• Mathura Hawley


Updated: Aug 2, 2021

My heart got mugged and beaten senseless last year by a narcissist who had worn me down to a shadow of myself. So it learned how to fight."

Doctor gloom-and-doom put his iPad down on the table and a slight smile crossed his tight lips. Through the fog that clouded my senses, put there by my fear of an unknown future, and remembering the last news he gave me before I left the hospital: “You may have 5 to 10 years of life left with this,” I tensed for his words. He paused. “You’re doing much better than expected,” he said cautiously, “I think you have a really good chance of an almost full recovery.” He patted my shoulder and left his hand there for a moment. “Go slowly,” he said and walked out. I put on my clothes, went into the sterile white rest room, locked the door, slid down to the floor, and cried. So here I am. My heart got mugged and beaten senseless last year by a narcissist who had worn me down to a shadow of myself. So it learned how to fight. It pumped me awake when I didn’t want to wake up anymore, it took me to the gym every morning when I had to rebuild my self-worth from scratch. It worked stressful week after week when my job and industry were in crisis. It gave a dog who was traumatized by sudden loneliness a good life of exercise and comfort, and in return received all of his silly, wonderful love and affection. My heart worked way too hard and way too long last year to get me through and keep me going and forward, as I was not just surviving, I chose to learn as well. Each Instagram post documented a broken heart in a broken person repairing, struggling, rising, tripping and searching. That is a lot to ask of a heart, and at the end of the year, it wanted a vacation. So it took one at NYU Cardiology, on Valentine’s Day. Why shouldn’t it? It had been terrorized, abused and abandoned, and was peddling a hundred miles an hour up a hill trying to get as far away from that as possible. It deserved a parade in an ambulance through traffic and the full attention of nurses, doctors and friends, cards and flowers. It wanted recognition. So I will honor it now, the way that the person I married promised to do but, of course, never meant a word of it. It’s alright, I’ve got this. Here we go: Thank you all for coming. I, Mathura, vow to love, honor and protect my heart, in sickness and in health, for all the days of my life, until death do us part. Hare Krishna. I do.

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

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