Broken

I've been called many things: Crazy, Obsessed, F**ked-up, Weirdo, Crackhead, Stalker, Quiet, irrational, random...the list goes on. At some point in time I'm sure I fit each of these descriptions but I was never truly all of these. If I could sum it up in one word I'd call myself Broken. But there's a bit of breaking in all of us so I don't feel so alone. I've made a recovery from mental illness, but it's a constant battle I'll always need to fight through a balance of pills, self motivation and will, reflection, and my own therapy since I refuse to sit on a couch in an office where I'm supposed to talk to someone about things that make my own head hurt and who "listens" to me while watching the sixty minute timer tick down to zero. I'm not discouraging anyone from therapy because I do believe that it moves mountains for some. But for me it's more like kicking over ant hills in the sidewalk and watching the little critters spill out and run around frantically as I try to not squish them under my feet. The kid with the magnifying glass on a sunny summer day? No, that wasn't me. I prefered to smear lightning bugs on the driveway and try to make my own version of a neon sign.

Sometimes I wonder how I ever got to be the person I am today and if I've become who I'm really supposed to be. But the fact remains that I am me and I'll take it rather than leave it. And I'll never be the person I'm meant to be because we're all constantly evolving. I just need to remind myself that it's never too late to be what I might have been. Even if that means I need to pick up the pieces of myself along the way.