“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” – Khalil Gibran
Dear Fellow Warrior,
For the past month or so, since I began wearing the hijab… especially on my jogs and walks outside… I’ve felt more free… more me…
Alhumdullilah. It is truly an incredible sentiment…
It’s fascinating, because I remember it was partly my severe depression and alienation that once pulled me away from Islam… from my aspirations to become a devout Muslim, and at the beginning of my higher education.
And in a strange way, it has been depression, solitude, and alienation again, at the end of my higher education, the past few years, that brought me back to Islam, in the way that I first aspired it, as a child and teenager. Funny how that came full circle.
Turning to Allah (swt) has been a necessary anchor for me. Especially at this moment. The messages I have been getting these past few years are that Allah isolates us for a reason and puts us through these trials for a reason.
I know that Allah wants us to seek dependency on no one but Him…
… But I can’t help but feel that for some reason people who are gifted with love, are not always the people who truly deserve so much of it. And those who do deserve love from their friends and communities rarely get it.
I’ve also learned that turning to Allah alone isn’t always enough in the practical sense, and this is not about the level of our imaan…
We are human. We need support networks. We need care. We need community.
In our faith-based communities, too often, it feels as if we should feel shame for needing more than that spiritual willpower.
We’re told to “just turn to God/Allah” and He will help. Yes. We should.
But that can become a way for many people to avoid real human connection and even accountability and responsibility.
And I have noticed every time, every single time I try to get into the light, it becomes more clear to me, how much people want you to stay in the darkness, so bad, because Subhannallah, what an incredible human being you could have been and could still become, if you were just growing in the light.
They know. They definitely know. And it is clear to me now how when someone has a personal grudge from 20 years back, 5 years back, 2 years back, or whatever jealousy or problem against you for any reason, that is clearly connected to their own insecurities, they just cannot stand seeing you in the light.
They cannot allow you to hold onto the light that could not only keep you alive but take you to the stars. They know that you would land on the moon.
You will always be confronted with these challenges where everything, everyone, everywhere will do everything possible to pull you down, when you are rising, especially when something, any aspect about who you are…in any way… questions or challenges the status quo.
In recent years, I’ve shown a mix of forgiveness, mercy, anger, love, empathy and compassion.
And sometimes I’ve felt guilty and ashamed for being upset, even when I had every right to be.
I’ve done everything I can to try to stay in the game, to stay afloat, while fighting against taboos and social stigmas, and calling for help.
Sometimes making myself a “qurbani ka bakara,” a sacrificial goat, knowing that not a single soul I know in my networks has the audacity to talk about these issues with the level of vulnerability and honesty that I know is required to engage them in order to actually put a dent on the stigmas.
The cost on me?… More stigma, more alienation, more invisibilization, more hypervisibilization, more scrutiny and chastisement, sometimes loud, sometimes unspoken, but still very harmful.
Every poem, every art piece, every post connected to mental health for over a decade has been an invitation to dialogue, especially in the last five years. Most if not all of those invitations, especially in recent years, during and post-Pandemic, were ignored.
It appears that dialogue would be conditional upon whether I share the same political affiliation with people or whether I would dial it down to what’s comfortable for others to understand, when it’s really about encouraging you to get comfortable with being uncomfortable at the level of another person’s suffering.
Let me say this clearly…
Watching from a distance is not supporting your friend.
Stalking someone’s posts and monitoring them without engagement isn’t friendship or even collegial acquaintance. It’s creepy, inappropriate and wrong.
And making conversations about your own experience with mental health instead of holding space for your friend who is fighting to survive…yeah that isn’t and never was “listening” or reaching out.
I have tolerated so much. And yet the few times I raise these concerns, as I try to understand why it is so complicated to support your friends, peers, colleagues, and family members suffering from depression, I am made to feel guilty or small, like I am asking for too much, when these are serious missteps that can increase the challenges of someone fighting for their lives.
And no one, no one who is struggling with surviving and needing a support network or a friend should EVER be made to feel that they should just “be grateful” for whatever crumbs of support that someone gives them, when consistent communication and conversation, care, encouragement, showing up in their lives, could factor into easing their suffering, shortening the span of their suffering, or even saving their life.
I am a multiple suicide attempt survivor. I could have died…many times.
And not a single soul truly believed me, because if you did, you would actually make the time to check in. You didn’t believe me, because I am alive, and I needed to actually be dead to be believed… and I look strong and okay on the outside….
…or maybe because I empower myself with posts on social media, on my blog, on my Youtube, at Open mic nights?
Posts that people choose to react to negatively, with jealousy and envy, rather than positively?
Instead, people just wanted to silence me, but not have conversations that could ease the suffering.
And yet I kept trying and advocating. Kept hoping people would show up, show consistent support, instead of just watching like bystanders, when there are millions of ways to show support.
What I got was silence, dismissal, pass, evil eye, jealousy, envy, resentment, and even hate.
It remains astonishing to me that it is so difficult for people to even hit the “like” button for posts that they see, posts that are written to empower their friends, even for someone raising funds for Mental health Awareness and Suicide prevention walks.
How are those not signs of Jealousy from friends?
And those who did show up once or twice on a post, would just run away, once they realized I was actually the real deal. That I wasn’t lying. That I wasn’t making it up. That I meant it. That it wasn’t fake, like 60% of what people put on their profiles.
And since I was the real deal, it would mean you would have to be real too, right? That you cannot pretend to care, that you cannot lie, and actually mean what you say, when you tell me that I can reach out to you,… and without some condition attached to it…
That was the issue wasn’t it. I was too real. Too authentic. I was the real f****** deal.
People disappear in many ways in your life. I know they did as soon as I lost my institutional affiliation, the neoliberal capitalists especially, man you think I don’t know that your support is conditional upon an institution validating my intellectual merit?
Even after my resume, entire portfolio, and four educational diplomas prove it, it’s not enough to indicate that I too deserve opportunities, collaborations, even if I am vocal about my invisible disabilities and challenges, or human rights and social justice issues.
Even when the law protects me and says I am.
It is as if I no longer served a purpose in their lives. It took me years to realize that your well-being and welfare is conditional to people who do not question a neoliberal capitalist society.
When identity is so deeply connected to your politics, you cannot discriminate against someone based on their politics.
It hurt. Because when you are in school, you have identity and community. And when it is a community that attempts to convince you that something is wrong with you, when something is clearly broken in the system that excludes people with these challenges.
Some people, a long time ago, would say to me that I “have too many expectations.” I wonder if people still say this crap now.
There can be wisdom in that statement but you know the real reason why people say this?
They say this to escape from having tough conversations and taking accountability for not giving a shit about someone. They never valued you enough to show up for you, but they still need to hold you by the thread in their life, for some reason.
And they take advantage of you in your vulnerable state, when you are in need of their friendship and support.
You don’t have expectations. No. You have every right to demand for dignity, respect, and appreciation in ANY type of relationship.
They never intended to value you in the first place.
Be Proud of Rising Above the Adversity
I remain proud of myself. Proud of how hard I’ve tried to help myself, when I could not find support.
Proud of how hard I tried to break the stigmas at the same time.
Proud of how hard I tried to find community, to build support, offline and online.
Proud of pushing through the “there she goes again….” and the gauntlet of evil eye bullies…
Proud of how many times I’ve picked myself up after falling down.
Proud of how I continue to show compassion and how much I am actually working hard to forgive and move forward, even when I haven’t received the same in return, even while I am still struggling in a vulnerable place…
I have to be my own advocate. I have to empower myself. That is what I had been doing. And I’m stronger for it.
Even though it hurt that people with half the heart I possess would likely be more supported than I had been.
A heart that big, is one that loves so much, and also one that risks greater vulnerability to pain.
And my pain was valid and remains valid.
The truth stings, doesn’t it.
I have survived and I am still surviving.
I have earned the right to express my truth.
To fully feel the grief. To fully feel the anger. To express it all.
After the death of Twitch, someone in my network I engaged myself, finally asked the one question that no one in my life has ever asked me directly, “How can we best support you?”
It was rhetorical and not genuine. But It was the question I had been silently waiting to be asked.
I answered it with what I’ve been saying in my posts for over ten years: that support doesn’t have to be so complicated… sometimes it’s as simple as being willing to have the hard conversations, to hold the space, to ask and actually empathically listen.
And then what did I get from them?… silence. No follow-up. No response. The conversation ended there, because the truth is, most people don’t actually want to know the answer to that, let alone the concrete uniquely tailored answers for an individual’s life…nor make the effort to know to how to support people with invisible disabilities.
Or they realize when it is in fact the real deal, that the suicidal and depressed are actually a “burden” to them. And they lied. And that, more than anything, has been the most difficult and perhaps a bit shocking part for me.
…
I am still here.
I am still walking for Suicide Prevention…
…for Mental Health Awareness.
Writing.
Some people don’t read these long posts from Dr. Elsa, because it triggers them… doesn’t it?
Because maybe they might read something that says it might just be kinda awful to just watch someone in your life (friend, colleague, family member) struggle, and not say a thing to them, when they can make the tiny effort to say something, or to reach out.
They literally watch you. And have nothing to say? No interest in engaging you. That inability to take a second to engage you or even to hit the like button when you write on mental health stems from stigma and reeks of cowardice.
Because you know it’s pretty bad. You have to know. Even a person with a pea-sized brain would know that. And if you don’t, then let my mere existence and persistence be a reminder to you about that.
The Thank You List
And I feel I still have to thank you…(get ready, this is a long thank you list)…
Thank you for choosing a fixed mindset about me, and sticking to it, despite how much I showed growth and represent a growth mindset, or how much I had been trying to improve.
Thank you for “othering” the concept of mental health and suicidality.
Thank you for considering me undesirable, unfriendable, unlovable, unemployable, unadmirable…etc etc etc… because I spoke my truth about mental health.
Thank you to all those who have doubted me, and put me in “that category” in your mind and life.
Thank you to those who knew I was suffering and didn’t care to check in…ever.
Thank you for refusing to engage in conversations, when there were clear invitations both online and offline.
Thank you for ignoring my messages when I told you I was struggling.
Thank you for not considering me competent, someone with intellectual merit, despite all my accomplishments and qualifications, because of my anxiety disorder and conditions.
Thank you for not even considering me a thought leader in the space for mental health and suicide prevention after more than a decade of advocacy.
Thank you for invisibilizing me for my research and scholarly specializations and expertise.
Thank you for invisibilizing me in such that no one else could see me, to feel seen by me.
Thank you for making it clear that you don’t care.
Thank you for letting me know that my story doesn’t matter to you.
Thank you for not caring about the stories I have to share with the world about my experiences and explorations.
Thank you to the people who I thought were in my corner, for allowing the perceptions and lack of engagement from others to dictate how you feel about me.
Thank you to my allies for estranging me as well, when I stand up for myself and against bullies.
Thank you for stalking me and following my posts on the internet and not once engaging them or reaching out.
Thank you to those who put the “damaged goods” label on me after I shared my #metoo moments on Facebook.
Thank you for not having an ounce of mercy for me, knowing the challenges I endured, and knowing that I had been struggling with chronic suicidality and depression for over 30 years.
Thank you for attempting to silence me so I could walk alone in this pain, and not be able to express it.
Thank you for considering me a “complainer” or “insecure” because I am laying down the truths as I have experienced it….my story, denying yet again my intellect and wisdom, and denying my right to my story and my truth.
Thank you for trying to take away the one outlet of expression I had since I got on Facebook.
Thank you for dismissing my blogging, posts, writing, painting, poetry, art, when they were deeply connected to my soul and healing and recovery.
Thank you for not subscribing, following, or supporting any of my online creative endeavors, even as it connected to my soul and identity, and even though you too could relate to it and find value in it…
Thank you for choosing not to support me for anything connected to any aspect of my multi-faceted intersectional identity, because you had a problem with one aspect of one part of my identity (being Muslim, being a Palestine supporter, being a Mental Health Advocate, being a suicide survivor…etc).
Thank you for never engaging any of my posts that are connected to my individualism, my intersectional identity as a scholar, writer, artist, activist, mental health advocate, contributing to my invisibility, choosing instead to sustain your negative projections and fixed mindset.
Allah knows best, I know…trust me. I know.
But I have witnessed and experienced enough to know that some, if not all of this true. I lay it out, not because I am fixed on believing this could all be true in my life, but because I truly hope it is not…
Sadly, I also know that much of it is likely true. I have said before, authentic people always face these challenges. And if so, it is truly unjust.
And you should know, if you once ever saw value in me, or if you ever cared about me, even just a bit, it absolutely has impacted my ability to heal.
The Silence Will Never Be Okay
From a very young age, I have always connected to the quote from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr:
“In the end, we will remember, not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”
Both for human rights work and at a personal level. And I have shared this in the context of mental health awareness for more than a decade.
If you actually want to have a conversation, you would reach out. But you won’t. You never did before and you won’t now. It’s too hard. And I even have empathy for you, because I know, but you won’t credit me for that either.
You won’t want to have this conversation now… not only because I am or have become nothing but an afterthought to most of you, and you have confirmed that with me, even those who I thought were on my side.
But also because you don’t want to confront the idea that you may have done something to harm someone.
The thing is, if any of this triggers you, you did.
I will always be open to a conversation when I know people are willing to actually listen.
When you are a writer who is deprived of those tough necessary conversations, you need the outlet to be able to write and express.
And yes… if people cared, they would know that this is available for them to read, that I have always been open to conversations and dialogue.
If they want to understand, they should know how to prepare to listen, not to be on the defense or offense.
I have known for a while now that I tend to be a few steps ahead of others on a lot of things, including this, but of course, no one would ever admit that or credit me for it.
On top of the already existing pain from chronic depression for over 30 years, I faced this unnecessary pain of significant “invisibility,” in a layered manner. I did not bring this onto myself for expressing my truth, but I understand now that maybe it was a little myopic of me to expect intelligent people to get it, and to have compassion and empathy.
Some of you most likely don’t deserve my compassion and mercy, but I will give it to you anyway, most especially for my own peace, even through your continued resentment of my expression of this pain.
But as much as I have tried, I am not ready to forgive you just yet. Not even trying very hard during and after my first Pilgrimage.
Not even at this moment of my continued efforts to rely on Allah as my anchor.
And that is okay. I deserve to at least take my time. To trust that Allah knows there is some purity in my heart. And may Allah at least see that I have been trying.
This was a very long period of time, my entire youth, and the majority of the first half of my life to face such chronic pain on top of the already existing pain, which is continuing.
I am allowed to take my time to forgive, especially if people have no mercy for me and my challenges, especially when people will never admit to any wrongdoing.
Offering Prayer and Gratitude
If anyone reads this, and has a heart, the very least thing you can do for me is put in a prayer. Not because there is anything that should be wrong or “othered” for needing a prayer.
But because it is the absolute least thing you can do, and it is not too much to ask for at all.
Most importantly, I don’t have to mince words about this truth, my truth, all of it… I absolutely do not have to hold this pain alone and compressed beneath my chest, and I don’t have to be silenced, even if no one is listening, or no one understands or chooses to even try to understand.
And I can write about it again. As long as I need. Especially if it helps me survive. In any outlet I want.
And I know that it is a broken society and unjust norms that attempt to silence these stories and truths.
Allah should be sufficient for me. Yes. And He is. But we are all human. We have the right to be heard. I have survived this long, I will keep surviving.
May Allah have mercy on me and May Allah continue to help me through these layered challenges.
In a sense, I am grateful for those who contributed in pushing me into a state of alienation, isolation, and severe depression at a level in which I had no choice but to fully turn to Allah …And I pray that gratitude can create a softness and mercy in my heart for you…
I appreciate those hearts who have mercy, compassion, love, and empathy for those who struggle with invisible disabilities, personality disorders, and mental health conditions, those who don’t weaponize those ailments against their friends and family, those who have the wisdom to understand what precisely stigma and “othering” entails, and those who are at least willing to learn…to embrace the transformative power of difficult conversations.
I’ll end here with something that is never easy for me to say:
If you value me…if you consider yourself an ally, a friend, or someone who cares… who once cared a little about me… please don’t let me suffer in silence.
As the Warrior KQueen, someone who dares to walk through this world as her authentic, whole self, I face a lot of hatred, envy, jealousy, indignation, resentment…all the above connected to the evil eye. That is a very heavy and real burden to carry on top of the already existing pain.
I know not everyone can reach out directly.
But if my words resonate with you, please engage them. I’m a writer. It’s not just what I do… it’s who I am. I never asked you before but, after hundreds of blog posts, I do have to ask my allies to be there for me. Please don’t stand among the haters. Please don’t contribute to the silent erasure of who I am. If you see my words, please let me know you see me. If you care, show me you care.
I know that really cannot be too much to ask… especially when I continue to show up on the page for you, with heart and honesty. If you are on my side, if you are rooting for me, please don’t be among the people who hold it against me… my need to speak my truth, especially if it is connected to my survival.
It is never easy for me to ask for help. But here I am asking for it… being even more vulnerable… And Just this one time… Please don’t let me keep going like this in silence.
Please give my voice a chance.
Happy Mental Health Awareness Month.
In Solidarity, Salaam, Heart, and Peace,
Your Sister,
Dr. Elsa, Warrior KQueen
“She wasn’t looking for a Knight. She was looking for a Sword.” – Atticus
Hasbunallahu wa ni‘mal wakeel.
Allah is Sufficient for us, and He is the Best Disposer of affairs. (Quran 3:173)
“Fall 7 times. Get up 8.” – Japanese Proverb
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