By Nicholas Snow
Broken… Broken… BRO-ken! The word itself breaks as it falls from one’s tongue, snapping in half as it is spoken: BRO-ken. When BRO-ken is SPO-ken, something is damaged, or someone has been betrayed. Or maybe they know someone who has been slayed. Or perhaps their flight has simply been delayed. But then, isn’t their itinerary broken?
A broken itinerary seems fixable, but what about a broken trust? A broken heart?
Oxford’s glorious synonyms alone could result in heartbreak of their own:
Smashed.
Shattered.
Burst.
Fragmented.
Splintered.
Shivered.
Crushed.
Ruptured.
Separated.
In Bits & Pieces.
Destroyed.
Demolished.
Disintegrated.
Cracked.
Split.
Chipped.
In Smithereens!
But what about a broken spirit? A broken soul? These Oxford synonyms continue to be brutal:
Defeated.
Beaten.
Vanquished.
Overpowered.
Overwhelmed.
Subdued.
Demoralized.
Dispirited.
Discouraged.
Dejected.
Crushed.
Dishonored.
Ruined.
Crippled.
In writing this I weep at the realization that I can no longer deny my own brokenness, which—through decades of relentless soul searching—I have desperately tried to repair. But how can one repair something clouded in despair, disguised, as if it isn’t even there.
Oh, sure, I’ve mastered the intellectual approach to healing, but have recently been astounded at how effective I’ve been at denying the reality of underlying traumas that have informed every moment of my life.
I am overwhelmed at the depth and darkness of undiscovered pain.
It’s no wonder I am alone behind an invisible fortress that moves with me, surrounding me spherically, wherever I go, preventing me from truly being with anyone—like a boy in an invisible, portable, self-propelling bubble. And a boy he is, for who can become a man, even in an adult body, embalmed in undiscovered, unrevealed, yet-to-be-uncovered hurt?
Tears of sorrow stream down my face, as clamped down sobs create a trapped lump in my throat, as I realize the invisible spherical fortress that travels with me is actually imprisoning my soul, concealing my healing.
…
Repair. Repair. RE-PAIR. The word itself does just that, one syllable connecting with the next when spoken. And this time, Oxford isn’t such a downer:
Restore.
Make good.
Patch up.
Put back together.
The list goes on, but I think I’ll just start on repairing my brokenness, putting myself back together, and making my good known. It’s all quite possible, isn’t it, now that I’ve shattered this fortress from within?
Can you see me beaming through?
Friday, August 8, 2019 – 6:07 PM, written for a writing class.
