Broken PotteryMature

You know when you have this hope that things will just automatically get better and it doesn't? Well I woke up the next morning, hoping beyond hope that I would feel magically better. 

I didn't.

I felt guilt. I could see the pity in their eyes. But they didn't say anything. 

I kept expecting them to mention something to me, anything. But no. Just silence. I was devastated. I had poured some of my heart out to them, and they just leave me in agony like this? I wanted to talk about it, I needed to talk about it. But no. I felt like a piece of pottery, that had been thrown to the ground, stepped on, then left in pieces. I felt more broken that I had ever felt before. But only silence. Just them being nice. 

All day was a bother. It dragged on and on. I felt like I was held in a state of dis-repair. I went to them for help, and they expect me to just keep repairing myself? I have I fixed myself all I can without help, I can't do this anymore.

I would look myself in the mirror, and the lies would start pouring in. I wanted to smash that mirror so badly. But I only thought of what God said about me. 

I was too exhausted to think much though, from lack of good sleep, so I couldn't hardly think. 

They didn't say anything. I decided to try something new. I would let them know what mood I was in or if I needed help in a disguised way. If they did something that helped I would say something like it made me feel better or it made my day. Perhaps then they would want to talk about the problems. 

I didn't think they quite understood what I was dealing with. Sure, I had gotten through the worst of it, but sometimes the thoughts and memories would come upon me with vengeance and I would just cry. The urge to self-harm would come back ten times harder than ever. Then the next day I would feel better. It was the high and lows. I would get very depressed when I thought about the same thing over and over, because I just wanted to be rid of it. I needed the truth to set me free.

I hadn't wanted to talk to my Mom for a good reason. She was getting a divorce. She had had it with my Dad, and I didn't blame her. But then to heap all my junk on her while she was trying to deal with all these things? No. I couldn't expect to much from her. I would just have to cope for a while, just trust God to get me through each day. 

I just wished that all that I had hoped for would have come to pass.

Plus the fact that in that week, the day of Tavie and I's one month of being free from self-harm would come. I braced myself, praying it would be a good day, I would make it a good day. But then fear just always seemed to creep in. 

The End

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