Sacred scars

I feel the most positive and encouraged that I’ve felt in all my 13+ years depressed.

These past 4 months in particular have been especially taxing as I did a deep dive in shadow work and fostering my inner divine feminine, which entailed encountering several negative women archetypes.

And I can finally see how the dark connects to the light and I finally have an answer to a question that’s been echoing throughout my journey ; is my suffering worth it? And it absolutely is. I dedicated the best years to doing something that I had absolutely no concrete proof or precedence or peers in. Only a persistent intuition and faith in Allaah who was guiding me and teaching me throughout it all. I never expected that anything would come out of it. I did it to save my heart, frankly. I keep telling Allaah, if it wasn’t for Your active presence in my life, I would absolutely have committed suicide because there’s no way I’d keep living in a dreary and ruthless world like that. I was always one step away from the edge. So my shadow work was never a spiritual bypass or an attempt at keeping a facade. I’ve been in the midst of the muck for so long that everyone associates me with reclusiveness and as someone with wasted potential. And I genuinely don’t care that people look down on me. If they do hold me in high esteem it’s always for the most fickle and shallow reasons, so it doesn’t mean much. I say all that to say that my shadow work was never something I set out to do but as someone with compounded emotional and mental fracture and deep trauma, and as someone whose mind works at a different pace and pattern than most, the only way I’d find healing is by creating it myself. I started trekking out into trying to get somewhat of a grasp on mental health in 2008. I’d read self-help books that did more damage because they were deceptive in their promise and connected to ego instead of universal truths. I kept ending up in dead-end alleys which would lead to suicide attempts each time. A lot of trial and error, restarted by surviving and realizing that the only way to get out of the rock bottom is by finding a way to scale the walls. I became numb but had to keep my focus locked on that faint light at the distance to keep from succumbing to the overwhelming darkness I was immersed in. It’s haunting, seductive, tempting, the darkness, and to fold feels as easy as water rolling into a glass from a jug tilted at an angle, pouring it out.

There’s nothing to prepare you for that. It feels like a primordial battle on a wider scale, like this has been done before, and there are so so many half-way graves and remnants of people who didn’t make it out. I feel connected to their spirits and it’d give me added incentive to not only make it out for myself but to finish the trek on behalf of those who died trying.

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