Part 3: Broken

I can’t find the strength to do it again today. Not again.

No more will I wake up another morning with this overwhelming ache in my heart. No more will I wander through life alone and broken, an embarrassment to my parents and abandoned by my friends.

No more will they laugh and taunt and spread rumors, as if I can’t hear their judgments. No more will I live alone in my secret shame.

I just want the pain to stop. No more.

I wander up and down aisles of the drug store, looking for something to soothe my hands, chapped and bleeding from weeks of bleaching toys. I just need some lotion.

Instead, two or three bottles of pills fall into my cart. Then some Diet Coke to wash it all away. That sounds tantalizing, and the bubbles will feel nice on my aching throat.

I swallow hard as I pay for my sorrow-drowning purchases. It does no good. There’s a permanent lump lodged in my chest that threatens to slide up and break the dam holding back the flood of tears that consume me nightly.

Back in my car, a strange sense of calm washes over my weary body. I hear my mind decide that I am done with the pain.  Done with being alone and broken. Done with the mess that is me. Done with making bad choices. Done with destroying the lives of those around me.

As I put the car into gear, the familiar heat of tears begin to slide down my cheeks. I’m not sure if they’re tears of relief or anguish, but I know this: I’m done being broken.