in my choices regardless of what other people say about them. One, single person cannot take away my resolve or make me question myself. At least not for very long.
I don’t think of it as selfish. Selfish implies that I do not care about the emotions of those around me or those I affect. But I do. And it makes my choices that much harder when I know I am hurting someone else.