We are all broken in some way. All of us.
Our brokenness keeps us separate, and alone, and lonely when what we need most is a connection. We feel the need to hide the broken, we feel the need to ignore it and sweep it under a rug. We laugh and play and pretend the broken is Not There.
I'm broken. I glue my broken bits together with paint and ink and paper and writing and music. I'm lucky to be able to do that.
Some of us are only a little bit broken. Some of us are a lot broken.
Yesterday I stumbled onto (into!) the blog of someone who is, at the very least, suffering from some form of psychosis. At first I kind of laughed at her ramblings and rantings. I'll admit, I even thought to myself, "What a flippin' nutcase!" However, as I progressed into her words and the deep darkness of her broken self, I felt a profound sorrow for her. She is a lot broken. I wanted to gather her and glue her back together. Alas, that is not my role at this point in time.
But she didn't ask to be broken. Nobody asks to be broken. Nobody wants to be broken. Nobody wants to be that alone.
Sometimes the broken needs to break a little wider before it can be mended. Don't fear that. It hurts, but don't fear it. It's like my bad leg - the doctor had to make the wound bigger before she could bring it back to good. In some ways, my leg is permanently broken, but it's still there, I can still walk, and I am still alive. Alive, but broken. And that's okay.
What do you do with your broken bits? Because you don't have to stay broken. Nobody has to stay broken. Recognize your brokenness, own it, and find a way to mend it. Please. Make some art - nobody needs to see it. Write about it - nobody has to read it. Find someone to listen - there are people who care, I promise.
We are all broken. But we can find ways to mend.
And, even broken, we are worthy...