Fracture. Recognizing the word has never been an issue; I study rocks, gems, bones, glass, technology, and nature and can consider all of the connotations scientifically. Emotionally, fracture has come to mean something very personal. I liken the patterns of my life to fracture. Fracture of family, security, connection, ground, and even sanity at times. The key to recovery, whatever that means, for me is recognizing when the cracks become great enough for me to slip through.
Chunks of my life are consumed with the pattern of fractured connections. It is almost as though my history takes its place through pieces drifting to and from my core, myself. I get out of whack and the pieces disperse; I recognize my disparity and reconnect. Sometimes I head into self-destructive behaviors that I know will lead to more fracturing. Most of the time I choose to ebb the flow and ground immediately.
I have been fortunate, I see it coming and have thus far been graced with the ability to put on the breaks or choose to dive headlong into the vexation. Sometimes I hurt others, sometimes just myself, sometimes it is just sweet release. Always there is the moment of clarity that causes me to ask myself, is it worth it?
I am a bully of sorts; people who have never taken the time to know me can find me hard and unyielding. Others just get me and see the goofy, insecure fool, I really am. I have always been opinionated and very headstrong, more for preservation than anything else. This has served me well professionally and kept me safe in personal relationships for the most part. The truth is, I really want to be soft and easy and in my minds eye, I am. That fracture leads to the dichotomy of me. Softness and ease have always brought out the victim in me. I have yet to find the balance between strength and ease. The lack of balance has not softened me; rather it has left me invulnerable to everything, except the fracture.
I still struggle with those moments I steal that bring me joy, the kiss, the release of inhibition, and the consequence of the freedom of being myself. I know what works and what does not in my fracture. I also know when to step away from or closer to the edge. It is a compromising dance, my life.
I know it must seem I am unhappy, I am not. I know myself completely. I am just discontent from time to time, but really aren’t most of us? I strive for moments; I am hedonistic in that way. It is the regular that causes me the discomfort that leads to fracture. I thrive on the unknown, yet I do not do well with chaos. I live for the thrill and learn from the quelling of great fear. I have trouble with worry and guilt in choosing my happiness over others, so if I have to, I steal, I lie, and I cheat, to capture those moments when I can.
Sometimes I think I am just too radical a person for others to truly understand, especially those closest to the fire. I often find the truth can equally dulcify, inspirit, frighten, or distance those that I am trying to bare myself to, so I have learned to be quiet, or loud, depending. I identify myself simply as a jagged little pill. I often say the things that others think. I can be demure and lacy or loud and temperate, and rarely the same twice. I am different, yet very much the same. I am human, flawed and obtuse and I tend to bungle rather than stroll. I am fractured and the truth be told, I am okay with that.