Less Than Perfect

{4} Drowning in Darkness

Kanza Hadad

Laying in bed, the hours seemed to tick by, slowly like a river flowing through a small stream, a gentle sway in nature, silence echoing in the forest just waiting for a scream to splinter through, anticipating the danger. My stomach dropped, eyes wide open to the blank ceiling above me.

My limbs felt heavy as if I was made from stone. Every crack in my rigid posture was another flaw I had yet to conceal. Every moss-covered texture was another part of me that I'd forgotten. How was it possible to have lived into my adulthood and still feel like a stranger to myself?

I sat up, sighing. There's no point in sleeping now, might as well make another video.

The only issue was my brain was dead silent. All I wanted was some peace, some quiet, relaxing sleep to ease the stress of moving to another state on my own, yet my mind seemed to hate my idea and preferred to be buzzed with useless thoughts.

Moonlight seeped through the parted curtains, pure, iridescent rays draping over the boxes I forgot to unpack, molding to the harsh corner and bringing clarity to the unfamiliar. A chill ran down my spine, skin crawling. Reality sank into me, ripped into my thoughts, and all sense of light faded towards my silhouette.

I didn't want to let go of the life I had, but I didn't want to live it alone. I didn't want to stay in this dark room abandoned to my insecurities. Part of me itched to run away.

I already did run though.

Falling back on my bed, my arm fell over my eyes. What's wrong with me?

After leaving my hometown, escaping from painful memories, I managed to fall right back on what I ran away from. It was an ugly, terrifying truth for any woman to wake up one night and realize. Scratch that. It was a torture for any living soul to experience.

I was sad.

I could have laughed at myself. Sad didn't begin to cover the scars of my past, but it definitely held true to its meaning. I loved, and I lost. I wasn't a widow, but I would have been.

Perhaps it was the mercy of Allah to keep my engagement ring from ever touching my fingertips. Sometimes, I didn't understand how the timework of life existed, nor did I comprehend the clock that ran gears in my head, telling me I was too far behind, that I couldn't keep up with my friends.

How can I still compare myself to Amira or Tasneem?

They were married. Amira had her first child, would be applying to medical school In Shaa Allah (if God wills it), and was settling into her life with Damon with her family and brother by her side. Tasneem never moved out of this town, and married an affluent man that had diamonds at his fingertips, and she carried his baby in her womb.

It wasn't fair of me to be jealous or to compare myself to the blessings of their life, I knew that. However, I couldn't stop the toxicity that fueled my blood, that taunted my intentions. My faith felt weaker, detached from its roots. I knew that I was wrong.

My friends didn't achieve anything without their own set of tears, without their own storms. They struggled so much to find the one they loved, suffered many times to chase after their dreams. When everything fell into place, Allah still tested their faith, and every time He did, they tried their best to rely on their deen (religion).

I removed my arm, turning to the window again, and watching the moon stare down at me, guiding me with its light. My eyes wearily followed the trail of white, a pathway towards redemption, to my own salvation, and without a doubt the answer rested against the wall.

My prayer mat was there, and Allah was only a call away. In college, whenever Amira felt overwhelmed, she would stop everything to ask Allah for guidance, to focus on her spirituality. I admired her for it, and wished that I could one day hold that same faith.