Author: Nour Abdul Reda

BA in Journalism, MA in Communication Sciences. Writer, dreamer, peacemaker.
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Things from my notes

I find things sometimes in my notes. This is one of the things:

Maybe if we stayed here for a little while

Nights upon us, and there is not one star in the hollow bleak sky

Yet you can’t seem to focus on anything but it, the sky, whether it shows signs of rain

Maybe if you looked at me the way you looked at the sky and pinpointed the constellations

Maybe if you looked me

And noticed

Maybe then I can say I am happy

Maybe if it weren’t you that made me laugh for two hours at nothing in particular

If it weren’t you who listened to the story of my life and smiled at the details

If it weren’t you who got me yogurt and told me it tastes like all the bad things in the world

Maybe then that I can I finally tell you that I’m happy

Maybe then that I can tell you you’re mine

But how can I when you’re not?

How can I talk about you to my friends and let them share you with me?

Is it not sharing you with the sky you so dearly, not enough?

How can I simply tell them;

“Here he is, the almighty, smiling at me and making me happy”

They might want you to smile at them the way you smile at me

And that would kill me.

(I wonder how accurate this might still be)

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I’ve been skipping therapy.

I know I shouldn’t. I know that therapy isn’t for sad days and it’s the road to treatment, but I’ve been preferring the delusions of normality than having to revisit melancholy and feel sad and lonely again. I’m doing okay, let me stay okay for a while.

I tried something today. I did exactly what I usually do, or did before last week; I woke up with the same mentality, dressed up with the same mentality, took a taxi to work, renewed my work ID, sat at the same desk I’ve been sitting on for the past 6 months. I drank the same coffee and spoke out in the PSEA training and did the usual tasks and saw and jokes with the usual people, and it felt different.

Because the thing is, they are the same events, but I have a different mentality. I don’t see them behind the darkness; I didn’t feel like I’ve been carrying blazing coals on my chest all day, I didn’t feel the tremendous relief of freedom as I left work. Today, it was a typical day with a different feeling, a feeling of tranquil bliss.

I don’t know the reason behind the sudden change, or maybe I do, and I don’t want to admit it, but I know there’s something different; I know I’m different. And I’ve been skipping therapy.

I love my therapist and therapy, but they remind me of awful-and very recent times; they remind me of my weakness and my lowest moments and things I wouldn’t have confessed had I was as mentally stable as I am right now. And I’ve been skipping.

I’m going back next Monday, I promise. I know better than to neglect my mental health. I also have the exercises my counselor gave me, so I also need to go back to those, but for now, I actually don’t feel like an abomination; for now, let me be.

I keep wondering if it’s because of the many rests I’ve been taking lately that I am what I am now, that nothing-and no one-changed except that I’ve been acting like a normal human being and slacking.

I wonder if this is what I am now, or if all of this is just a temporary bliss, and I’ll be back to weeping in no time. But for now, I’m not even anxious about tomorrow! I’m living in ignorance, with my demons sleeping aside, and I’m still awake.

I’ve been skipping therapy, for my own sake, for my own state of stability and ignorance. I need to not be, just for now, just for a little more.

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It’s been a weird week.

I don’t think I can write about it yet, as I’m still in it, but I probably will tomorrow, or the day after, if I could understand it at least. Right now, I’m looking at a very pink sky, with parallel clouds that look like rays of sunshine.

Diana is cooking mjadra, and I can smell the onions being cooked, and I can hear Tarek mumbling alongside a song he doesn’t know. Right now, I’m contemplating between the feeling of content and the feeling of being soaking wet and sitting next to a fireplace.

It felt very bizarre, but I happened to have found Wonderful Life by Black this week, and it’s been on repeat ever since. I think I know it from before, but it never struck me as I never felt it as much as I do right now, sitting here, rocking the balcony swing, healthy and safe.

I hope you’re okay.

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I’m changing

The past week, I think I was floating. I’m not sure I can describe exactly what happened or what I’m feeling, which is why I couldn’t write all week, but it seems so odd that I need to put it out here somewhere.

I’m not sure if it’s because I took a week off the week before for the first time in forever, and it let me breathe and recharge and give the chemicals in my brain a chance to rest, or if I’m finally taking that step forward and getting closer to healing.

Everything and everyone’s still in their place; they’re still the same; I’m just seeing them differently. I am noticing people more than before, I’m seeing a certain somebody in a different light, and even though I absolutely do not want this, it’s still a nice feeling.

I’m slowly returning to preferring being alone with people, which means the voices aren’t as loud anymore, and I can now go back again to spending time alone without being scared of suffocating. I’m going back to relying less on people for comfort and relying more on my safe alone time.

I’m trying so hard to stay calm and not get agitated as easily, and I’m failing badly so many times, but I’m also succeeding a lot, and it makes me happy. Little progress, one at a time. I’m reappreciating the smalls things. I’m feeling a nice little shade of white, clarity, purity.

I mean, it’s about time, right? I’ve been in therapy for six months, with the first three months in extensive therapy, and I had my first psychological counseling session last week at work; I’m writing this blog and sharing it, spending more time with family and friends, working out my issues, reorganizing my life. I am trying so hard. So. Hard.

I’ve even regained weight, and a lot are complimenting me for it, that now I look much prettier than before. But this might also have to do with the fact that it’s colder and that my summer seasonal depression is slowly fading; I’m always more glowing during winter.

*me to me* see? I don’t only post sadness. I can appreciate the nice times too. *smiles awkwardly to myself*

For now, pray with me that our week turns out to be wonderful. After today’s major anxieties, please, please please let it be a peaceful and happy week for all of us.

Also, I just discovered this little peaceful song. It’s a cover for a famous cultural Algerian song, so you can listen to both, if you want. 🙂

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Anxiety dears

Leave. Don’t stay in your place and contemplate all the possible ways your bed can comfort you to death. You need to leave and be with people.

I know this is not what you want, what it’s telling you. I know it’s telling you that being with people is the worst thing you can do; it’s telling you that you are the safest if you stayed alone, in your bed, chair, in your place where no one can alleviate your fear and what it makes you feel.

This is not true.

When you’re alone, it’s where it can shine bright. Just like fungus, it needs darkness to grow and cling to your skin. It’s when you’re all alone that it’s the strongest; it can convince you that you’re the reason the world is so ugly and that it’s all your fault, everything’s all your fault. It can convince you that the minor setback you had is the biggest mistake in the world. It’ll feed on your fear, on your loneliness, on the fact that no one can help, no one is here to save you.

So leave. Get out of your bed, be with people. They can never hurt you the way it can; they can never do to you what it’s doing to you when you’re all alone drowning in your thoughts.

Be with people. Drink coffee with your mum and listen to her complain about your sister coming home late. Annoy your sister while she studies and talks to her about nonsense and listen to her complain about your mother complaining about her coming home late.

Or talk to her, if she understands, tell her how you’re feeling and what’s troubling you; it’s always best to let someone walk you through the problem, tell you that it’s not as big as you think it is. Let her tell you that it’ll be alright; let her give you solutions and reasons why you shouldn’t worry. Talk, acknowledge, feel the safety of the people around you.

Whatever you do, don’t stay in your place, don’t stay alone. Be with people, whoever they are. It can be the friends you love but didn’t have the energy to see, or the family gathering you were trying to avoid. Anything that makes you leave your bed. Anything but staying alone.

I don’t have great advice on anxiety, as I still can’t find my way out myself, but one thing I am more than sure of is that it is much more vicious when I’m alone. It feeds on my insecurities, and convinces me of the worst, and makes me believe that I should not leave my bed because leaving is unsafe, and that leaving would only make me feel weak and exposed. But it never is; being with people is always the better option, always better than staying alone. I promise.

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This time last year

This time last year, I was working at a shelter for kids from abused and traumatic backgrounds. This time last year, I was living through so much uncertainty that I cried in front of my supervisor. This time last year, I was still the happiest I could ever be.

But we’ll get to that later.

The kids at the Home, my kids, they are the most wonderful creatures in the world. They are God’s gift to the world, to me. There are no words I can use to describe how much I love them; I wouldn’t love my own children as much as I love them.

I was visiting today, and I saw one of the girls (we’ll call her Grapes) upset and angry. She wasn’t breaking anything or hitting other girls, the way she used to do whenever she was upset; she just stood near the door.

I sat next to her on the floor and asked her to sit next to me. After a few attempts, she sat next to me, and that’s when she started crying. She cried her eyes out, desperately pleading, desperately trying to ease the pain away.

Grapes did nothing wrong but be a child in a world so cruel. She has the eyes of an angel and the smile of a goddess, yet she was used and abused by her father in the most vicious way possible. She was left neglected, unattended, uncared for, for so many years inside and outside the Home. And she did nothing wrong but exist.

I’m not sure how many years she’s been living at the Home, but Grapes lives in a shelter all alone. She does not have many visitors, and she can’t get out and live outside the Home because she’s 12, and life outside is so scary for her with real monsters and terrifying family.

How awful is that? My heart breaks for her, for all of my beautiful kids stuck at the Home because all they did wrong is be children.

I’m not sure I’m ready to open up about the Home, my time there, my people, and the children who shaped the person I am today. I have endless stories, beautiful and sad ones, but I guess it’s still too heavy for me to reminisce, to share.

I guess I’m still trying to recover from all of it, from the fact that I left my kids, who I promised myself never to leave, like everything and everybody else in their lives. I guess I’m still not ready to talk about the life and soul that I was forced to leave behind.

But I’m here for you, my little Grapes, I always am. I may not always be able to hug you while you cry like today, but I’m always thinking of you, and I love you because you’re so lovable, and you deserve to be loved. God, you are so loved. I wish our kids can realize how loved they are by so many people who worked for them, including myself.

You are so loved. You so are.

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I’m back

I’m back to a life I don’t belong in.

It was like any other day before the one week break, a corporate day full of corporate tasks and eight hours of work behind a desk. After work, I got stuck in traffic, ate cold dinner, and went to my therapy session.

And now, I’m back here writing, rethinking my day, rethinking how simple last week was when I was not bounded with hours, when I was not strangled by expectations that make me over-work myself to be competent enough to work in the biggest humanitarian organization in the world.

Last week, I took control of my life again. I chose what to do with my daylight hours and how to be productive according to my own schedule, and I was simply in control, which is major because I’ve been driving a car with no breaks for months.

Why can’t I do what I want? Why can’t I simply be? A lot of people take gap years, sabbatical, yoga retreats for self-development. Many people have the privilege to put a halt on their lives for a while; why can’t I?

I would leave and take a break from the labor market for a month or two, or three. In a different country and under different circumstances, I would do that. I have enough money to sustain me for a year; I can study quietly and work on my self-implementation and decide what to do with my hours accordingly.

I would read again. I would go back to the life of the 80s, the books and the movies and the music and the communism and the resilience and the cause, the one cause.

I would go back to being frivolous, light-hearted, free. I was always referred to as an “air signed” kind of person; even though I’m a water sign, I would go back to that. I would go back to being irrelevant, to being someone that exists for me and not for everybody and everything else.

Please don’t think that I am ungrateful, because believe me; I am not. I am so privileged with so many blessings that I don’t deserve. I am so grateful for all the things I wished for and had granted. I am so grateful for my life and my God, I am so grateful for my God. There are no words to describe how incredible my God has been, and I’m grateful for simply that.

But

Why can’t it be simpler? Why do we have to grow up?

“Growing up is what we call it when we feel like our parents can no longer protect us.” My therapist told me this today, and I’ve been overthinking. According to him, it’s when we can see ourselves living without our parents, without feeling our parents’ protection and security. How awful is that? That I might have reached this?

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Let it be normal

I’m back to work tomorrow.

It literally feels like forever since I last was living in that weird and bizarre life. This week, it was normal; I lived my normal life with normal feelings and normal friends and outings and routine.

I normally saw my friends, and I normally celebrated my birthday with many of them exactly the way we used to in the past few years, and I normally blew the candles on my cake as my family wished me happiness. It was like the normal I always had before.

I normally woke up every day with a normal feeling, like life is normal, and it’s not whatever it was before October 29. We had a normal Halloween event with major stress and running around, and I normally pulled my hair out because of the official papers I had to do and I normally went to a university to apply for a second BA. I normally lived and met the people I always knew and loved. It almost felt like the past year did not exist.

God, what an awful year that was. I cannot describe it in words, but if it were in front of me, I would want to punch it so hard, my knuckles would start bleeding.

I’m hoping, I’m praying-and practically begging, that the curse of last year decided to stay with 22 years old Nour, and now that I’m 23 years, I am finally rid of all of the abnormalities, of the behemoths, of all the evils that I carried on my naked and frail shoulders.

I didn’t even go to my therapy session last week; that’s how normal it was; it was a time way before I had to go to therapy twice a week to function as a semi-normal person. The only not-as-normal thing was my night at my previous work with my previous roommate, but that’s okay, even that sadness was alleviated.

I wish I don’t have to go back to my life, I wish I can stay stuck in last week. I was my normal self, making jokes with the registrar at the university and having a normal conversation with the cute lawyer, without the chaotic anxiety lurking nearby.

I got stuck in traffic, got soaked in the rain, walked for hours, cleaned my closet, slept a little later than usual, over-drank Starbucks, had Sunday breakfast at my aunt’s house and played around with my baby cousin. It was exactly like old times, before the age of 22 and the year 2020 destroyed me.

Thinking of tomorrow; the overwhelming chores that await me, the meetings, my supervisor’s judging eyes and her unending requests, and the 220 unread emails from last week, I am not as troubled.

I still feel at peace. The nonchalant I used to feel most of the time, the “just go with it” attitude, is all here. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m still under the influence of the normality that was last week or because I’m 23 now, and I’m finally over whatever it was that I had throughout the past months.

I think I won’t know until tomorrow. But I’m hoping for the best. Let it be a normal Monday; let it be normal.

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Salima

I need to tell you about the last three days. You need to know.

You need to know that I was happy. I was very happy. You need to know that I was loved, and I was at peace, and I was safe.

Now that I’m back from the getaway, in my bed, in the same city that stabs me in the guts, living the same life that almost destroyed me, I can’t help but remember the last three days as just a dream. Was it real?

I literally forgot everything, like there was no anxiety and pain, ever. There was just this room with these people and this music. I didn’t have a yesterday to overthink, nor a tomorrow to dread; I only had right now, and right now was absolutely gorgeous.

And I’m not saying that I wasn’t upset by certain things or that I enjoyed every second, because even though the stay was mostly amazing, there were still a few moments that I didn’t like, but it was normal. It was a normal “sadness,” ones we feel and move on normally because we are normal people living a normal life, and normally we can get upset.

It was a different sadness than the one I usually have, the sadness that makes me feel like a beast. Even the sadness, I even enjoyed the sadness in our little getaway. And even though now it’s all gone, and I’m still very sleepy and drained, I’m still feeling at peace.

I’m having a post-travel depression, even though we were only 50 minutes away from home. Walking the first morning in the village’s raining and empty streets reminded me of a similar walk that I don’t think I can get over. It had the same idyll, the same coldness, the same curiosity, but different people.

I keep noticing people’s effect on me, on my mental health, and my wellbeing. I always thought that therapy lies in the setting, the moment itself, and not the people. I think I was wrong, or maybe I changed, but I’m finding therapy within my people right now rather than my moments.

I didn’t think I could live happy days like these anymore, I thought my recklessly happy days are past me, and the people I got to live these moments with are long gone, but the past 3 days proved me wrong.

I loved my moments, and I love my people more than I find words to describe. Their smiles, their sparkling eyes, the way they make me feel, they’re all so beautiful.

Just like the past three days in Salima.

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It’s getting harder to write in here, and I’m not sure why.

It might be because now that I share this with people I know, I might be feeling exposed, and I might want to tiptoe around my days and keep it vague and to rethink what I say or write in and label as “acceptable” to publish, and we all know I don’t do that. And it may be because I’m not as sad anymore, and I tend to like writing when I’m sad.

It worried me at first, that I can’t write unless I’m sad and that my blog is going to be depressing, but a friend told me that most famous writers write because they are sad and all successful books were born out of sadness, so that consoles me. I don’t know the reason why I’m not as keen to write anymore, but suddenly I don’t want you in.

Suddenly, I want to keep the things happening in my life to myself. Suddenly, I’m keeping a distance from the people I love the most and trying to shy away in the shadows. I even talk less now, which I am not liking. But I often find myself distracted from the situation I’m in and living in my own small world. Suddenly, I don’t feel like talking or sharing things with you. Is it because now I am convinced that you don’t care? I don’t know.

But suddenly I really want to know your real opinion of me; how you see me? And what am I to you? I need to sort it out so I know who to get close to and who to leave behind. I don’t know why this is as hard; why can’t I have normal friendships and relationships with people.

I tend to like you today and then tomorrow I want nothing to do with you, and the next week I would want you again and I would get upset because you’re no longer around. And it’s frustrating. That I can’t control people as I want to. That I can’t make you do or say the things I want. That you can’t read my mind and be there for me without me asking. (Also, I still wish you text me, please)