My Broken Heart

My heart is broken right now, and has been for sometime. I keep thinking about both a song and a poem I wrote a while ago. The poem is titled “Little Deaths.” You can read it here. The idea is that everyday, parts of our body and mind are dying and regenerating. These deaths keep us healthy. The song I wrote has the following lyric, “It’s not how you live, it’s how you pick up the pieces that matters.” When we have these little deaths, it’s how we put ourselves back together that defines who we are and what will happen in the next crisis.

I have had two major crises in the past five months. Both have weakened my psyche. They are both beyond my control or influence, and happened 3000 miles away from me. There was nothing I could do to stop these events from happening, nor is there anything I can do now to help undo the results. Thus, I feel helpless and powerless as many lives have been ruined by the actions of people I love and/or have had a great deal of respect for. Heinous criminal acts have taken place… families ruined… long prison sentences… children abused… someone shot…. These are tragedies of their own doing.

And there is nothing I can do. They are dead. The thought of them, although I know they both still walk the earth, sickens me. They are lost. They are dead. My soul aches as the ripples of devastation courses through these families… my friends and family. I am not sure how these deaths will make me stronger. Maybe in time I will know. For now, all I have is the deaths.

Regeneration may be a slow process this time.



About ~Drew

I am a survivor of childhood torture. Each day, I put one foot in front of the other, moving forward. To do any less would spell my own destruction. My music/poetry/prose deal with the devastating effect of this kind of abuse on a human being: me. My experiences/thoughts/ideas/misconceptions are exposed here for all to see. Here. I am lain bare, naked, hidden only be the cloak of anonymity.
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