Horrkruxes

I feel as if though each time I fight with people around me - each time someone betrays my trust or treat me badly - I ripp out a little piece of my soul.

Every time. Each fight.

It feels like I'm making horrkruxes.

Not to live forever; just so that I might survive at all. It's like breaking a mirror. Splitting the image. And each new piece gets to represent a new effort to muddle through.

I suppose we are all the sum of our parts but what happens when the parts are tiny shards scattered and hidden with no one to ever witness the whole image? When the image is at best a reflection distorted by a web of fractures?

And I have no idea how to put all the pieces back together.