I always prided myself on being together, having things sorted, being whole. In my family I felt like if there was chaos and what not, that was who I was. I was putting my life together, I had a job in college, I was aware of my path, goal oriented, finance and savings oriented, the whole thing. I felt safe, secure in my identity.
Coming to Germany shook everything to the core. Having defined my whole identity on being independent, grown up, feeling like I had to grow up sooner than maybe my age. That’s who I was. I was the mature one, the secure one, the one who had things together, who could take care of herself. I came to Germany and my whole identity exploded and had to reforge itself. Falling into a pretty deep depression and feeling totally shattered and unable to get my grounds. I was totally removed from everything and myself.
Nothing was how it should have been, my whole idea about my life had changed and I was probably the unhappiest in my life so far to date. Because even when I was going through my ex before, I had my family behind me and friends near me. I maybe didn’t know who I was, but I still felt like a separate person, able to go out and buy groceries, to give people directions.
Coming here felt almost crippling at the beginning. It’s strange because I tell people I’ve adjusted here, but some days it just hits me how much I’m still riding those shock waves. Still feeling so anxious all the time, so lumpy, so unfocused, so dependent. I actually try not to think about it that much because I’m partially scared of going back into that hole. But it’s that quiet voice creeping in my head, waiting for me to acknowledge it exists again, when the weight of all that rubble threatens to come down around my ears, burying me.
There are days where it feels like I’ve finally done it, manage to move forwards. Then there are other days when I look behind me and see how I used to feel, all the things that have fallen away from me, the scars and the open wounds beneath tape.
I wonder if I’ll ever feel that confident in myself again. Feel so whole. Because I defined myself around having things together. Perhaps I was never whole to begin with, always a mish mash and never complete, so if there’s no wholeness to return back to, then maybe I’m not broken now. So if that’s the case (and according to the literary theory I’ve been reading it is) then I don’t feel broken, I feel ripped apart.
Maybe if anything I’ve managed to put together some of these pieces with some fragile tape, but looking around me at the tatters, I wonder how long it takes to put it all together.
I’ve always been good at puzzles and knowing if I sit down long enough, it’ll come together, but perhaps this puzzle will take me my whole life to put back together again.