Saturday, 19 March 2016

Broken by Hell.R.

I’m broken.

Don’t look too closely, you won’t be able to see it.

I can pass people in the street easily and they would think of me no differently than anyone else they have passed that day.

I’ve heard countless times how I look fine, how there doesn’t seem to be an issue.

My problems have been passed over because I don’t look like I’d have problems getting around by myself, eating, drinking or dressing.

I’ve had a medical professional tell me I was a typical young adult when I expressed that I would struggle to get out of bed, I was dismissed as being ‘lazy’ despite my underlying condition.

It’s in the human nature to judge on first appearance, I firmly believe anyone who claims they don’t is a liar. Everyone has at one point and denying it won’t make it any less true, you can feel ashamed for doing it and it doesn’t have to be a regular occurrence, but it happens to us all.

People have given me disapproving looks, or ones of dismissal, when I say in basic conversations that I can understand or at least sympathise with them a little. I’ve lost count of the amount of times people try to joke it off because of my age.

“But you’re so young,” is a common comment.

Usually I try to laugh it off and joke around about how I don’t feel it sometimes, but I always regret not correcting them. I sometimes wonder if they think I’m being pandering or condescending, perhaps I’ve even insulted some.

If I did explain would it even matter? Would they continue to believe I can’t understand because I don’t look like someone who could sympathise with the situation?

Perhaps I’m just making excuses.

Being broken isn’t always a physical break, you won’t always see my cracks but I can assure you they’re there. I’ve just mastered a way to hide my struggles; I keep to myself and don’t make it a point to constantly push my problem in people’s faces.

If it’s ever felt to anyone that I have then I apologise, it was never my intention.

I tire of having to reserve myself so much at times.

I wish I could keep up with other people.

I’ve come to learn to deal with the fact that I won’t.

But I live a good life and get the support I need when I need it.
I can smile and be perfectly fine whilst worrying that my cracks will get larger and no one will understand because I look fine.

I don’t want pity.

I just want people to understand that I’m broken.

And there’s nothing wrong with that

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