Prozac Nation

I am watching a movie called Prozac Nation. I have already read the book, but had never seen the movie. The main character, Lizzie, begins therapy and tells her therapist she just wants to be normal. As is customary, the therapist asks what normal would be to her. Lizzie responds by saying something that, to me, was somewhat profound. She said "normal people cut themselves and they put a band aid on it and move on. I just keep bleeding."
That is me. I just keep bleeding and the blood never clots. I still bleed from the wounds inflicted 25 years ago, ten years ago, last year, last night. I never move on, I just compound fractures. Why is it that some people move through life with such grace? Not that they don't suffer. Everyone hurts. I am a firm believer in the fact that all people experience pain, heartache, sadness, brokenness and trauma in their lives. How is it that some people live through it, they put on the neosporin, slap on a band aid and they are good to go. While I am just stuck in the middle of it. I see the blood, know where it came from, but I just keep watching it pour out and spill over into every single area of my life.
I thought of a good word picture the other day driving down the road, I was still thinking on the trust issue. Wounds are like the tiny little cracks you get in your windshield when a pebble flies up from the tire of the truck in front of you. Of course sometimes the wounds are more like boulders, but work with me. Anyway, if you fix the crack right then, it's ok, you might have a tiny little reminder, but not a big problem where visibility is concerned. If, however, you never address the crack, it grows and spreads out. Eventually, the windshield becomes engulfed like a web of crushed glass making every single thing you see through it completely distorted. Ok, it sounded better in my head?
Why is it, if God so longs for me to know and love Him, that He makes it so incredibly difficult.