When you're broken

I don't know about you, but when I do a puzzle I have to start with the outside pieces first. I find the edges in order to determine the coloration changes, and the dimensions of the actual puzzle. All in an attempt to guide the project along, to give me a starting point. Some people think that's cheating, I find it essential. But what do you do when there are no outside pieces, no edges to speak of and the colors are so mixed and ever changing it's hard to find a pattern to guide you? What do you do when you realize that you are missing pieces? When I was younger, I used to cut the pieces to fit when I thought they were the right ones. No matter how hard I tried, even after cutting them to fit, the puzzle was still incomplete. There were small gaps, some overlapping nubs and extra pieces left over that I would just brush onto the floor.

Growing up I had a pension for taking things apart, and yes, I would put them back together but no matter what it was that I was playing with (microwave, toaster, radio etc.) I always ended up with extra parts afterwards. The item still worked afterwards, but I never did figure out where all the screws went. I can't tell you how many times I have forgotten to unplug something while messing around with it only to be hit with a jolt of energy, one time enough to almost knock me out. Electricity is a lesson I am still working on.

I've always been a bit different, special...not necessarily short bus special, but odd. I preferred to be by myself out in the woods, climbing trees, playing with livestock, catching salamanders in the local stream and playing in the back woods dump. (I lived in a very small town out in the middle of nowhere back then). I would spend most of my school days in the principles office for getting in fights...usually because I would beat the boys up who were picking on the girls. I had a hard time learning because of my learning disability, and spending some of my elementary years deaf. But even then I never felt complete, whole or even organized. I felt more of a connection with animals and nature then with people.

People caused pain. They judged and lied. They beat me, called me names and some of their voices I can still hear in my head. All telling me in some form or another that I wasn't acceptable the way I was. That I was malformed, a waste of energy...broken. It's true that I have had people come and go from my life who have loved and cherished me, brought out the unique aspects of who I am and have loved me no matter how odd I may be. But when I'm all alone, the voices that formed my childhood...the critical and divisive voices still win out over the supportive and loving ones that have come into my life as an adult.

I feel like one of the pieces of the puzzle that doesn't quite fit, that needs to be pushed and shoved into place. Cut, or ripped in order to make it fall in line. I'm living a life that is not mine. I've borrowed a body that I don't fit in, raised believing in things that make me hate myself. And no matter how many times I take myself apart and put myself together again...pieces are still missing. Pushed off to the floor and wasted.

I can't help but think that I am broken. Never to be fully functional. Always mostly put together but never whole.

I guess this is what life is like when you feel you're broken...