Broken

I've been broken, again, for the past few weeks. Holding onto reality by a thread. It's a cycle with abuse -- things get better, things fall apart, things get better. They fell further apart this time, and it's lasted longer than the last time. Depression and pain. Fear and paranoia. 

I tell myself it's not my fault. It's their fault -- the abusers. But that voice still whispers in the back of my head, "Aren't you over that yet?" And I scream the answer back, "NO! I'm not over it yet, because I don't get over it, but I'm getting through it."

Something was broken in me years ago when the abuse started. I live everyday just like everyone else, except for this brokenness inside that I'm still trying to fix. This hole that needs filling. I work and work. I struggle, and I pretend, but the reality is I can't fix this.

It's Good Friday. I'm sitting here complaining of my own brokenness, when Christ was truly and utterly broken so I wouldn't have to carry my own brokenness. He gave everything to fill that hole.

I woke this morning to a gift. A song running through my head before I was even fully conscious -- Bless the Lord oh My Soul. And I feel my brokenness to be less of a burden.

linking up with 5 Minute Friday and imperfect prose on thursdays