Broken

by Nicola Haken

I am a swan as I make my way to the middle of the floor; kicking and struggling beneath the surface, poised and confident above.

I spent the whole of yesterday telling myself to leave him alone, to go back to a time when I didn’t know he existed. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into with me and he deserves better. Nobody should get close to me. I’m too much. Too broken. Life is better alone. I like it that way. Solitude is addictive. Once you discover how peaceful it is, you no longer want or need to deal with people anymore. It’s why I keep my distance from Max, but unfortunately for him he’s family and he has to love me. Theodore doesn’t. He has a choice and he should choose to have nothing to do with me. He has to, because I’m not strong enough to push him away.

When he reaches me, he rests one hand on my hip and kisses my cheek. It makes me feel giddy and I hope the fact I’ve turned into a lovesick fool doesn’t show on my face. “That’s almost romantic of you,” I say, butterflies swimming in my gut. “I can’t remember the last time you didn’t greet me by grabbing my crotch.” I can’t remember because I don’t think it’s ever happened. “That was before I started courting you.” A sly grin tickles one side of his mouth and I know he said courting just to annoy me. No matter how hard I fall for this man, I suspect he’ll always piss me off.

“I’d convinced myself you’d leave,” he says, palming my cheek. “Part of me still thinks you should.” Part of me wants to, but I’m bound too tightly to him, to every side of him, to the strong and assured CEO, and the vulnerable, breaking man hiding beneath the surface. But I have no experience with mental illness and, honestly, it petrifies me. What if he’s dragged into that blackness again? How do I get him out? What if he really is a good liar and I don’t notice his demons strangling him until it’s too late? Can I live with so much uncertainty? Will a relationship entail me scrutinising his every move, every expression? How sad is too sad? How happy is too happy? Am I strong enough? I have no idea. All I know is when I uttered the word love it was an accident, but it wasn’t a lie. I love him.

“I think you’re focusing on the bad because it’s easy.” “Easy?” What the fuck? “You think what I’m feeling is easy?” “I think it’s easier to accept things are never going to improve than fight for them to get better.” “Are you even allowed to say things like that? Isn’t it against some kind of Therapist Rulebook? It’s not very professional.” “Have the other professionals you’ve seen helped you?” “No.” “Then maybe it’s time to try a different approach.”

When you’re living with mental illness, there is no happily ever after, like the kind we write about every day. Instead, we look forward to future days spent basking in the most dazzling light, followed by ones drowning in the deepest depths of darkness. There is only one constant, one guarantee, no matter which day we face. Love.