Forcing It To Fit

 

 

You know that cabinet in your kitchen that just can't hold one more item?  It's probably a high small cabinet that's out of reach because it's not used often but it's there, containing random items that need a home. Mine is above the fridge and requires a chair to even open the door.

 

I keep my food processor up there. The one that I use about once a year to make the salsa that I love but that I'm generally too lazy to make. While it's nestled up there out of the way, it doesn't really fit. The door doesn't fully close. I've forced it to fit, breaking small pieces of the plastic cover and scaring the inside of the cabinet door.

 

Broken. Scarred.

 

It's not a cabinet door or kitchen appliance. Some days it's me. A small part of my head that I shove feelings or emotions in that I just don't have the strength to deal with daily. Occasionally, in a weak moment when I least expect it, a jagged piece with sharp edges tumbles out before I am able to prepare myself. A sharp shard that I thought I had careful tucked so far behind the loosely closing door that it certainly couldn't fall out. But fall out it does.

I scramble to collect all the scattered pieces. The scrambling is exhausting. The shards cut deeply but I continue to scoop them and tuck them away. Wiping the tears that fall even when I try desperately to ignore the burning pricks behind by eyes.

When the pieces are safely tucked way, I can smile. 

I know that forcing it to fit will cause another small piece to crack, creating another jagged edge and maybe even creating another scar. But it will only be seen from inside and it will all fit again this time too.