There’s still so many things I cannot do, things that I’m supposed to know but I just don’t, things people expect me to be able to do and yet I can’t. I’m lazy and I don’t care. But mostly I just avoid responsibilities, I’m actually really good at that. I’m also a supporter of “second chances”, which will one day bite me in the ass, but I’m a masochist, so it’s okay.
There were times when I didn’t know how to piece myself together, because I was the one that took myself apart in the first place. I couldn’t fix what I’d broken, so how could other people do it? It was my responsibility and yet again, I avoided it until it became impossible to avoid. That’s probably the only thing that ever gets me going, a time crisis. And so I did what I had to do, how I knew best, to stitch up the pieces of me, without any real understanding of why I was doing it.
But now all of it just makes complete sense. It wasn’t for me, it wasn’t just for my well-being. It was because somewhere deep inside I’ve always know that the best gift I could ever give someone, you, was me, whole and healed and ready, in pristine condition and perfect working state. It was never your job to repair the mechanisms of my heart, you deserved nothing less than the best I had to offer, the best anyone had to offer.
If I’d waited and hoped that one day someone would come and they’d care enough to try and save me, right now you’d probably still be searching for the pieces and wondering where everything fits because you don’t have the instructions and you’d always be angry because nothing would ever work even though it looked fine. You’d grow tired and the magic would just die and we’d wither away just like countless other stories.
Sure, I’m flawed, crazy, impatient and I have a bad temper sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I’m still broken, that makes me human. And that is the biggest personal achievement that I could ever have hoped for.
And that’s my gift to you.