I am the failed experiment of what the pursuit of happiness can produce.
I've come to terms with my own weaknesses.
I'm well beyond the precipice of self anarchy.
With every fractured footstep I reach for contentment in myself.
I'm struggling to find the safe haven where I'll feel like I'm finally good enough.
What does it mean to live a fractured existence? What does it mean to be broken? To be splintered? To not know one existence from another? At a first pass, we might say it means having many parts to one’s personality, many sources of ideals, many drivers of action.
To some degree, we all have fractured identities & live fractured existences. The various roles that we are expected to fulfill enable us to pigeon hole parts of ourselves into overlapping identities. We are the good wife, the good worker, the good friend, the good member of society. We are dark, brooding, malevolent, murderous at heart. Tension or incongruity between overlapping identities, creates inner tension, stress, and a fractured existence.
Sometimes, a series of events can lead to fracturing of the personality. This fracture is a small breakage of the personality which is often not visible to the outside world. One may never know what occurrence can cause this fracturing, but once it has occurred it is difficult, even seemingly impossible to repair.
Praying for death’s sweet release, she tried to run. Not from the nefarious forces of the night, but from herself. She felt electrified, tingly, restless, yet she felt a desire to do absolutely nothing. Torn between two worlds. She had to get out. She had to get away. Just for one minute. Surely, she thought, that would relieve the unsettled feeling that permeated her soul. Running. Fast. Faster. She couldn’t get away. After all, how do you get away from yourself, your thoughts, your very existence? She felt as if she’d been turned inside out. Every tender, raw, previously unscathed nerve exposed to the elements. She’d not suffered any recent trauma, yet she felt inside as if she’d faced her Goliath and lost.
She’d felt this way for longer than she could remember and for longer than she cared to admit. Nothing seemed to help. Nothing seemed to quench the soul-deep edginess she felt with an unwavering sting. They say it only takes a minute for it to happen. And it happened right then on that sultry July evening. Her soul experienced a shift that would forever change her. It was if something deep inside had fractured; splintered. Little pieces of her soul formed new identities, a way of compartmentalizing all that she felt, but could not describe. Suddenly it all made sense. Relief washed over her. She could disappear into herself. For once, she didn’t have to live up to societies expectations for her, she could just . . . exist. For herself. She felt a little selfish for the relief she was experiencing. After all, what would all the people who relied on her do if she was no longer there to meet their demands? She didn’t care. She was happy with her retreat; her fractured existence.