72 days ago I was happy.
That’s what I was told. Because I doubt. Incessantly. Not in other people’s ability to keep their word, but my ability to keep them happy and satisfied. I doubt that sooner or later they’ll figure out that not everything is happy and shiny over here and will leave. But honestly, the “happy and shiny” kinda only gets sad and rusted because of my doubting. I doubt, and then I ask people to reassure me. And I do this so much that I make them worry and create the doubt in their minds too.
I am broken. But the cracks are very faint. It takes a special eye to see them because I’ve painted myself so well. I’m a master of illusion and my masterpiece is me. But I have more. Yes, I’m a bit raw but the beauty is still there. Just without the added glaze.
I am trying to have faith. And I am trying to remember who I am. I am more than just cracks. I am more than jagged edges that cut. I was more than someone who burned you out. I was me and somewhere in these past nine months I lost it. Because I was paying so much attention to the cracks being revealed? I don’t know. That’s not the excuse I’m giving. But I am staring past the cracks and looking at the rest of myself. Trying to remember.