I Know What It’s Like — Yet, I’ve Made It Out Alive

“Pull me close, I feel the water reach around my neck. Don’t let go just show me that there’s better days ahead. Make me see how I’m only half the person I should be. Pull me close set me free from this gravity” — Gravity, Wage War

September 15th, 2021:

A day I hope to ever forget. God, I can’t believe it was almost a year ago but it unfortunately happened. That evening, something extremely traumatic happened to me. Everything happened online.

No, nudes were not leaked. However, the way I see it — something much worse had happened. Or, you could say it was equally as bad. I had a severe panic attack, combined with a full-blown anxiety attack, happen that night.

To say I thought my life was over is an understatement, because I wanted a way out. I actually thought of committing suicide. At that very moment, all I wanted to do was die. I didn’t want to wake up the next morning. I didn’t want to leave my house. I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want to talk to anybody, except to my therapist. Then again, did I have the money to continue therapy? Well, I had to see if family was going to help fund that. Or, worse yet. Revert to something even worse, so to forget that everything had happened. For example, find myself a sugar daddy. Wait, hell no. Sure, I want to fucking forget that what happened had fucking happened and ruined me at this very moment. But, then again, I didn’t earn two college degrees to do that. Yet, I still told myself how stupid I was because I couldn’t believe what I had just fallen for.

The night isn’t over. People call me. People message me. They all wonder what had happened to my social media account and if I am okay. The only ones who do that, however, are the ones who truly know who I am. They’re also the only ones who happen to care about me. They also happen to be on my side. In addition, I send an automated message to everyone to report everything so not to assume or believe I am some sort of fraud. But, you know what the fucked up part is?

I get cyber bullied. I get accused. I get mistreated online by others. Including strangers. People I do not even fucking know. I do everything in my might to get everything back.

And…nothing. The cops. The bank. My long-gone social media account. Absolutely nothing.

On that specific night, before succumbing to sleep, I tell myself in my head, “Dear God, if this is a sign telling me it is time for me to go, then please let that be. I can no longer survive this pain and misery anymore. I’ve had enough. More than enough. Just take me out, already. I can’t take this, do this, or face any of this any fucking more.”

This isn’t how I wanted to be remembered. This isn’t what I wanted to see happen. I truly thought of ways of taking myself out — jumping off the canal and drowning, maybe overdosing on my meds, or crashing into something whilst driving.

The truth of the matter is I simply had more than enough of everything. I don’t want to play the victim here, but life had become completely unkind to me and it didn’t seem it was going to get any better.

All I wanted to do was…die.

“I said it’s enough. I begged and I ran in circles. I climbed to the sun and fell in a concrete jungle. I said it’s done. You never know if you’ll get what you wish for. I climbed to the sun. And I fell, I fell in a concrete jungle” — Concrete Jungle, Bad Omens

Nobody knows what it’s like.

Well, after observing the people I surround myself with, the majority of them truly do not seem to know or understand what it’s really fucking like.

Nobody knows what it’s like…

To be sexually coerced by an ex-boyfriend who not only tells you Palestinians never existed, but one who also causes you to gravely regret being with him after how much he pressured and mistreated you.

To finally get a proper job after two years, let alone to then be laid off almost seven months later and wonder if there will ever be a career.

To see all your siblings have jobs and careers, and see them make a lot more money than you. Oh, and that was all during COVID. My siblings managed to get vehicles under their names, travel with their own money, and not worry about what was going to come next.

To get started onto the boat of freelancing and not make as much money as you thought you would. To even be taken advantage of during trial sessions, to get judged afterwards for them, and to get judged even more so afterwards because you got lost someplace to then be told, “Oh, just so you know, time is money. You clearly don’t respect that.” Bitch, fuck off and find someone or go someplace else. You clearly do not understand where I am coming from or what I am dealing with.

To be told you’re lazy, even when you’re working your ass off. Why don’t I mention a job I had back in Ramadan of 2021? Right after my dog had passed away, I was told I had to be let go but then was promised of being brought back a few months later for a different role instead. Guess what? They lied. Incompetent, soulless cunts.

To do a different role for a lesser salary during the summer months of 2021, in the hopes I can save up some money and finally travel again. Staying so optimistic, with the hopes that I’ll be able to travel during the winter months. Before 2022 hits. I worked nine hours a day, six days a week for only two months. All the fun plans I had, such as to finally get away from here and breathe…gone.

To have the worst night of your life happen, which further causes everything to dissipate for the rest of the year. September 2021 comes along and that’s when all hell breaks loose. The small sum of money I had made and saved up. Stolen from me. My social media account. Completely hacked. I ask for help, but I get cyber bullied instead, mocked at, and scolded. Including from complete strangers. People I do not fucking know. I feel extremely violated, vulnerable, traumatized, weak, and stupid. No one is there to help me, except for my family. However, I still feel as if I have completely lost everything. And, when I mean everything, I mean everything.

To be told, “If you didn’t travel, then that’s on you.” Are you fucking kidding me, right now? It’s not only a nice thing to say, but people who have it easy tend to say something like that too. Those who are privileged like no other. Spoon fed like no other. Those who have EVERYTHING handed to them.

To be told by someone, “Hey, you I can help you. And, I really want to.” Okay, great. What’s in it for me? “On my condition, though. You send me videos of yourself.” Are you for real? I didn’t get two college degrees to do prostitute-like work.

To not have been on a plane or travel someplace for three years. I went away to London and was finally able to breathe again. However, I was then told, “That’s it? You were gone for such a short time!” Why don’t you fuck off? Because, eventually, I am sure I will be able to go away for more than two weeks to even better destinations in the future. Not like I’m a schoolteacher who can go away for two to three months every damn summer.

To have family help you out with your so-called birthday gift. Because it had been three damn fucking years. And, I had more than enough. More than enough from shame. More than enough from guilt. More than enough from embarrassment. More than enough from sadness. More than enough from despair. More than enough from being stuck. From feeling stuck. More than enough from pain.

I had gotten incredibly sick and tired of pain.

I remembered when 2022 finally rolled in. I seemed to have developed a somewhat pessimistic outlook on life. Perhaps, it’s because I sort of hit rock bottom. The good news is I was in perfect health. I still am. The only good thing that happened was I never caught COVID. But, after all this, I would’ve rather been gang raped instead.

Alright, that sounded a little too intense. I know. But, if you’re reading this, if you’d experienced what I went through, you also probably would’ve rather wished you’d been gang raped instead.

Sure, shit happens. But, this was absolutely horrible. In particular, the incident in September 2021, combined with everything else, had haunted me for the longest time. It was absolutely traumatic. My online privacy was completely violated. This was not only an invasion of privacy, but also something that turned into a huge showcase of embarrassment. Hence, why I was mocked for it. Oh, and it is why I left a powerlifting community. I won’t mention names, but a few there mocked me for it and such. The same goes with other people who became skeptical of me. Specifically, those who never cared about me or even knew the real me.

I still wanted to die, though. I had no idea how I was going to recover or move on from all of this. I had to acknowledge that my thought of dying was my way of trying to cope with and escape life’s harshest truths. It was also my way of avoiding the exposures and conversations I would like to have had. But, how on earth was I going to let go of what had happened? Of everything that had happened? This was the worst experience I had ever faced throughout my entire life, and I had no idea whether or not it would ever stop haunting me.

To 2020 and 2021…fuck you. Fuck the both of y’all.

Did I recover from all of this? Did I recover everything?

Well, not entirely.

I gave the incident too much value. I probably shouldn’t have, but I did my best with everything.

For example, I went to the cops several times because I put my trust into them to fully take care of all of this. However, one of the heads of the criminal investigation department was nice enough to sort of help me out — until, he took me out on a weekend date and proceeded to illegally attempt to have sex with me.

Was this some twisted abuse of power? Was some sort of sick karma trying to get to me? Does karma even work or fucking exist, for that matter?

I tried EVERYTHING.

Lo and behold, more incidents came into place after this. Both negative and positive.

I quit the fitness industry. It mentally drained me and I could no longer stand the people I had worked with. Most of them had been horrible to me, and I clearly did not deserve that.

I crossed paths with people I thought were my friends, but were not.

I joined Strongman. As a matter of fact, changing gyms was actually what had also saved me. The environment was much healthier and more grounded.

A friend of mine reached out to me and added me to a group on Discord.

In addition to text-based therapy, that is probably what saved me the most. I crossed paths with some of the best people — who I am now grateful to refer to as some of my closest friends.

You know what’s the most important part of all this, though? I got through most of it myself.

Sure, with a little help from my friends, I managed to mentally get better, let go of all that happened, and no longer wish for death anymore.

At the end of it all, I just decided to look up and say, “So, what? Is that all you got on me, life?”

Yeah, I didn’t travel for three fucking years. So, what?

I lost my job. So, what? And, on top of that, I became broke as balls and had nowhere to turn to except for my family. All within the ages of twenty-six and twenty-seven.

My previous social media account was completely hacked and used to humiliate me, and make me look like a fool — resulting in several people mocking me and cyber bullying me. So, what? What does that fucking matter?

I went through hell and back. My plans all went to bust. So, fucking what?

What matters is I am still alive.

Luckily, my situation is a whole lot better now. Although it is, my work still isn’t done. I still have to work towards not being or feeling permanently haunted by what happened in 2020 and 2021. Of not assuming my life isn’t as “blessed” as others. And, to subtly not give a fuck about what happened.

I just really hope that my upcoming years will be a whole lot better than 2020 and 2021 combined. That I will have more fulfilling adventures abroad. That I will be financially independent than ever before. That I will live the best life, yet. And, leave all the pain and suffering behind. Simply put.