DINNER WITH THREE BOKEN SOULS

I had dinner tonight with two new friends I met in support groups. It was nice to go and hang out with friends. Something I do not often do. I tend to isolate myself, which is not a good thing, but I am trying to change that behavior. The dinner went well. We were three different people from vastly diverse backgrounds, but with comparable stories. Each of us is broken in ways most people cannot imagine. All with our own unique tales of abuse, depression, self-destructing behaviors, and addiction. Each of us fragile like a piece of old vintage glass, but we had already been dropped and broken into small pieces.
Then slowly, somewhere in an old dusty workshop, we are being pieced together. Hoping to one day be put in a frame for all to see. If you were looking at us from outside the diner, from the large glass window shielding us from the cold outside world. You would see three men laughing and enjoying each other’s company. At these moments, we shine. Our pain is so well hidden, and our tears closed tight in a bottle buried deep in the darkest part of our souls. For that moment, we look and feel almost normal. For this short period, we are happy. Each of us devours every bit of happiness and joy that we can from each other. Then at a point, each of us knows that this time is ending. Slowly you see it in our eyes, the pain starting to roll in, and the knowing of the sadness waiting for us when we leave. We try to hang on to the moment. We tell last-minute jokes and exchange ideas for a future excursion. We hold on, if possible. The slow walk to the cars could seem like an hour for us. The dreaded starting of the car, because we know this is it, we have exhausted any prolonging of this time together. The loneliness creeps in increasingly with each mile from the diner. To the loneliest place we know, home. Hoping for the next time, we can have dinner with three broken souls.

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