To say I have been in a bad place lately would be a gross understatement. I am not unique in being damaged. We are all waging our own personal battles with the world. It is my hope through telling stories of the damaged and broken, I may spark discussions.
To help us understand ourselves.
To help us understand others as well.
To help give us the impetus to seek answers.
I write of the damaged and broken, because I, like many of us, am damaged. I haven’t broken, but that doesn’t stop the world from trying to break me, to break us.
As Hemingway wrote in A Farewell To Arms,—
“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
I wrote the following posts last year sometime under the headings Tortured Existence. They were random thoughts that came as I sat on the porch wondering if continuing to fight was worth it. I have decided that it is — I am not yet ready to be broken, because there is a chance for the damaged to have redemption.
Hell? Here. Trees? Barren. Skies? Foreboding. Passion? Forbidden. Health? Gone. Love? Lost. Soul? Dead. Life? Meaningless. Life? Worthless. Life? Hopeless. Light? Absent. Darkness? Complete. Hope? None. Trapped? Yes. Joy? Forgotten. Love? One. Chances? Zero. Present? Painful. Future? None. Death? Nearing. Alarm blares. Body resists. Another day. Reasons? None. Life? Worthless. Sloth. Alcohol. Gluttony. Purpose? None. Happiness? Never. Peace? Eventually? Heart — beats Lungs — breathe Brain — thinks Organic mechanisms maintain a shell Alive? Yes. But years ago — the soul ceased
