My grave became roots

My heart and a willingness to seek and serve the truth is all I have. The rest of me is a shell, a ruin, fossils of intentions and wishes. And I’m tired, so incredibly tired. Whatever fight left in me that I have is funded by Allaah. The mortal me has died long ago. In installments of 6 suicide attempts. Allaah brought me back each time, for reasons unbeknownst to me because as far as I could see I was a waste. I was holding up immense weights and taking blows to protect and retain an innocent heart. I was prepared to die and pay the consequences of that in akhirah, relying on His forgiveness because He knew how dire my silent suffering was. I wasn’t going to live a half-baked life where I compromise my heart. I preferred going extinct if the world wasn’t a conducive environment.

When I think about how my parents may be disappointed in me or how others view me, I think to myself that I would have been 6 feet under by now. Had I had my way I would have been a memory, for years now. Someone who had a lot of potential but tragically, her life ended too soon. I would have had janaza done on me. Someone or some people would have washed and shrouded my body. I would have a marked grave somewhere.

My parents know only of 2 attempts. And those were the very first, when I was 15 and 16. I went secret and silent after that. Preferred to bury my shame.

Wallaahi, only Allaah knows the pain that sits disjointed in the darkness. I keep pushing forward, not for me, but to create a world where those who weren’t as fortunate to survive or got entangled in dissociation or drugs to numb the unimaginable pain, could thrive. A world that doesn’t asphyxiate the heart and doesn’t aim to corrode the truth. Only someone who has endured their suffering and not attempted to bypass it or skip past it will know how it has nothing to do with you. It’s because we think we have to do something to fix it that we destroy ourselves even more when in all honesty, you need mercy, and love and hope. And you need to have that in your heart to seek it from Allaah. I truly believe that if there was one thing Allaah had mercy upon me for, it’s because no matter how messed up and in despair I was, I had so much love and mercy for others. I just couldn’t have it for myself. And perhaps the ducaa of someone I helped became a means. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m not supposed to be here, but I am and that’s not because of me. I believe that my suffering is archetypal and representative of countless others around the world, throughout time. And I’ve decided I won’t pass the buck. I won’t compartmentalize. I won’t make sense of a messed up world. I won’t accept that this is normal. And I’ll either fight to transmute that or die trying. In the end, there’s no joy to be sought when countless are suffering in abject darkness and silence and isolation. I made it out, and it’s my duty to be a wholesome human being. No gimmick, no goals, no glory, no nothing. Just being.

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