I tried to come out on June 21, 2019.

But I never published this post. I'm so out now, it feels ridiculous that I hesitated. But also, I see you Roni. It was really hard. You were badly hurt. Here it is, what I wish you felt safe posting 7 years ago. Written 6/21/2019 at 5:45pm.

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I never really had plans of coming out, per se.

As I sit here, trying to word this, thinking about who might read it, thinking about how to explain it, deciding how much to write about, I freeze. The sheer big-ness of it all is too much for me. I hear everyone's opinion at once. I hear all the clicks away, the disgust, the eye rolling, my own self judgement both loudest of all and feeding the rest.

I know how to be official and give a comfortable appearance to everyone. There are many who have done it, I can even cut and paste to a degree, but you know what? Nah. Because the truth is, it's hard. I won't pretend it's not. I worked for over a decade to be accepted by a group of people only to throw it all away. I can do it, though. Because I have a better understanding of how little that acceptance is really worth.

And also, how great are worth the friends that keep me.

I've been divorced for a bit now, and I'm finally trying to clean out the house. I'll be throwing out a ton of stuff, like old toys and things I don't use anymore. It'll be a nice purge, because when I'm done, I'll see just what I'm left with and know just where to start from.

Who am I?

A frum visitor to queer spaces and a queer visitor to frum spaces, fitting in slightly everywhere and mostly nowhere writes about how all this plus 4 young kids make basically everything weird.

30-something and divorced, I write from contradicting perspectives and endeavors to communicate my existence, as well as share my experiences raising a person with a disability.

I'm a mom in NJ and a bachelor in Brooklyn. Well, sorta this kinda that...

May Hashem bless you with perfect abundance in all things,
RDW

Hi, I'm Roni and I'm a love addict. I think. I'm pretty sure. Maybe also a sex addict.

Has it really been 6 years since I typed into my digital journal?

I’m glad to say, at least I wrote - hand wrote - in physical journals. One of which CZ gave me. Classy leather… with my initials.

She had great taste. I ended our relationship in September of 2024. I dated for a while since then - badly. I still am. It’s awful in many ways, and I’m trying to come to terms that I’m a love addict. I’ve gone to meetings for about 2 weeks now… There are so many, each with a different focus, and different demographic as well.

“LAA Daily zoom group for stepwork”

“SLAA LGBTQIA+ group”

“SLAA Women and Nonbinary daily Toplines group”

What the fuck are toplines, I thought.

“LAA Women only whatsapp group” where, in searching for a sponsor, members repeatedly point out they are “heterosexual”, which I can’t help but feel is subtle way of trying to say “no dykes” ← But then - is that just what I think because I’m a love addict?

Everyone keeps wanting everyone to go to meetings. So I go, because I want to be good at this. I want to fix myself. Oh wait - I can’t fix myself. A higher power has to do that.

But It can’t be the same higher power that made sure my son would never walk.

And it can’t be the higher power that waited until I had cancer before giving me some semblance of self emotional awareness.

And it can’t be the higher power that fucks me over with said cancer again, and again, and again.

I know that higher power very well. For 10 plus years, I have prayed to him in open abundance. I have given him my very essence of being. I have turned all will towards him. I have done all that he asked of me through every vessel. I joined positive thinking visualization groups focusing on his presence in our life and the abundance he can - and will, of course - pour into us. I did ALL THE THINGS. I saw his miracles in every breath I took - because there were no open miracles to see. Not even the hidden miracle of being one of the 999 mothers out of 1000 who had a pregnancy without an NTD. That was low hanging fruit, god. Come on.

To be fair, I’m proud of the person I’ve become thanks to my son’s birth. I think more critically now. I see social constructs better now. And part of that is realizing the power that rests in myself - that reliance on god was a fool’s way out and putting my trust in him was a mistake.

I also know my ex very well. For five plus years, I have told her I loved her. I put her first. I did all she asked of me. I gave to her as much as I had. I bought a home for us, believing if I just gave, I’d also receive. I did ALL THE THINGS. But there was nothing to see except my halting faith, stuck in time, frozen right before a precipice like I can’t move; “don’t move, it will happen” stuck on repeat. But she couldn’t even spend summers with me. That was low hanging fruit, CZ. Come on.

How do I have faith in a higher power when he was just one of my exes.

So now. After one decade lost, the next decade in  god-dysfunction, and over 5 years with a breadcrumber, I’m supposed to form a higher power. I feel like others are starting from zero and I’m starting from negative one hundred. I really don’t know what to do.

cuts

I wrote this on Nov 23, 2020. For some reason,  I cut these paragraphs from what I did eventually post. But it's 6 years later and I want to tell my 40 year old self that all of you deserves to be seen. It's ok. Your words are important. I love you.

If you don't want reconstruction, you don't need a plastic surgeon, because obviously you don't care what you look like.

If you can't work, you can't pay your insurance premium, and if you can't offer us money, there's no point to you anyway.

If you have cancer, a nice popular one, you can sign up to be a cog in our medical machine - as we need cogs like you, and we will use you, for research, until you die.

I hate that I let it happen and I hate that there was no one around me to teach me otherwise. I hate that I was alone for so long with feelings I couldn't name, so couldn't recognize, that my path is paved in loneliness, and it will be with me, no matter where I walk.

Even still, I'm never seen. Only this shell is seen, as a tool to function in society and navigate its expectations. I estimate 90% of my resources going into this shell: My presentation. My image, and "the life I live to present to the world." I am very angry about wasting so much of me. My life, my youth, my relationships, focused on this idol worship.