Everyone Out Here Is Broken

It’s exhausting inside my brain at all times, but most especially when something starts to feel good.

“I loved meeting you. We have a great connection and chemistry. I knew we would. The thing is, I haven’t been honest. I’m in a relationship.”

I don’t know if it’s a Pisces thing or an empath thing, or more likely, a highly trained trauma response, but I can usually sense the moment something falls out of alignment. So I knew, before I even read that text from him, that it wasn’t going to be the response to my “I had the best time!” text I’d hoped for.

And, does this ever happen to you? The minute my brain confirms my suspicions, my body heats up and a wave of fire radiates out from my core and down my limbs. The feeling of “I knew” grows up my spine and pricks my scalp. Then, as it dissipates, I’m left with the absence of feeling altogether. A cool numbness covers my body like a blanket, and my mind turns off.

Dissociation, once again, arriving to save me — at least for a moment — from the inevitable oncoming assault of an OCD-controlled brain, powered by the insatiable need to figure things out so that next time the knowing might show itself even sooner. Or perhaps — the ultimate goal — that I learn to predict any heartbreak or danger with 100% accuracy, at last.

This is always at odds with the other part of me, my heart, that is so hungry and so desperately wants to stay hopeful.

My inner child lives right below my sternum, and she still sees the good in everyone. I fight so hard not to take that away from her.

But, she will also run into the arms of anyone who offers a fun adventure, a good story, or an imaginative escape from reality. She longs for someone to join her in her world of make-believe — like the “rocket ship” she created high up inside the tangled roots of the Banyan tree in her backyard in Hawaii. And, she also craves someone who can keep her safe from the dangers of reality, catching her if she missteps, or at least offering a hand and some guidance on her way back up. And perhaps she’ll be locked inside me until I die in pursuit of this magical, seemingly impossible combination.

It feels like heartbreak is inevitable, and vigilance, though futile, must persist. It’s exhausting inside my brain at all times, but most especially when something starts to feel good.

This is the cycle I’ll forever be stuck in, I guess. I go through phases with dating, signing back into the apps with my hopeful heart at the helm after time away “doing the work” on myself (because obviously, the last time didn’t work because of my own shortcomings), then banishing the apps from my phone 3-4 months later, defeated and numb, and angry at myself for letting my optimism neuter my brain and better judgment.

Everyone out here is broken, I’m convinced. It’s just a matter of finding the broken one who slides next to me, and together we look like stained glass, like a piece of art. I don’t need anything cathedral-worthy. A shimmery suncatcher that hangs in a kitchen window would be just fine.

But this process of letting that hopeful girl chase sparkling, colorful, and jagged counterparts until I find just the right one who will complement my cracks, instead of chipping away at my edges or shattering me completely, never fails to take a toll on me.

I always know it’s time, again, to try to appreciate the singular, broken but still glimmering shard I am on my own when my brain would rather wage war on my inner child — to kill her for good — than to trust in one more man who comes with the promise of adventure and safety and then leaves me numb, knowing all along I was such a fool for letting myself hope he could really be both.

Everyone out here is broken, so I will keep her safe.