Broken....

A couple of weeks ago, someone who I care for deeply, told me that they believed they were "broken."  My heart "broke" for them, as they talked about their fears.  I debated their concerns and, in my glass half full way, attempted to persuade them that they weren't...that there wasn't anything missing....that they had so much to be happy about and that I was there for them, if they let me.  I pushed. I prodded. I pleaded.  I was not going to let them give in to the idea that anything about them was "broken" and, at the same time, convinced myself that I could "fix it" by just being in their life.  I spent four days with that person, and of all the things that were discussed, laughed about, explained or enjoyed, "broken" is what I brought back with me from my trip.

I'm a problem solver...that's what I do for a living, and people have always come to me, for just that job.  I don't even care how much money I make solving problems.  In my spare time, I do crossword puzzles and word searches.  When I was growing up, I solved the problem of my mother's mental illness and a childhood of abuse for both of my sister's by standing between them and her and taking the swings.  I make a living standing between "broken" systems and "broken" individuals and help them find their way out.  Any holiday that I have spent alone, which have been many since the age of eighteen, I solved the feelings of loneliness by volunteering at shelters that held "broken" people.  In my intimate relationships, I draw "broken" fixer-upper partners out of the woodwork and settle in for the battle of keeping them in my life, because I won't give up or give in.

I fight amazing fights, win huge battles, am a force to be reckoned with, have been told over and over again that   I have the ability to accomplish things that no one else has ever done.  My ex husband told me that some people do outside the box things, but that I live outside the box, and I accepted that as one of the few compliments he gave me, in our relationship.  I even solved the problem of my divorce from him, by maintaining my composure at work, with friends and talking about how he meant well and was really a good man, just "broken."  I prided myself for not breaking.  When my best friend died last Christmas, I still bought presents, graduated from college with honors, worked 40 plus hours per week, never let anyone at work see me cry and still attend her memorial service.

But, here are the cold, hard facts:

 I can't do anything without loud techno music pounding in my ears.  I, at the very least, have to have the TV on and when I lose a station on the radio, madly search for another.  I have to sing at the top of my lungs in the car, while listening to loud, pounding music.  I am losing the hearing in my left ear, because I have to turn everything up so loud.  I have to have a list of projects, and one of the projects always involves an item that is "broken."  I find it impossible to not multi-task.  I never finish everything, so that I have time to do nothing.  Every time I hurt or there is a problem in my life, I go to thrift shops to buy "broken," used items to bring new life to.  Almost everything that I own has been tossed by someone else.

None of this makes me a bad person; in fact, I am applauded for my thrift, wisdom, caring, knowledge, optimism, tenacity and creativity.  And, then I saw it as I walked past the mirror this morning, in the silence...

I am broken.