Broken (in the best possible way)

by Jenny Lawson

What we really want is to know we’re not alone in our terribleness. We want to appreciate the failure that makes us perfectly us and wonderfully relatable to every other person out there who is also pretending that they have their shit together and didn’t just eat that onion ring that fell on the floor. Human foibles are what make us us, and the art of mortification is what brings us all together.

But we don’t get to pick who we are. I am still as broken as I was before, but with better stories and a little more insight into just how fucked up I am.

Be good. Be kind. Love each other. Fuck everything else. The only thing that matters is how you feel and how you’ve made others feel. And I feel okay (for the moment), and I make others feel okay by being a barometer of awkwardness and self-doubt.

it’s not unusual for me to forget what it was we were fighting about while still fighting, which makes it very hard to win even though I know I’m right and that he should just trust me and apologize and maybe buy me a ferret.

Basically the secret to a long-lasting marriage is memory loss and well-meaning lies and beach margaritas.

And if one day I look at you and don’t remember who you are or how much you mean to me, know that your importance is still as real then as it is now. Know that you are locked away someplace safe. Know that the me who loved you is still sitting on that beach, forever feeling the sunlight. And know that I’m okay with not having that memory right now, because the me that holds it tight is keeping it safe and uncorrupted and glorious. And she loves you. And I do too. Remember that. For me.

I see my family worry and care but also (as is human) get tired of my being tired. And I get it. I’m tired of it too.

The problem is that depression is my forever side dish to any period of convalescence and illness, and depression lies. It tells you that you are worthless. That life was never good. That you are a drain on the world and that it will only get worse.

FRIENDS ARE EVERYWHERE … So are ants. Watch where you’re standing.

“What happens if I never get better?” I have asked Victor this question so many times in the decades that we’ve been together. There isn’t a good answer but he tries. “What happens if you get better … and don’t need me anymore?”

“You don’t let your pain go to waste.” It’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever been given. I hold it to my chest on dark days. I wear it as a shield when the fear creeps in … the fear of getting worse and the fear of getting better. I think this is what hope feels like.

Watch Doctor Who.

It was worth it. I am so lucky. I make the call. I keep the appointment. I work my program. This is the never-ending work of recovery. I continue my journey.