Just broken

Sometimes in my moments of weakness I wish someone would walk around the corner and ask how things are going. Then I might be able to cry out or just cry in the midst of the tough times how much I feel like I am truly falling apart on the inside. Forget the strong front. Forget the masquerade. Here it is. Here I am. The real me. The one who finds herself feeling like stepping out on life looks so appetizing at times. Looks so good I can almost taste it. What has done this to me? What has brought me to this place? And why? When did I become this person? And if I make it through the night who will I be tomorrow? And where will I go with my life?
The questions seem endless at times. It’s not always like this. Otherwise I wouldn’t call myself beautifully broken. Sometimes you feel beautiful in your brokenness. Sometimes you just feel broken. So where do you go when you find yourself here? I find myself crying out for God. Crying out to be held. You can’t hear it. But I can feel it. And as words pour onto paper my heart is already feeling lighter. Release. Is this because He hears me? I suppose I just long for someone to hear me. And you can stare at me like you are horrified. Or you can cast me off as if I am out of my mind. But I look into the eyes of others every day who feel the same. My soul is screaming for a world where truth is accepted. Where people are allowed to feel every feeling given to mankind, and express it, and be loved just the same.