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| Ali Ashraf Roni |
Originally written Sept 2010
Never in all my life did I think I
could hurt anymore than I did coming out as a gay woman. It was full of
the most agonizing moments of my life. It brought me to the brink of
suicide so many times. Being told that God hates your very being and you
are doomed is not something that warms your heart. The metamorphosis
into acceptance was incredibly painful. It was 5 years of hell, full
of depression, panic attacks, delusions, hallucinations, and despair. I
have no idea how I survived it. But I did.
I thought the worst was over. I
thought if I could survive that, I could survive anything. I had many
good years after that. Many blessings, many good experiences. I had a
relationship that I thought was good, and for a long time it was. Then I
found that I had been living in a world of delusion. It was good while
it lasted.
And
now, here I sit alone. In reality. I hate reality. My friends at work
joke that I am in my own little world and I am. I don't know how to make
it any other way. It works most of the time. I have learned my job and I
do it automatically. Normally I do it well. I exist there in order to
get home and write. It is my saving grace.
Yet these last two day, it has
only been a temporary solace. There are moments when I am okay, even
laughing. Yet, suddenly, something will send me down into darkness. As I
write, I cry. If I stop writing, I feel as if I will die. Yet how many
times can you say the same thing. In my head I tell myself to go on and
it makes sense, and then that thing...that photo...that name...that
scent...that blog entry.. stares me down and I fall into a deep dark
pit.
And
these moments hurt more than any moment I can recall. Never has losing
someone hurt this badly. I was just starting to deal with losing my
wife. There were only two rooms in the house where I could be without
feeling her. And those two rooms are now filled with the one I have now
lost. Everywhere I look, something reminds me of her. Sitting at this
computer reminds me of her. Writing reminds me of her, for in many ways,
she was my muse.
And
now I have to find a way to bring positivity back into the house. I
have to figure out how to save my heart and my life. I have to find a
way to create new memories. I tell myself to just hold on a little
longer, to live for the next 60 seconds, not the next 60 days.
And somehow, I wake up the next
morning, and I get in the zone that allows me to survive, to function.
It is like holding my breath for 6 hours until I can get home again,
because as the Melissa Etheridge song says "It only hurts when I
breathe." So I try not to.
I am so tired. So tired of the
struggle. So tired of the fight. But I am convinced...I KNOW that there
is hope out there. I KNOW there is happiness somewhere. I KNOW there
will be a time when I don't hurt like this.
I'll be damned if I will give up.
I have doubted my resolve often in recent months, but every time I have
taken another step, I have found that that step leads to something
good. I am no fool. Although I live much of my time in my own imaginary
world, I know that somewhere, out there, I will hurt again. Everybody
hurts. But then I will feel happiness again.
I must grieve. I have to allow
myself that. I feel as if two of the most important people in my life,
have died this year. So I know I must go through the process of grieving
that loss. I can't hide that grief and I cannot ignore it. I must deal
with it no matter how painful it may be.
I know I will come out stronger.
My heart will go on beating. Hopefully I will learn from my mistakes
and I will become a better person. But first, I have to forgive myself. I
have to love myself. I have to accept that I am human. And I am not at
that point of acceptance yet.
There
is a Johnny Cash song that reads "I'm just an ol' lump of coal, but I'm
going to be a diamond someday." I don't know when that day will ever
come. I know that as the seasons change, and the earth moves, that I am
being formed and reformed. It is a painful process.
I hang on thinking that surely to
God, sharing my experiences will minister to someone else. I beg that
my hurt not be in vain. I have to find a purpose in it.
I dream of a ministry. I see it
in my mind where one day, someone will hear me speak, or read something I
have written and the plans they had to die that day will change. I see a
day where the simple act of a teddy bear hug from me will give someone
the strength to keep going. I imagine a moment where a person in pain
looks in my eyes and into my soul and sees understanding and love.
I wrote a song once where the
chorus read "If I have to hurt Lord, let me feel the pain, if I have to
bleed Lord, let me bleed like rain, tie a string tightly around my soul,
but don't let me forget, Lord, those who need God's Love Patrol."
And so in these moments of
intense pain, when it only hurts when I breathe, I remember these
feelings. I memorize them. Because if I do, I will recognize them in
others. I will see the pain in their eyes because I saw it in mine. And
only then will I be able to reach out and touch their heart and help
bring them peace.
Someday....
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