I broke myself in trying to help and fix everyone else.
I broke myself trying to build perfection in myself and in others.
I broke myself trying to make my family and myself fit the mold.
I broke myself in unrealized expectations inspired by unfair and unrealistic comparisons.
I broke myself in failing to separate reality from fantasy.
I broke myself in trying to paint a perfect picture with a broken and marred brush.
There are holes in my bucket. I receieved a flawed bucket that collected dings with life’s blows, but I poked the holes, trying to hurt those who hurt me by drinking poison and looking for them to die.
I was hurt, but putting my wounds on display did not garner sincere empathy or much of the help I truly needed.
Some blows I truly did not deserve. Other blows were self-inflicted.
I wanted others to suffer over-the-top punishment for the same offenses I had committed but for which I expected grace.
I only softened for those who could withstand my fury and remain understanding and compassionate.
I started small, innocent, playful, full of laughter, joyful, energetic, willfully the center of attention, curious, and loving.
My world stopped at three years old and started spinning in an unpredictable orbit, changing centers until it spun out of control.
I cried many times, “I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS!” But that did not change a thing.
To take life’s lemons and turn them into lemonade, from where comes the sweetener? From me? After my hopes, dreams, expectations, development, and I have been soured? From where comes the sweetener? Life’s rainbows never seem to be enough to fix the rain in my clouds.
I was told I was damaged. They say it is not what you are called but what you answer to. What if I haven’t been called what I want to hear, or what if I haven’t been called the right thing enough times to believe it enough to answer to it with confidence?
They like to form sentences and end them with… “in Christ.” What does “confidence…in Christ” mean when I have moments when I feel there is nothing to be proud of, even though that feeling is a lie?
“I will write myself healed” is what I told myself, hoping that I would find myself, my healing, my breakthrough, my relief, my release, and my redemption between the lines of confession. I still believe that I will find myself in brutal honesty with myself, crying tears that no one will hear or feel but God, His angels, and me. Thank God for tears and music! Thank God for scripture even when I do not understand it because at least God is talking! Redeem me, God, to a good place I feel I have never been! Reset me to an unbroken state! The me before my world stopped and shattered. The me before I desperately tried to save the picture by forcing pieces that did not belong. I am sorry, God for the wreck that I am. I meant well, but what does that mean if good intentions pave the way to hell? Tell me. What does living for Christ look like in a world that seems full of everything BUT God. The same people who shout “Jesus” are the same ones who gossip about you and cut you off in traffic.
Rally the cry of the wounded! God hears us too! We are the battered, the bruised, and misused. Jesus stopped by The Well and spoke truth, and he told the woman that she could drink too. Step out of the way for the woman crawling through. She is the bleeding, and Jesus bled for her too. Stop the presses for the widow and her son. A miracle of oil changed lost battles into won. Talk to the man who was demon-possessed and scorned. He cut his skin like we do when we wish we had not been born. These conversations are too real for those who mask up. The broken are judged when we just can’t hold the mask up. Tears of a clown after all have had their laugh. Wet footsteps like bread crumbs to a crime scene because we beat ourselves up til there is blood you can’t see. Internal scars and they are all black and blue. They are the flags that you wave when empathy can’t get through. I was a poet way back when I could not talk and tell you about the shoes in which I walked. I found comfort in the lines of black and white, not knowing I was gray or what that meant for my mental fight. I was a child born into sin like everyone else, but I did not know that the attack on me would lead to me turning on myself. I don’t want to be a mouthpiece for a generation or a group. I am still trying to figure out me and trying to recoup. Recoup from all the years misunderstanding took from me. Still trying to figure out how I landed in this family tree. “Shame on me,” right? That’s what the judgemental think. I know because that behavior was modeled for me.
What can a therapist do who only learned to print articles of stuff I could have Googled? Man, I got real problems. Guess I’ll save myself the time and file away til I can solve them. A pin in each one. I’ll come back to them after I get this money just to give it back to them. How can some truly empathize, when our problems are colorized? When did you stand at the pump, trying to choose between food and gas with, “I don’t believe this…” in your eyes?
But I digress. Had to get it off my chest. Don’t want to hear it? Okay, say less. What a mess. All the stress. I’ll validate my feelings, I guess. This time, I write for me. It’s one of the few times I feel free. Despite who opinionates what I deserve, “I love you, Ebony.”
I’m on a mission. It got too hot in the kitchen, but now, I’m ready to cook. Something is stirring up in me, and so far, it’s a good look. I realized no one was coming, so I ate for myself. Every void I tried to fill only swallowed and grew deeper. Not food, shopping, or sex, not even domestic skills that said, “She’s a keeper.” This is raw. I need to be opened wider and laid bare. God sees me anyway. To heal, I must not conceal. To all who are broken, it’s time to heal. It’s not our truth, but it’s the TRUTH. Thank God for Truth. HE’S talking to you. HE’S talking to me. HE’S waiting on me to share what I see when I look at me so we can agree that I need HIS grace, and more than HIS hand, I need his face. FACE.
I’m on The Potter’s wheel, and I’m marred. I still wear the scar on my left arm. Don’t be alarmed. I’m safe from harm…but sometimes just moments from gone. Gone. Gone in my mind. Can’t tell the time. Can’t really think. Forgetting to blink. What’s happening to me? It’s just life, you see? A lemon-to-lemonade tune called the blues. Go ‘head and choose…whom you will serve this day. Tell me if I’m in the way. I’m in the way. Tell my happiness to stay. Why does it always run away? Depressed in its place. Anxious a two-step away. Dancing but I’m still in pain. Yeah, I’m in pain. Tell all the bows to send rain. Wash all my teardrops away. Wash ’em away.
…cause I am hurting, but I’m alive. There must be a reason left for me to smile. I’ll find a reason to believe that I can suceeed. HE died for me.
On the Potter’s wheel going round and round, can’t touch down, head in the cloud, my thoughts’re too loud. I wanna be out, but HE says stay. I come back in when I wanna run away.
These words are my best friend. They let me in, and I blend in. They ask me no questions. I tell them no lies. They witness my tears, and I survive so I can thrive because I’m alive. I’m live.
Authenticity pays a price that most can’t see, but I’d rather be true and healed than lie to me. Wait and see. I might just thrive after a couple more of these. Stand back, please. Don’t get in the way. Don’t scripture-xplain to me why I shouldn’t feel this way.
The mask is falling down. Jesus’s so glad it’s coming down. For He awaits the brand new me…the one who wants to live more abundantly.
I’ve got nothing more to lose…cuz all my worst fears have come true.
Enjoy this song: Broken People by Israel Houghton featuring D.O.E.
Looking for God 