PICKING UP THE PIECES... OR LEAVING THEM

YOU CAN ONLY HOLD ON FOR SO LONG...

...before you burst and the remnants of what you were are no longer salvageable. 

I burst... 

All the pressure built until I could no longer take it.

 I lost all composure and now the pieces of me are scattered across my world waiting to be retrieved and mended. 

But I do not believe I have the strength or the willpower to mend ANYMORE. 

Can one live un-mended?

There comes a time in life when you have to do thing's that you are beyond scared of doing.

There comes a time when you have to say thing's you do not want to say.

That time has come and passed and it was my undoing.

So now that I have burst and I am broken and undone I have to decide...

Do I pick up the pieces?

I really don't understand why it is such a difficult task for me.

Why shouldn't I pick up the pieces?

I ought to want to, right?

For me, picking up the pieces that have scattered would be like picking up shards of broken glass with my bare hands.

Each piece that I pick up only hurts and cuts and wounds me.

And the more I pick up, the deeper the wounds become.

Before too long your hands are utterly raw and you can no longer pick up the shards.

At some point they become too damaged to repair from the attempt to fix other broken thing's.

My hands have come to that place where they no longer have the ability to fix what is broken or pick up what has scattered.

And they cannot be fixed either.

That is where I stand now.

Beyond repair.

Broken.

There is a piece of me that holds out hope for redemption or salvation.

But that piece of me is slowly deteriorating along with the rest of me.

I am beginning to believe more and more that there is no hope.

I am where I am and that's where I will stay...

In shards that only hurt when pieced together again.

They hurt me and they hurt other's.

PERHAPS IT'S TIME TO LET GO...