Wednesday, July 4, 2012


"to break or cause to break suddenly and violently into pieces;
damage or destroy"

i have met people like this. people who with a conversation, a look, a word, shatter my hopes, my thoughts, my dreams : me .

the other night i had a shattering experience. and i boiled with rage, furious at what had occurred. i was a cauldron of black tar - bubbling, boiling, burning. i could feel the tar boil to the top and burst. the heat engulfed me.

i sat there, playing the situation over and over planning how i was going to release my feelings. i played images of me with a sledge hammer going at a wall over and over.

bang ! bang ! bang !

then i imagined going at cement . perhaps not as gracefully as the "mighty thor" but i was a storm cloud from hell known there as 'thorita' and knew i could do damage.

crack ! crack ! crack !

crisp clear cracks ringing in my ear : and in my mind i watched the cement cower in my presence.

something had to be done. i took all the glasses in my home and a hammer. on each one in permanent marker i wrote the words i wanted to say to the people and situation but couldn't.

'you don't understand me-never will; i am stronger than you think i am; i am not who you think i am'

and for good measure a cup dedicated to f*** and another to shitass, hell, damn, etc.

with each cup i took one swing and shattered them. the sound of the glass surrendering to me still rings in my ears. glass flew. tiny pieces found homes in my carpet. large pieces flew to the other side of the room.

it was ______ what it was.

not awesome or cool or even therapeutic. it is what i needed.

it was what it was.

and i left the broken glass there by my front door. for a while. as a warning to those who may enter that they are walking on explosive, dangerous ground. to remind myself of how shattering the entire experience was.

i was the glass. transparent with unspoken thoughts in black. {  jagged - sharp  } i felt like the shards of glass had cut me open - but unlike other times in my life, i didn't bleed. instead i leaked clear fluid. i oozed. i had no battle left to fight. nothing left to give. in a way, i was lifeless.

then today as i was walking around the bigger pieces i stepped on a smaller one. of course causing my foot to rip open and bleed.

and in that moment it clicked. holding this rage wasn't hurting those who shattered me : it was actually hurting me. i was the one bleeding. not them.

so tonight i cleaned up the glass. and put it in a bowl. and maybe in a day or so, i will release the remainder of my rage. of my hurt. of my pain. and throw the glass away. but until then it will sit - contained - by my other home decor. 

a reminder. my pain is real. my pain counts. and if i can give it to god, i won't hurt as much - my cuts will heal - the bleeding will stop.

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