There is no question that I inherited some mental illness from the gene pool that determined my being.  Working with it has been one of the biggest challenges of my life, and continues to be.  Since before I was born a message was embedded in my consciousness that something about me was “broken”, fragmented, not whole.  Then key role models showed me how to please others, how to salamander into selves that would be more acceptable, hopefully, lovable and unified.

A huge fight ended up the night for my significant other and I last night.  There is no question that words can cut like finely honed steel, the blades making lawn ornaments out of a love that once felt wild, untamed, without conditions.  How do people keep fighting and come back stronger?  Every argument feels as if it cuts more of my “self” away, breaks the bits of the puzzle figured out back into nonsensical cardboard shapes.  My words are no less wounding, and I’ve begged, “released”, and encouraged my mate to abandon me, along with my three children (who would have very strong feelings about that – they would be devastated if he had taken me up on my offers).  Not loving myself, I keep wanting to demand a list of what HE loves about me, or why.

We’ve often spoken of our “trade-off” a broken body accepting a broken mind.  How does that change when the realization dawns that both partners have broken hearts, broken bodies, broken souls?  How do we learn to love and accept that we are human and imperfect?  There isn’t (or at least hasn’t been for me) one “dark night of the soul.”  It is more the norm.  Was one of the Buddha‘s teachings that I’ve not understood the fact that in human form we are all broken?  That it is in learning to breathe through our most shattered times and  letting go of that feeling (that we are broken, or imperfect) the truth that “life is suffering”? (the first Noble Truth)  In other words, trying to let the suffering feel less personal because it is universal) It was never my intent to hurt my dear companion.  I was groping to understand in a fit of rage how his mind worked.  Why is it so hard for me to accept that it was the same for him?  How is it that the only solution that ever comes to my mind is, “just walk away, no one will blame you”? (for my partner, not me)  rather than, “how can we work this out?” (hopefully still his solution)

Another  “blog as journal” entry.  I apologize.  As my tagline says, I’m “trying to find the words” to make sense of this unexpected life.  Thank you for any comments that might help or challenge my ability to understand.  I wish you blessings and peace.  Namaste’.

Published by janetlandis

I am a mother, a nurse, a caregiver and a writer.

2 thoughts on “Broken

  1. Janet-I read this and your pain wallops me. I want to hug that shit out of you, take it on, absorb it…give you a weekend getaway from its weight. But, we both know it doesn’t work that way.

    So I will share a favorite quote:

    The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.. – Jack Kerouac

    Love, Lorrie


    1. Thank you so much – for reading, for caring. I miss you, and love the quote. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to stay in touch. I think of you often though, and hope you are in a good place. Bless you, and again, thank you so much.


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