A History of Broken-ness

I have a history of broken-ness and I'm tired. 
My head is tired.  My heart is tired.  I'm tired to the bone and I'm tired of being tired. 
I want to find love and happiness and connection, but it seems like so much work I'm exhausted before it ever begins.  I feel like a vase that's been dropped on the floor and shattered and put back together over and over again.  The first drop was bad but the pieces were big and easy to find and it took time, but I got put back together.  Then someone set me on the edge of a table and pushed.  And I broke.  And I put myself together again.  And I broke.  And again, again, again, until there was no way for all the tiny pieces to be found.  I'm a marbled mess of pieces and edges and glue and tape, and he set me right back on the edge.  I can feel myself tipping at the slightest breath of wind.  It takes everything in me to stay upright and stay together and stay off the ground.  It takes everything in me to stay whole.  And if I break again, I can't say I'll survive. 
I can't say I'd have enough energy or concern to put myself together again.  Not after everything else.  Not after him.  I keep thinking of all these things I want and being too tired to get them or to fight for them.  I swear I could sleep for a month and I'd still be tired, maybe because being tired isn't the real problem.  Maybe because it feels like something deep down inside me is so broken that I don't even care anymore.  I've fixed so many things and I've healed so much that I never imagined I would be able to, but I'm not better.  There are problems that started so early on that still plague me.  Problems with how I see myself.  With how other people have told me to see myself.  Problems with reality and how I hate that it exists.  I'm reading a book and the girl said she writes to disappear.  To shut it all off.  And I think that's the truest thing I've ever read.  I have a lot of reasons for writing but mostly, I write because it tunes out reality and it turns me off and it brings something unreal to life.  It helps me melt into the ground and stop existing.  And that scares me.  The fact that I want to melt into the ground scares me.  The girl I was when I was little never wanted this life.  That girl wanted to be the star of the show and be bigger than life and remembered forever.  This girl I am now...she just wants to be invisible because when people see her, she gets hurt.  And when he looked in my eyes, I was waiting for the hurt.  I still am.  The silence of the other end of the phone is it's own kind of hurt.