Broken

I keep hearing news, not the kind that goes on TV or newspapers. It does sometimes find a place there too, but only rarely. It's death again. An obscure silly kind of death that doesn't make it even to the Obituary section because it's best hidden and forgotten. And every time, I just get so sick inside that only an hour of throwing up can cure. And suddenly I feel broken again. I feel naked, alone and it gets suddenly dark. It makes me think to the time when I was a broken woman and it's so painful that for a couple of hours I am broken again. Perhaps this broken thing stays with us forever. We just become good at showing the unbroken side. Because we've long given up trying to find someone who will understand. They won't because they haven't been there. And it's so not nice of me to sometimes wish that if the only way to get them to understand is to make them face a little of it, then so be it. But then it all goes to see that I'm not a nice person anyway.