I have tried to repair my broken heart. I have tried to repair my broken life. I have tried to repair my thinking. I have tried to repair my mind.. I have tried to repair my perceptions. I have tried to repair my beliefs and judgments. What have I truly repaired? I am not sure. A repair is not something that is fixed to be in the same state that it was before. A repair is usually not as good as the original. At times, repairs can actually exceed the quality of the original piece. Repairs give character, uniqueness, to what the original was. How does this apply in the human heart? My heart was pure, blameless, innocence, divine, at birth. Through time, playing in this world of form and matter with people dim and unknowing, my heart was bruised and torn. Then, I inflicted my own damage upon it, to continue what my mother started from birth in each betrayal. The striving for self-destruction, the drum call of self-sabotage beats with the same cadence and frequency as my heart. Why? What is this self-destruction about? Where are its roots? What is the pleasure I derive from it? It is familiar. Now. It wasn’t at some point. Although I just had a flash of a memory that illuminates all was not well, and has not been well for most of my life. I was 16. I had a crush on Darrell. It was the first time a boy liked me that was around my age. He loved smoking pot. We had been out some, with his brothers. We had drank bottles of Robitussin together and had a magical trip. We had escaped near misses of being caught by parents. Then, he stopped calling. My crippling obsession suffocated my every waking moment. The amplitude of the fear and panic grew through the day as the time of him not calling became longer and longer. In desperation, I got out the big chef knife. I drew it across my wrist. I was scared and not serious. I did draw blood and had a small scar for years. I see the pain I was in. I was a victim to the tide of thought and emotion coursing through me. Obsession with boys, my earliest addiction, started at 5 and continues at almost 40. My heart is no longer as resilient. Today, I was afraid. Afraid for my sanity. Afraid again of breaking my brain. Afraid I have crossed a line into true chemical dysfunction. I feel a victim. Giving my power away is fucking scary. I hate this.


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