These occurrences happen quite often.

Things start going wrong one after the other. I get flustered and overwhelmed. Even angry. Mostly at myself and then anyone around for not really getting what I’m going through.

My sensors are at an overload. And the more I have to rush to make a decision just sends me to a breaking point.

And I wonder if I could explain the way I feel and if they would understand. I wondered if it would be so simple.

I wondered if I could just say out loud I don’t feel loved enough today and it would be received with love and adoration. I wondered if things would be so simple.

Deep down I knew they wouldn’t be. Deep down I knew I wasn’t simple. My issues weren’t either. No therapist has been able to really tackle them so I roam around half undone.

But out of everything the only and I mean the only thing that really stings to my core is feeling alone. Feeling alone when I’m alone is okay. But feeling alone around others. Feeling like I’m on my own because they have close to no idea what’s going on inside me, because even if I explain it won’t come out right or they won’t even get it right. That just kills me. Having to live in this chaos alone.

Having no one to just like know when I’m having a panic attack and to just reassure me. I expect too much of others even the little times that I do.

And that certainly didn’t end there. I was a monster of my own making.

She had to come and say one thing, in the wrong tone and I lost the last nerve I was holding onto. It was unfortunate timing at best. I couldn’t stop myself. I was too angry. At everything and everyone. But mostly at myself.

Even after I’d calmed down and thrown everything that I saw, I’m glad I stopped and hesitated at my laptop; I certainly couldn’t afford to break it. All my candles had an unfortunate ending. Some survived, but barely; the rest were glass-torn wax.

How is it that I’m getting more and more messed up every day? I thought I was healing.

I can’t even handle the aftermath. I can’t handle being that terrifying to people I love and am trying to be good to. My words scream as if the world is deaf. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m doing it. My feelings just take ugly turns, and I’m enslaved to them.

How did I become so scary? How did I become so heartless and cold? Tears don’t even last that long anymore. I need help.

It’s been hours. I’m still angry. I’ve even showered.

Having to clear the scene of a blowout always feels like I’m cleaning my own murder scene. I feel like the worst person ever. Maybe because I keep killing pieces of myself every time I blow up.

Do I relive this and try to understand how I got here? How I felt so normal yesterday and how I feel completely insane today.

Was it the movie I watched last night? It’s still running in the back of my mind. I never realized substance abuse was a trigger. But seeing the withdrawals and the aftermath of it made me relate to it a little even though my experiences were so different.

But it wouldn’t be wrong to say drug abuse did certainly have a huge impact on how my life eventually took turns for the worst. It drained my mental health. It drained me even more having to deal with it all myself. Maybe I don’t actively remember how hard it was for me. And now I do.

This was just a series of things gone wrong. But they were so little frustrations that turned into a massive blow-up.

How do I learn from this? How do I seek help?

Yesterday turned out to be quite the rollercoaster and an adventure. One I will remember for a long time. 

This has to be the worst part. I had plans last night and got this insane headache where I couldn’t even open my eyes, so I had to cancel and rest. Now I’m awake early in the morning, starving, with no food at home. And no one I could ring up to have breakfast with because obviously everyone’s still sleeping, and of course I’ve cut my circle to a little zero, so I don’t have many options. So do I go alone? I don’t feel like going alone. But I am starving. This is so sad.

Being sick and alone is the absolute worst thing. But it’s really my fault; I don’t like when people nurture either unless I allow them to. A woman’s troubles between wanting to be left alone and being really left alone.

Oh well. Fuck. 

But let’s contemplate them while I stay in bed until it’s 7.

Meanwhile, here’s a message to those who read my blog: thank you for reading it. I wouldn’t know why you read it, but I would hope that it’s because you relate to it on some level, and if I’m able to articulate my experiences into words in a way that allows you to understand it better, it means the world to me. I might not respond to every message you send, but I do see them, and it warms my heart. 

On that note, I’d also like to note that it’s not sympathy or pity that I seek, though I do understand how sad and blue most of what I write is. The truth is, I’m just a melancholic person, and I’m able to write better from my sadness, which is easier to channel as I’ve been sad most of my life, so that’s where the inspiration comes from.

And I write as a way of coping; I’ve done it for years, and now it’s become systematic therapy.

Thank you for reading; it means the world to me. 

Ok, so food wins, and I’m off. 🤍

Nearly half the year has gone and I think I’ve hit a writers block. I think I’ve used all my words on assignments and articles and I have nothing left for here.

Well, still sick, still pretty lonely. But okay too. Life just will never be what you want it to be. Stop chasing the wrong people. 

I decided to not go anywhere this Eid so I can save up and travel end of the year. But I think I’ll plan the next Eid trip, I can’t stay at home pitying myself next eid. And that is in June so we’ve got time.

I want to start working on my assignment but the word limit seems to have been left out by my lecturer so I will probably use that as an excuse to delay getting started on it and see what else I can do with my life.

I hope everyone’s having fun, and are happy and are surrounded by their loved ones.

Hello, it’s been forever. 16 days of no reflection but being busy with what life has to offer. I guess I didn’t have much to say. Anything I’ve been feeling, I’ve been trying my hardest to push it down because there’s no good for my feelings up here. 

It’s Eid today, and I’ve not seen another human for nearly 30 hours. I’ve been sick, lonely, and a bit sad. Eid Mubarak tho.

I heard today that when you experience trauma, you are stuck at the age when it occurred to you until you accept and deal with it.

Will that explain why I’ve been feeling or acting like a 14 year old girl during my latest 20s and earliest 30s? I’ve never felt like a little girl until now. Have I really not matured?

What about us, then? The ones that never fit it—the ones that carry too much of their sadness in their hearts and minds— What about us?

We will never be understood. We will never be loved right because no one will ever know how to. 

I don’t know why I break things. Nothing hurts me more than being left alone when Im in pieces. It spirals to a full breakdown, and then I channel that anger and sadness into a physical commotion. It’s a way of staying in control when I feel like I’m losing it. 

Nothing makes sense. I’m tired of figuring this life out. Maybe I’ve lost. 

I’m tired of fighting for your love. 

While others are new beginnings, some mornings are no different than others. Today seems fairly usual, but has the potential to be a new leaf in turning. I haven’t slept. My sleep cycle has been a mess, as usual. Living alone has been a disaster. I’ll rot away without supervision. I’ve had zero or even less motivation the past few days. I have failed to see a point to this life. Yet I wake up day after day, even if it’s at six in the evening, hoping it’ll be different. I couldn’t keep missing work any longer. So here I am, doing what I’m supposed to do. I wish I liked the life I live. And I wish I liked myself a bit more most days.

I’ve also been playing a lot of scrabble on my phone, and like anything, I got obsessed with it and started playing too many matches and overwhelmed myself. Sounds about right. That’s just what I do with everything. I ruin them.

This Ramadan is weird. My heart doesn’t seem to be in it, no matter how hard I try. Which makes me question myself even more: am I truly a lost cause?

Today is day 93. My birthday is 9.3.93. I’ll never know how my parents made that happen or how such a cute coincidence as this one fell on me. Maybe I was lucky until I was born, and then everything went wrong.

My life is surrounded by walls I built to keep people out, and now I’m the one feeling trapped inside them.

I’m miserable. I look nothing like it. But I am. I’m living from day to day, chasing a high that perhaps I will never feel again.

Life feels lived, and this chapter has nothing interesting about it. Same old patterns of done stories. 

But I am afraid of death.

Do you know why it hurt so much?

Because by the time I met you, life had taken multiple ugly turns on me. And by then, I was tired of being strong. I was tired of all the “you’ll be fine”, “you got this”.

For once I just wanted someone to say to me, “I got you” and mean it.

I’m so tired. My cup is empty. I have nothing left to give, to live for. No matter what I do, life is consistent at letting me down. I question why I’m wound up here time after time. And I tell myself it’s my choices that lead me here and when I think back I see how I chose the best I could with what I knew and still I suffer and I feel that it’s unfair to suffer forever.

But if to suffer is what I’m meant to do then I must just do that I guess. Because we are all given this one life, and no matter what colors it entail, we must give it our best shot. Constantly losing hoping I’ll win just once. It’s a never ending gamble.

Am I the problem? Is my life the result of my own weaving? Could I do better? Could I untangle all my thoughts and re wire them? Could I let go of all my traumas and forget all my triggers?

Preach self love must be the most toxic thing when life around you treats you so ugly.

As a woman, I’ve struggled with my identity after it was smeared so badly that I couldn’t even love myself anymore. Despite my efforts to love myself and encourage others to do the same, they only let me down. It’s hard to keep loving yourself when others don’t support it, and life can be lonely when you’re meant to walk it with others.

One thing that’s helped me explore my personality traits and find meaning in my life is astrology. I don’t worship it, but I believe that constellations can reveal traits and qualities you didn’t even know you had. However, there’s one thing that’s messed me up: my rapist shares the same birthday as me.

Ever since, birthdays have been more than just a celebration. They’re a reminder of everything I’ve been through, and a day where I’m grateful to be alive despite the times I’ve considered giving up. Turning 30 was supposed to be a big deal, but it was underwhelming and disappointing. I don’t expect much from the world, but I thought birthdays were an exception. They aren’t.

It’s easy to feel like no one cares about you as much as you do, but that doesn’t mean you should stop loving and taking care of yourself. You are worthy of love and support, even if others don’t always see it. And if they don’t see it, they aren’t the ones right.