The Mending of Broken Things

I was a broken thing about this time last year. Still am, in mending. I’d been a broken thing my whole life. It started chipping, unnoticed, in my early teens. Finally shattered in my thirties after walking smack dab into a wall of reality, but, everybody who knows me just assumed I was crazy. I’d been forever crazy. You know they say it about you, too. Shortly after, the shattered thing splintered but somehow those shards just kept on, drudging in the same direction.

What made me a broken thing was mainly my upside-down ways. Kind yet mainly unavailable emotionally, honest but secretive about me, peaceful but hounded by a vindictive demon, full of potential but unwilling to explore my potential because I was afraid to share it – because that meant I’d probably need to let people get close to me. I can admit that now. I realized when I began mending that I’d lived the first forty-three years of my life as a paradox of everything I wanted to be.

It was about this time last year I realized I needed to change. I was angry and sullen over things that didn’t make sense. Long time things. If someone harmed me in any way or didn’t stop doing what I told them to stop doing I would subtly give them reasons to stop or go away. That’s one of the things that terrified me most about the broken thing. It would find every conceivable thing a person disliked or feared and feed it to them, kindly or however. Another paradox because I’d lived my whole life not wanting to cause anyone undue harm.

It had to change. I had to effect the change and I knew it. So I decided to experiment. Pretty much all I’ve ever been good at is experimenting. Theories. Knowing how things work, people. Just about anything. I experiment. Don’t be in awe because it is something we can all do, I just chose to unlock all the knowledge available to this tiny body one day. I may explain one day, not now.

I became my newest experiment. About three years ago I started three journals. One personal. One that was observationally medical. Another one, I thought was an inspiring journal. Maybe more on that a whole ‘nother time. Halfway through the inspiring journal, though, I began audibly and inaudibly hearing something I thought I’d ignore until it became nearly impossible to ignore. Guidance. I guess you can say I began hearing things.

Here is the important thing. The writings, the voices, they were pointing me in the right direction. And when I decided last year that the part of me, the mostly “human” reactionary part, had to die, I began listening because that voice I was hearing was offering great stuff. SO, I listened. I listened more and more. I experimented more and more until I felt that same guidance begin to wrap me, insulate me in the middle of another chaotic moment where my demon tried again and again to seduce me back to broken, which I hadn’t realized I was waltzing out of.

But my new guide was persistent and would only give me space to breath every so often. With everything I knew about me or heard about me or thought I heard about me, my guide just kept speaking until the guidance was being heard above all other noises. The voice I’d been hearing partway through my experiment became reasoning soon after. Once it became clear reasoning, it started to teach me new things. New knowledge and I was giddy. Nerd Life!

But there was something familiar about my guide. I remembered this guide from when I was about seven or eight. Sort of the reason I started this blog in the first place. The reason I was baptized when I was eight. But somewhere between eight and puberty I gave way to broken, screaming woohoo. By thirty-five alcohol became a friend in coping with broken and everything I saw while “living”. I’m now learning that the experiments I started, began experimenting on me. I needed to mend so I started an experiment of change. Until that moment three years ago, and then a year ago, I was a mass of untapped knowledge and experiences that didn’t add up. But the experiment rancored my demon who decided to divorce me. I’ve seen it watching me as I outgrew it. Cussed me out but good. In April 2019 when I undertook the first leg of a Nazzerite Oath it tried to come back, though. I crashed and burned and started over and did better until, well, these strange blog-topics started pleading with me to write them.

And I’ll end my personal journey to change there. I don’t want you falling asleep without reading all of it.

The moral of the story is, don’t ever give up on you or fall into the spell of words people, low self esteem, or your own brokenness tries to feed you. You have a choice to alter whatever you don’t like about you and you are never alone in this effort. Never. There is a guide inside that is waiting on you to want to change. For all of us the calling of the guide is different and its reasonings are different. Me I learned to call it The Holy Spirit when I was a child growing up as a Seventh Day Advent and I will stick with that until I hear something else.

For you though, going through the worst of things, evil things going through your mind, even the worst things; you have a choice in the trajectory you’re on. You have the Holy Spirit of God in your corner ready to speak and ready to guide and all you have to do is follow the directions to a mended you. A better you. Whatever your belief, it is there to help you in transition.

One of the most important things my guide said to broketed me was, “you are your own man, not that broken thing people love to laugh at”. That was the breaking point for my broken. I will leave you with the same. You are your own person, man or woman. You decide if you want to remain a broken thing or if you want to live as a mended thing.

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