When I was molested by my brother as a child, I was shattered into pieces before I was even done putting myself together. I have spent the last 52 years using those shattered pieces to try to complete myself.

There is a Japanese art called Kintsugi where they use gold to repair broken pottery. I love the concept of turning the breakage into the history of something rather than hiding it, and creating something new and beautiful in the process. I have been trying to emulate this process in my own rebuilding.

I guess I need to keep the analogy going here.

The big flaw in this process is that one needs gold to make this kind of art. Other than marrying Gina which was, and continues to be, a rich source, finding gold in my life has been difficult. I mostly used rubber cement and duct tape instead, desperately trying to turn myself into the piece of art I thought I really could be, if only I could finish myself.

Some people talk about opening themselves up to the universe, ready to listen and receive. I am not a believer in such things, but if I look at my life that way I could only presume that the universe sort of hates me. It routinely tells me “Fuck No” and then hurls things at me to break my already fragile repairs, and to shatter my already broken pieces so they are even smaller and harder to work with.

Yesterday I tried to make another appointment with a different podiatrist to get the care I need for my neuropathy and the effects of the chemo that are deforming my feet. Because I have had numerous issues this year with referrals not being processed correctly leading to charges I ended up being responsible for (thank you universe, message received.) I talked to my doctor about the referral process, specifically verifying with him all the requirements that were necessary to get it authorized by the insurance. I got a confirmation from his office that the referral was issued and faxed. I checked with BCBSIL and I could see it was approved. Finally, a little bit of gold to use.

But the universe wasn’t done with me and I got some pyrite instead. When I called to make the appointment, they had no record of the referral, they said they don’t take that insurance and I should bring a copy of the referral to their office…

I could feel the piece of me I was holding in my hand break. I looked at it and then at my pile of broken pieces. This apparently was the last usable piece of me I had to try and use for my repair, and it was now in the pile, shattered.

This was far from the biggest event in my life to break a part of me, but it apparently broke the last piece I had left. I have nothing more to put towards my repair. No more pieces and no gold. The duct tape roll is empty and the last of the rubber cement has hardened at the bottom of the bottle, unusable.

Things will continue to happen to break my already useless pieces into even smaller fragments, and I will watch, helpless and empty.

…and still very broken.