I’m not made of glass although I fancy myself a broken doll

I have forever referred to myself as the “most broken China doll on the shelf”.

I started using this in high school after a very emo-esque foray into songwriting, where I compared myself to a paper doll (the guy I liked started dating a girl who looked like an uglier, larger version of a Barbie doll). Then it rapidly switched to porcelain and China when I started creating cracks in my own surface. When I went through a rough breakup my last year in college, I expressed relief to no longer be the most broken one out there when my very good friend got dumped after me (not in an insensitive way – it took me far too long to get over my exceptionally shitty former boything and it was a relief to have someone else’s pain over a similar issue distract me). I used broken glass to describe who I was, treating my own feelings like a microwave-safe plate from IKEA when really, they needed to be treated like ceramic – capable of being dropped but not too hard.

Right now I’m struggling with an AWOL boything and a lack of communication on his part. I get really frustrated with him when he doesn’t reply and I feel like I need him to. However, I recently stumbled across a quote in a book I’m reading (the same book that mentioned my name and my current boy’s name together as characters happily in love and comfortable – and my name is NEVER used in anything ever) that made me see the whole comparing myself to something glass and breakable in a completely different light.

“And that was my first lesson in learning that I wasn’t made of glass and there were a lot of things [he] couldn’t possibly know unless I told him.”

Wow. Okay. Here we go.

I am the worst at expressing what I need, especially from the boy. I send messages at times when I need him to be present but I don’t actually ever tell him I need him to reply. I convey no sense of urgency or need in these messages – they are simply “Hope exams are going well!” and “Have you seen the new Star Wars film?” and then when he doesn’t reply (and he is a busy boy, he’s got his masters and he’s been travelling), I whip myself into frenzied hysterics and anxiety over whether or not he will answer.

I am not made of glass. He can’t look at me (he’s thousands of miles away) and know what I need if I don’t tell him. I can’t get angry at him for not messaging me when I made no indication that he should and that I need to hear from him.

I am not made of glass and I will not break if he doesn’t reply.


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