I caught a glimpse of brokenness.
What I remember most vividly was that she was right-handed; all the scars were on her left arm.
“Nice to meet you,”
It only took the momentary glance that I got as she reached out to shake my hand to notice the dull red lines covering the inner side of her forearm from the wrist all the way up to the elbow.
I haven’t met many people in person who have or do self-harm–I certainly had never before seen the aftermath firsthand; it blew me out of the moment. I’m not saying it shocked me, per say. It gave me a fresh dosage of the reality of what I’m supposed to be doing here. By here I mean alive.
Because when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter how much you talk, write or think about it. You won’t ever understand the brokenness of people until you see it first hand.
I said you won’t ever understand brokenness until you see it first hand.
I don’t mean whatever pains you went through personally was in vain, that you can’t understand that. We are all broken in some way. But until you see the brokenness in someone’s eyes, behind the daily facades of smiles and pleasantries, until you hear what their heart says over the words their mouth forms…
Have you ever read a dictionary definition of the word facade?
[fuh–sahd, fa-] ( I know, I still will say it wrong – don’t bother me )
1. Architecture .
public way or space and finished accordingly. 2.a superficial appearance or illusion of something: They managed somehow to maintain a facade of wealth.