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.

How does it feel to know your demons are your creations?

I haven’t felt like doing anything but staying in bed wasting meaningless time doing absolutely nothing, despite having things to get done.

Strangers are kinder than my own.

I’ve recently had the pleasure of knowing two types of people.

Weighing in both of their negative features. Not that they don’t have any good in them, they do. But sometimes it gets lost along the way.

Some go out of their way to hurt people. I will never understand why. It just feels petty. But they are who they are and proud of it, so good for them in the end.

And then, the other, who had no one else at her lowest yet, the minute she found her way back to herself, went back to being the bitch we all formed a love-hate relationship with.

And the lesson in all of this is that no one is ever really genuine. They always have something they need from you. And when your cup is empty, you’re useless to them.

I hate losing people. But sometimes I can’t help but.

I’ve been so hurt by people and their actions that now when I feel hurt, I can’t look at them the same way. Because no one bothers to reassure me or even acknowledge their part in it. And most are hugely unaware too.

Sometimes in life, you come across these once in a lifetime friendships. But then they sleep with your boyfriend, and you lose them forever, and friendships like those never come again. The best and the worst truly.

They said it would be good to have boundaries. But what they didn’t tell you was that you’d isolate yourself from everyone.