I’m a funny story. But reading through my pages, you won’t find any humor. The funny part is satirical. It’s that dark humor you laugh at because you have nothing else to do. The funny part about my story is that it’s not over. That as crazy as it got, it isn’t over.
I don’t have such a bad life today. I suppose if I was the sort of person I abhorred along the way I would say “it gets better, if I did it, you most certainly can.” But I can’t do it. Because like I said, the most painful part of my journey is that it didn’t end.
You see, I was molested by my mother, kicked out of 3 schools, betrayed by my family, abused my whole childhood, on my own from the age 14, I attempted suicide 18 times, almost-an-addict, almost-a-homeless-person, and almost-didn’t-make-it.
The funny thing is that I did.
At the age of 17, I chose to take my life in my own hands, and construct a new story. I threw away the old, the pain, and the blades I used to cut myself. I retook the mantle of Judaism I was raised in, and, genuinely, found refuge there.
I connected with mentors and peers, I found work that I’m passionate about, talented to do, that challenges me deeply each and every day. I started studying, got my high school diploma, and every day I wake up to fight dragons and try to save the world.
My modus operandi is to wake up every day and survive. Go to work. Make those appointments. Do the next right step. Make sure I feed myself. Breathe. Try so hard to get my lungs to fill with air and breathe.
And I function. Exceptionally well. I have a wonderful circle of friends, network of support, people who understand me. I interact with them in a healthy, deep and honest way. I surprise myself most days. I question how I managed to hold down a job for the last 18 months. Why people haven’t seen me for the fallacy I am.
And the tragedy is that I’m functioning. That the part of me that’s broken beyond repair has no voice. If I allowed myself to live and be in that space, the life I built would disappear. Because both I and the people around me can’t handle that.
I don’t have the support to allow myself to fall apart. I don’t have that space in my own heart to go there.
The dark spaces in my life are over, and now it’s time to move on.
I’m envious of those who can honor and live in that space, a luxury I cannot know.