• Mathura Hawley

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To marry someone is the biggest commitment to securing this life you can make, or that’s how I naively understood it. So when he packed up and left seventeen weeks later for no good reason other than he wanted to, it shattered my belief that anything was real, that any word uttered by anyone was true, or that anyone actually cared about anyone other than themselves. "

I look around the F train car, at the many faces of strangers in wet boots and heavy coats, some still with snow on their shoulders. For four years I felt like one of them because I had a partner and dog and home to return to each night, someone to text about my day, and weekend plans in the making. I worked hard to maintain this life, and it filled in that empty space where other people have parents to check on or complain about, children to pick up from school, or siblings with whom to share new experiences. I have none of those things, and for too many years. To marry someone is the biggest commitment to securing this life you can make, or that’s how I naively understood it. So when he packed up and left seventeen weeks later for no good reason other than he wanted to, it shattered my belief that anything was real, that any word uttered by anyone was true, or that anyone actually cared about anyone other than themselves. I also live in a city of ambition, which draws self-centered people who want to make it big or at least have a chance to. Why else would we live in tight quarters, barely make enough to own anything, commute packed together like sardines, and put ourselves in the ultimate shooting range of terrorism. I am no longer one of those people. I’m not sure I ever was, except I had something to prove by getting out of my small town and the fight that was put into me by childhood abuse. When I thought I had found someone who wanted to be with only me, something changed. I began to believe I was a part of the life that always seemed to go on around me. When he decided he wanted something else and left with no concern for me, or how much of my hard work I had shared with him, it was a reminder of where I live and that I don’t belong here. I provided food and shelter while he decided what he wanted next, and I was humored to keep me happy while that happened. In other words, I was used. To get past that trauma, to work backwards and forwards over four years of lies that I had used to build my self worth and realize none of it was real, has set me back so many years in so many ways, that I don’t know where to begin again. But I am beginning to accept it is not in New York. It feels like prison here now, and the people I am meeting from a planet I don’t want to be on, or no longer relate to. After what I have been through over the last couple years, I am terrified of another change. And yet I think Krishna has been preparing me for what is to come, and that change will probably save my life, or put some purpose in it. Because right now it has almost none. I get up, go to work, come home to Luke, go to bed and repeat over and over. There is no one to make plans with, no texts during the day, and no baby on the way. I got married 18 months ago, with deep love in my heart, and this is where I am now. What do I believe in? And what is next?


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Mathura hosts an LGTBQ+ Podcast featuring guests who've been through some shit 

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