Broken

I’m broken. I was diagnosed with depression a couple of weeks back. Me: the person that never quits.

This feels like breaking. I broke my ankle when I was 15 and I remember the absolute shock that my body could break… Up to that point I haven’t considered that our bodies are amazingly made, but when you push too hard: it breaks.

Hearts. Ankles. Hair. Minds: we are so incredibly breakable.

Laying in the bath last night, crying, again, like I did for three months this year I realized that even with therapy, yoga, healthier eating habits, a wonderful mother and loads of prayers I’m still broken.

I remember the day my therapist asked me if I’ve ever considered suicide. The answer was a very clear no.

This changed yesterday: I considered suicide, for a moment. I was at the receiving end of an outburst, from my superior, that happens ever so often.  I remember looking out the window thinking, what would happen if I wasn’t here anymore…

It was brief, but it happened.

My logical mind jumped to who was going to clean your apartment?

I week ago I would’ve classified as healing.

Glass half full stuff, because I was feeling better.

This week its glass half empty stuff: broken.