A Cracked Glass - Half Full

TW: mentions of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, mentions of trauma and suicide

After experiencing trauma, whatever it may be, there is this idea that the person is broken - like shattered glass, and a shadow of their former self. You see it in movies, read about it in books, and hear about it from friends and loved ones, but only some of these people seem to get the "happy ending". They get the gift to completely move on from their shadows and into a fresh beginning.

Thankfully, with some more unfiltered content being made on social media, the reality is becoming more apparent: trauma sits like a stain on the consciousness of the ones that have experienced it - and it doesn't really ever leave.

Therapy is a wonderful tool to help give guidance for going through these feelings, and I cannot praise it enough, but the thing that I have learned is that, for all the help that is given, the ones suffering still have to experience the pain from time to time. But I want to share that the lingering darkness doesn't have to be a bad thing - it can open up a new door to empathy, patience, and resounding kindness.

I have had a laundry list of traumatic events happen in my life. Everything from physical, emotional, and sexual abuse to the traumatic deaths and suicides of friends and family. I'm no stranger to what is left in your mind from going through some of life's less savory events. I've gone down some very dangerous paths to cope with what's happened. Nights out drinking that never seemed to end and chasing thrills without knowing when to stop. I became a miserable, vindictive person that was so full of rage, I felt like I would burst. I tried to avoid facing my pain at all costs because it was easier to do that, than it was to sit with it and accept what happened to me, and that it happened time and time again.

When I eventually started going to group therapy sessions and talking to people I trusted about what happened, I put it all out on the table. I figured the more honest I was, the better my chances were of "fixing" myself. I was hoping for a magic moment where everything in my mind would "click" and I would be "cured". Like a lot of people, I learned that moment doesn't ever really end up happening. Break throughs happen though, and sometimes, someone says just the right thing and it makes you feel more "normal" (for lack of a better word) and for a while, I would feel like I was a little better. But the dark days still came, and I ended up accumulating tools to help keep my mind from being at war with itself, but they can only do so much.

After a long time of fighting battles I could never fully win with myself, with all of these tools and tips I accumulated, I got tired. Like REALLY tired of fighting all the time with my mind. I was always frustrated, angry, and lethargic - I was trying so hard to just keep my brain from reliving terrible moments over and over again. All I wanted to do was slip back into my second skin of misery and succumb to the rage I felt. It was a full time job to try and keep functioning like how I felt I should be and not completely give into the rage I felt. I was not kind or patient with myself or the fact that I needed to heal.

One night, after a particularly dark day, after having another traumatic event unfold, I laid in the dark on my bed. No tears, no screaming, nothing - just an overwhelming weight sitting on my chest, the rage bubbling like lava under my skin and I didn't want to move. I never wanted to move again to be honest and I just focused on breathing in and out to make sure I made it to the next day at the very least without breaking something or the good habits I worked so hard to build.

But something happened and I couldn't tell you why it was that day or how exactly I made the decision while wallowing in my own gloom, but I got a notebook and started to write words I felt represented who I was and why I experienced what I did. The anger came spewing out in ink across the page. "Garbage", "weak", "stupid", and "deserved it" were scrawled and circled probably a million times over (in addition to a few choice expletives but they're probably self explanatory).

However, as I read and reread the words over and over as I wrote them, I realized something: These are things I would never say to anyone else.

As cliché as it sounds, it hit me like a ton of bricks - how could I say these things to myself, but would never expect to say them to anyone else? In the midst of my own suffering, I realized that, for all the terrible things that have happened to me, I was able to give other people the kindness I so needed for myself. My shadows shone a light so bright into why I am the way I am and I couldn't believe it. The simmering rage I felt suddenly didn't seem to make sense anymore.

"Garbage" was no name for a human being - everyone I knew had a story and a heart and reasons for doing what they did and do now. People's past experiences don't make them lesser - all that matters is what they do going forward.

"Weak" was no longer an adjective I hated - my frailty was the cause of some of my most radical acts of kindness to myself and others and in turn, those are some of the bravest things I have ever done.

If it would be considered "stupid" to take what happened to me and choose not to let it destroy my desire for human companionship, then I'll happily be the dumbest person in any room.

And if I "deserved it" every single time something went wrong in my life, and I was exposed to something dark and terrible, then I believe it was for a greater purpose. That is something I'm still trying to understand, but I won't let the fact that it happened ruin how I see the world anymore.

All these years later, I still have my hard days - times where I wonder if I made the right decisions over and over, hours where I can't get out of bed, and feel like that weight is on my chest again. But when I can eventually wrap my head around it, I remember how my trauma made me the person I am today. It made me someone who will always be willing to give, who will always be willing to love, and sit for hours with strangers and hear about their life. It gave me patience with people who may or may not deserve that much of my time - but it's okay, because maybe they needed that time more than I did. And if I was just being used again, I like to think that no one ever got a bad reputation for being too kind.

I may not have the most chemically balanced brain in the room, but if I got anything out of it, I now have the ability to show love in any place and a sense of optimism that can seem unwavering for people, even in their darkest times. I can only hope to do as much good as I can with what I've gained and I can only hope that other people are having similar awakenings, and doing the same.

Maybe I am broken from what happened to me, just like a water glass knocked off the table too many times, but I like to think that this glass is still half full and can hold more if I keep learning and can figure out how.