There are days when I feel like cracked glass. I’m not quite broken, but I’m also not quite whole. You can live with cracked glass for years and never have it break. That’s how I am. Cracked glass. Like real glass, my cracks don’t always come from a big hit. Consistent hits from various directions often cause my cracks. And I can feel each crack. One crack rarely causes a break, but if you don’t fix the cracks a break is always the result. My cracks have been building for some time now. I haven’t broken yet, but I feel it coming. Unlike in the past, before I knew what to watch for, I think I can repair without breaking; heal without shattering. Sometimes the shattering is necessary – you may just have to break in order to be reshaped.
I really, really hate being cracked. I hate feeling unwhole. But that’s what depression does to you. It takes all those small hits and turns them into cracks that you have to heal and repair. My depression isn’t with me all the time, and doesn’t always manifest itself the same way. Sometimes it’s a short burst of temper that I’ll have to apologize for. Sometimes it an extra couples hours of sleeping that is necessary to function. Of late, it’s been these cracks that I feel in my joints, across my chest and in my relentlessly pounding head. I can’t think. I can’t focus. All I have are these cracks. I spend all my energy keeping the cracks from breaking and it hurts. I know academically that I have a great life. But these cracks sing otherwise.
So now I do the work to figure out how to fix my cracks. I need a plan and I need it yesterday. I have to get back on board with the things that make me happy. I refuse to break this time, I refuse to succumb to the cracks and fall into that trap yet again. And this is how I’m starting. Getting my feelings out, putting my pain on paper (well on screen), helps me acknowledge that while I’m not okay now, I will get better. I need to draw those cracks back together and put me in a position of healing. Hopefully.