Unapologetically Broken

I never hear silence in an empty room.

White, Green, Blue.

Spinning and spinning like a broken carousel in my brain as the wires that should stretch out get tangled between each other and the spinning never stops.

Dark indents consume my eyes from a lifetime of the carousel spinning so fast that sleep was never an option. Crying in silence as tears echo off the fabric of what is supposed to be a safe sanctuary from the monsters in the dark, but what do you do when the monsters are inside of you?

The translucent yellow containers vibrate in my shaking hands is the only sanctuary I know. It’s a Band-Aid to mask a broken wire.

Yellow.

A migraine meets a panic attack.

White, Green, Blue.

My fingers crash across keys to send out something that resembles an email as the shaking subsides and is met with caffeine as the racing thoughts and flashbacks of being slapped so hard, I wore pants in the summer to hide the bruises invades my brain.

White.

15-hour workdays split up with filling my lungs of nicotine as the caffeine never ceases as my shattered moral compass screams at me to eat while reminding me of the constant threat of weight gain, back and forth it ticks from one to the next.

Green.

Another Band-Aid for another broken wire.

Blue, Green, White.

An endless cycle of yellow bottles crushing and reshaping the wires in my brain over and over and over, but no matter how much glue is used, they snap.

A train barrels towards me while I’m strapped to the tracks from the Band-Aids that have crawled out through my ears, giving up their battle.

The train runs over me, and the conductor is screaming while the carousel rotates so fast that it breaks every wire.

I’m in control until I’m not. I know it’s not me. I’m not shaking. I’m not crying. I’m not screaming for the pain to stop, for just a moment. That’s not me.

Yellow.

I live a dependent life, dependent on the smoke that fills my lungs, dependent on the dripping iv of caffeine, and dependent on the color-coded pills that I refill just so I can stand up straight and resemble some form of what normal looks like.

Through anorexia nervosa, a physically abusive relationship, a panic disorder, extreme anxiety, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, chronic insomnia, and bipolar with psychomania not a day has gone by where I wear a mask, a cloak to hide the burdens of a thousand lives stored in my brain.

I’m not normal. I have never been normal. I will never be normal, and the wires are always one train stop away from breaking, but there’s power in that. An unending fire inside me screaming from every rooftop, that I am who I am, unapologetically broken in so many ways.

Strength doesn’t come from a gym; strength comes from staring at your own monsters and being able to get out of bed while they weightlessly float above. Strength is being in a restaurant surrounded by devourers while the plate in front of you laughs back, having every fiber of yourself pulling away, but still consuming the food. Strength is wearing leggings while feeling the weight of your body crushing so heavy into the earth that every step makes the ground rumble, while the mirror reflects a skeleton.

Asking for help doesn’t make one weak, it shows they are strong by continuing to fight day after day with their own mind and twisted up brain instead of taking the easier way, bowing to the monsters, and giving in. Healing is strength, knowing it’s okay to not be okay is strength, and choosing to live when everything inside of you is screaming to quit is strength. I stopped being afraid of walking through the fire when I learned to be comfortable residing within it.