Guess what?

I'm not broken anymore. I'm fine. Really, fine. Not the kind of fine that you say while rolling your eyes, but actually fine. I didn't think it would happen but it did. And I didn't think feeling normal would be such a relief, but it is.

There are still cracks. Imperceptible, but cracks nonetheless. I don't let anyone see them. 99% of the time, I ignore them myself. That 1% of the time is when I come here.

Here's how exactly tiny and insignificant this 1% is: four months ago, I had the scare of my life. I walked into a room and the first person I saw was someone I've been dreading bumping into for three years. It knocked the wind out of me (literally, I needed the inhaler). But I soldiered on. I put on the best poker face anyone has ever seen, and pretended like everything was fine, while my insides cracked open like fissures in an earthquake and pain and fear and sheer terror poured out like clouds of black smoke.

And did I come here? Nope. I dealt with it. I didn't let the cracks show. I coped.

Yeah. I'm good.