Damaged Goods

It’s a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?  I mean, if you’re damaged, you can’t really be ‘good’.  You can simply be, ‘ok’, right?  Well, I suppose in the sense of commodities and objects and things along those lines, Good is better than horrible.  But it’s worse than excellent.  Or Mint.

 

Sometimes, I wish I was still Mint Condition.  That perfect woman with no record, no history, no battlescars on her body or wounds on her heart.  But then I realize, if I was her, I wouldn’t be me.  And I kinda like being me.

 

I’m not perfect. I’m far from pristine.  I’m not the virgin bride so shy and demure on her wedding night.  I’m not the ingenue, unaware of everything around her.  I’m not some naive child to be  told fairy tales and lies and believe them completely.

 

I am not dressed in white.

 

I am tarnished. I’ve been bruised, battered, broken.  I’ve been hurt, I’ve crushed.  I am stained around the edges with sadness, with hurt, and a little blood.  I have baggage.  I have history.  I have stories that if told would surprise those who think they know me.  I am not shattered beyond hope, but I have been chipped slightly.

 

I am not the whole picture, but a puzzle of many parts.  Some are readily available for the world to see, others have been lost under the rug, or are scattered into another box.  I am complicated.  I am layered.  There is more to me than what I type, there is more to me than what you read.  I am not so simple as all these letters and words strung together.  I am more than that.  I am deeper than that.

 

I am me.

 

I made a promise to myself when I started doing this blog.  I promised that I would hold nothing back, hide nothing.  I would tell the truth and I would always, always be honest with myself and whatever readers I potentially did gain.  And, for the most part, I have kept that promise.  I have not lied, but neither have I told the full truth.

 

Because while honesty is a virtue, and transparency is a boon, they are not always necessary.  I can bear my soul, and show you who I am inside, without giving all of the details of my creation.

 

You know that your computer works, but do you know the origins of all the parts?  You know that your dinner at the restaurant was fantastic, but do you know the story of all the ingredients?

 

I am not quite whole, but I am greater than the sum of my parts.

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