What broken looks like

I couldn’t write for all these days though I wanted to. The last I wrote here was on 15th August. I remember because it was something about that day. And here I am, penning down my thoughts, letting them flow without any filter, allowing them to be as free as I crave to be myself. I seriously don’t know what I want to write. I have no subject in my mind. I just know I have to.

The title is the first thing I wrote. As if I knew that whatever the story be, it would make sense with that title. Maybe because that’s the truest emotion I am feeling right now and I would end up writing about it subconsciously. Or maybe because I feel ‘being broken’ can look different to different people and my version will get accommodated.

To me broken looks like the ocean. Sometimes it makes me feel the vastness of new possibilities, the peace of having nothing more to lose, the depth of my own conscience, the constant movement that will lead to something worthwhile and the ability to gulp any new storm that would arise. Sometimes, it makes me feel just the other way. I feel like I am drowning and there’s no straw to try for. I curse myself for not having learnt to swim. I feel like sinking to the floor where there would be no one to please. But, I end up pushing myself to survive looking at those few faces on the shore.

These extreme emotions inflict a lot of damage. I get cynical at times. It angers me why I am not doing my best when I don’t even know what’s the best thing to do. I don’t wanna blame but I feel wronged. I don’t want sympathy but I keep being vocal about the troubles I am facing to get exactly that in return. I don’t want to go for something just because people have done that in the past but I feel like I am not doing what’s needed to be done. I don’t wanna give excuses but I don’t wanna settle for the conventional.

And on and on it goes. This list of wanting something, doing something and getting something out of it. This state of being broken is chaotic, murky, illusive and dark. You grope for those pieces of you scattered throughout your world. You expect people to gently hand you back the piece they come across and help you fix it back. At times you stumble upon few and that brings you those moments of hope. At times you get tired. You wait for a while and start over again. And then finally there comes that trail of light which helps you see those lying pieces, waiting to be picked and put back where they belong…