Forgotten Coffee

There’s something about my pre-glow-up life that I miss.

My teenage years formed an extremely cringeworthy period of my life. I was that shonen anime girl that pretended to hate romance and thought she was “different than other girls.” I hope you read that in a mocking voice, because you should.

What highlighted that awkward phase for me though, was that despite all of the junk food and the fat, and the all-round appearance that only mom would like, I had a heart that could be passionate. I looked forward to things, and laughed in an honestly that I so fiercely miss. I had friends that I loved, and actually found myself crushing on people, and invested so much interest in fictional characters.

While that gradually faded away, until not long ago I still savored the little pleasures of life when they presented themselves in a cup of coffee or a new outfit, or a beautiful, crisp morning. But I might’ve spoken something into existence. “It’s okay,” I would joke, “I don’t really mind, I’m dead inside anyway.”

And suddenly my laughter became completely void of truth, and I’m barely finding the will to live through my days, and the ever-present anxiety is still nagging, there goes what’s left of your life.

There’s so much ugliness in being this nonchalant. I’ve always found the word itself similar to ‘melancholy,’ and I ironically found myself slowly drowning in them both. I’m so painfully trapped far away from so many lives I want to live, and no amount of pretentious self-help will get me out of this. I’ve no room to love anymore, not people nor things. I can’t stand people, and I hate to be talked to, and am unreasonably angry at friends who vaguely feel like they’ve abandoned me. Even the sky that inspired in me an intense warmth that burst in writing, and the sea whose stories I loved, and my eternal muse, Earth, are all burning up and down around me, and I really couldn’t be bothered at all.

So here it is, my sadness in all of its glory, bared for the world to see.


*thank you all for the kind and thoughtful comments. I’ve decided to leave this post with none, though, because it sounded like I wrote it for attention, which I didn’t.

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Hearts in tribulations

I’ve been anxious for about as long as I remember.

I really have; and whether I owe it to my blood or to a wrecked gut-brain connection I don’t know.

At seven I was anxious about a war suddenly breaking, and at twelve about death, my own and others’. At twenty-three, I doubted that I’d ever be loved; I felt lacking and wasting away, always giving too little for the life flashing by. I felt unworthy and undeserving, and guilty about the blunt pain that had always been nagging.

These worries have been life-long companions, and they’ve aged me far beyond my years. They took away beauty when it presented itself, or my ability to see it, at least, and the joy of youth along with it. When you’re anxious, you’re just waiting for all your happiness to end.

“Weak,” people have called me, or “crybaby.” But as much as I’ve grown to hate being a crier, I know it’s a problem far beyond weakness. It’s the result of a heart worn out by worry for months and months, then shoved into a point of breaking.

In my 24 years, these fears were never realized. Hadn’t been, until last month.

It came as numbing bad news; it wasnt unexpected. I’m anxious, I’d dreaded it, but then it actually happened. I heard my pulse in my ears, and the muffled sobs of my aunt across the line. It had happened.

I’ve had my sorrows, as unworthy as I’ve felt of them, being blessed with more than I can thank for. But this one is a sharper pain, like shards of glass tearing at my insides. I cried more that I ever had, my tears streaming against my wavering will. I let them; it’d left no strength in me to fight.

It’s been a month now, and I think I’ve been learning to mend; to grow around it, to grow against it. They’d called me weak, but I’ve become the pillar, and the steadfastness of the big sister finally emerged. I’ve become one to be told the truth raw, as seemingly harsh as it could be, no longer sugar-coated, because maybe, I’m a little stronger than I’d expected.

In all honesty, I think could be a little proud of that. So bear it, heart; don’t fail me now. Don’t fail us now.

This is sorrow like I’ve never felt, but I have faith somehow, that happiness will follow, something so profound that it’ll piece it all back together. The trial has begun, so bear it, brittle heart of mine, bear it and brave the journey.

إن شاء الله.