He broke me. I let him. If I’m honest, I even broke myself.
I broke myself so that I would fit his idea of what I should be. And I tried to break him to fit mine.
How does love turn into such wreckage?
I’ve always been the girl who had her shit together. The smart girl, the pretty girl, the funny girl. I’ve been so many girls.
The girl I always see myself as, the girl I always define myself as is whose girl I am.
I am the girl who did well in school, has a good relationship with her family, has good friends, graduated from college, got a good job, is succeeding in life.
And yet I’m broken.
He broke me. I let him.
I don’t know how to make myself whole again. I’m not sad, I’m not angry, I’m not regretful.
There’s something I can’t put my finger on. A feeling. Or more a lack of feeling.
There is no perfect word for what I feel.
I know I’m not whole. I’m not functioning the way I’m supposed to. I’m passing through life content, going through the motions. Enjoying things, yes, but am I really? Sometimes I think so.
Sometimes I don’t.
How do I become whole again? How do I get back those pieces of me he crushed so we could stay together? How do I rebuild them?
I need those pieces. I know I wasn’t wrong for having them in the first place. Those pieces are me. Where are they?