It’s 3am, Motzei shabbos, after Purim.
I’m sitting and trying to process the last 48 hours.
So much to say.
So much to write.
I feel compelled to write on behalf of myself but more so on behalf of the many people I’ve spoken to and supported before and on Purim.

Purim is beautiful. It’s a day so full of joy and excitement. The unbelievably joyous atmosphere permeates through the walls of every Jewish home, every shul, ever passing car along with the most creative and fun costumes!

Purim is a day when we let go and let loose of our pains, stresses and worries.
To most that is.
We can drink away our pain but not all can.
We can block it all away, but not all can.
We can pretend to be happy and full of life, but not all can.

For myself and the many countless others who’ve been hurt, broken and abused in the most horrific of ways, our pain is not “drinkable”, or “bury-able”. The very thin mask we’d wear on Purim isn’t nearly strong enough to cover our deep inner wounds, bleeding souls and broken hearts.

I’ve had a complex surgery several weeks ago. It stopped me from doing many household and work chores. It was all so  simple and easy. I physically wasn’t able to do it regardless of how much effort I put in.
There were no expectations.
No disappointments.
No judgements of “just get over it”.

I couldn’t help but think “if only”.

If only mental health would be on the same caliber as physical health.
If only fighting and winning an intense suicidal battle would be celebrated in the same ways as fighting a physical illness.
If only, we can be open in regard to shul, a wedding, a family simcha or party and simply say, I have too much trauma to attend for now and that would be considered an acceptable response.
If only, people would realize the non human amount of strength it takes to get up each and every morning.
If only, people would realize how hard it is to show up at work after yet another sleepless night, another panic attack or a brutal trauma flashback.
If only, people would know the amount of energy, bravery and courage it takes to face your worst inner demons every week at therapy.

The world would look so different.
My world and the worlds’ of so many others of who’m I’ve spoken to would look different.
Purim would’ve looked so different.
I can’t begin to describe the enormous feelings of absolute panic and anxiety Purim brings on to so so many.
It’s a day of intense joy to some but a day of the most horrific and awful pain to others.
The direct contrast, staring us in the face at every turn is so incredibly painful. It’s as though we’re living in a different world while desperately trying to remain on this planet for our families.
That painful contrast makes us feel so incredibly lonely.

Like I always say, I’m not angry nor am I bitter. It’s not a place I naturally go to.
I’m just hurting.
Hurting for myself and hurting for the many hundreds and thousands of people out there who by no fault of their own, are fighting the most intense and dangerous battles, all alone.
Without any backup or support.
All while being expected to perform as everyone else.

If you know someone like this, please know they’re hidden warriors. They have hidden strengths that not many possess. They would do absolutely anything to be like you and be more “normal”. They try, fight and work to get there and hopefully they will, but until then, please go that extra mile to send the text, give that wave and support them in any way you can.

If you’re the one who struggled through Purim and will once again struggle through pesach, my soul bleeds for you!
I relate to every ounce of pain you’re feeling!
I’m sorry for you!
I feel for you!
I have the absolute utmost respect for you!
I admire you!
I know how much therapy it took just to get through Purim!
I know how deeply the contrast cut into your soul!
I know of the tears you’ve shed over the last few days!
I know the battle of not looking at everyone’s WhatsApp status and pictures,

Lastly, please know, you’re not alone!
Although we’ve never met, I’m right there along with you, feeling our way through the dark tunnel. I do believe very strongly that we’ll see the light. I deeply believe in that and when we get there, I’ll be there right beside you to rejoice in our own victories!

The views expressed in this letter are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of YWN. Have an opinion you would like to share? Send it to us for review.