Community care?

It depends what you need it for

Photo by youssef naddam on Unsplash

This is another one of those WhatsApp notes that was on a group that deserves to be seen. Published with permission from author.

By RS

A conglomeration of fiction and personal experiences, not from the I (shower thoughts.)

She became an adult as an afterthought. Her life has more or less been decided for her. She was thrown cookie crumbs as 'choices'. She had no definition to that which she felt inside. She survived on autopilot... she faked a smile and embraced it as 'life'. She was an afterthought; a tiny cog in a grand pipe dream.

She suffered in that delusion, but since she couldn't reason it away she silenced the parts in her that dared state 'opinions'. The guilt piled on; she was never good enough, never grown up enough.

Her body rebelled. She ran for her life. She chased awareness, and found some. She tried to ground herself through movement but found peace elusive. Still, she ran some more.

She was told she had to believe in the greater good, that depression is a disease in and of itself with no rhyme or reason, she was told her thinking runs counter to reality (whose?)

She tried to carve a life out of herself. Learnt to toe the lines again while expressing herself in a way that personified her. She embraced her 5 minutes doses of freedom only to be thrown back to the harsh reality, tied down by responsibility and prior choices.

Then one day, it all falls apart. She's found out. The echelon of society that sought to 'protect' her if only she drank the coolaid and quieted her thoughts threaten to throw her away while forcibly absolving her of the reason she fought to stay to begin with.

First they'll take her children, then her financial freedom, and with it her emotional wellbeing. All for the greater good.

After fighting for hours and days, many sleepless nights of battling the unknown she decides her fate... and she jumps.

The leaders freak out. That can't be the case. A society as safe as ours? One doesn't jump. And so, it's branded a heart attack. Her heart did stop after all. Her brain smashed to pieces, but let's not mention that.

She's a young mom... she struggled... she was sick... she died. Lets set the family up again. Let's show them all what we really stand for. How humane we are as a society.

Time doesn't stop. Her moment is forgotten. Her children grow up with an empty ache in their hearts. They don't understand why their mom is gone.

Then one day... they read her journal. And see in chronological order what really transpired. And they know... that they could never forgive the illusion they were fed. They vow to not perpetuate the abuse. They carve their own path, one they perceive as safe. Will they be able to break out of it? Will they find the peace their mom sought?

The author then followed up with this additional message:

The point was (for those who need that explanation...) I always claimed chaseedishtown is the place to be if you’re sick. There are a million different organizations to cater to various needs while navigating situations like these. But if the disease is in the thought process; the questioning... then all hell breaks loose, and you better have a plan for the entire community will pounce until ur back in line or out- even dead. The same askunim that are there to help you through the pains of literally anything else will push you over the edge if you dare think outside the box.

They wouldn't think twice if the casualties are real, and clean up by negating it in the first place; then 'helping' the family. After all, all those who go are mentally unstable/losers/junkies/unfit to parent etc.

I find the hypocrisy jarring.

The goal of this publication is to increase dialogue, empathy, and understanding between the frum and “OTD” or anywhere-in-between communities. If you’d like to submit any kind of art or writing you can email healthierchassidus@gmail.com.

Libby