I’m not good at fixing things
When something was broken, I would ask Wil to fix it. Whether that was the TV, a box, a busted toy or a computer issue. He always knew what to do. I’m not good at fixing things, tangible things, they escape me. I don’t understand how people put IKEA furniture together or install a window in a house. I can’t figure out how to repair a lop-sided couch. I think you get the point, I suck at fixing things.
Relationships are strong when two people love each other. But when two broken people are in love, it gets complicated. I wanted to fix it, so badly. I wanted to fix all of them. All of the relationships I’ve broken by being my broken self. I’m good at helping people fix their problems. Sometimes I help them a lot. But for me? I’m so broken. He wanted to marry me, and I broke it off, he wanted to love me and I convinced him I needed too much, he told me he would never leave me and he stayed. No matter how crazy I was, he stayed. But I couldn’t because I couldn’t fix his problems and I couldn’t fix myself and now, I know that it isn’t about fixing other people.
I learned that I need to fix me. I don’t know how to do this but I’m working on repairing myself. I’m tired of being broken. I’m exhausted from trying to glue myself back together, and I realize that I need help; I can’t do this on my own. I found out that I cannot fix chairs, houses, repair broken lamps, but I can fix myself. I can sit across from my therapist and get real. I tried to talk with him, with them, to a couple’s counselor, but it’s not the same. I can’t fix what is broken with anyone else, but I can help myself mend the shattered pieces of me.