Yesterday I saw Big Jim for the first time in a month. Apparently my mental health has not been as much of an issue as of late, and Big Jim even commented on the fact that I seemed "better".
He was quick to tell me, from day one actually, that I'm not crazy. That it would be much easier for me if I were crazy.
Not crazy. Just broken.
Can you become less broken? I suppose. Somewhere is some grand, cosmic glue that can fix who I am. Put the pieces back together and make me whole.
But the thing is, when something is broken? You can put the pieces back together. You can put them back together carefully and perfectly.
The cracks are still there.
Not that it's not okay. It is.
It's so odd to think that. To type it. To feel it.
Things aren't perfect. I've successfully conquered fears about a lot of things and a lot of people, but others still linger. I can't fully divorce myself from certain people. I'm not even sure if I want to, really.
So I guess I'll just be cracked. I guess that's what I'm supposed to be.
It's not so bad.