Category: Home (to me)

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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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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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To live

Walking today in a Palestinian refugee camp, I almost felt like I know what I wanted.

With my life, I mean. The career I want to pursue. I know I absolutely love people, and I absolutely love spending time with them. I wonder if being with people is why I exist in the first place. To give people a little bit of what they give to me, some validation that I live for them.

As I sat with people who not only believe and support Palestine but actually lived the cause and had a thing to say to free their lands, I felt a sense of belonging to a cause so dear to my heart.

I interviewed a Palestinian woman called Amal who has a leading role in a Palestinian movement/political party and is now part of mediation groups. She started telling us the incredible stories of the strength and stubbornness of Palestinian women.

Amal told us what happened during the Israeli invasion in 1982 when they destroyed the whole camp and kidnapped and imprisoned the men, how women stood high, holding their illiteracy in one hand, and the years of housewife-ing in another, and rebuilt the camp.

They rebuilt their houses brick by brick, reopened their husbands’ and fathers’ stores, and taught themselves how to do business. They protected their streets and made sure they were safe enough for their children. When men came back from the war, they were surprised that the completely marred camp they left is now blooming.

Amal also told me the story of her imprisonment, how the Zionists performed the worst kind of emotional and mental torture to break her; still, she stood strong, how they used the women’s menstrual cycles to humiliate them, how they would only call on the women in the middle of the night for interrogation, using the women’s fear of night and rape against them.

She went to tell me about the resilience of women in times of conflict and the mediation skills they have by nature. Amal told me when things got intense one time in the camp, and two parties started shooting at each other, how women held their babies, brought their chairs, and sat in the middle of the streets, daring the men to shoot.

They have a cause, and they live for it. I would like to live for their cause too.

I think I might want to visit the camp again.

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I had a wonderful day

It was safe. A whole day of safety? I could almost jinx myself, if I hadn’t already. Slowly, everything is moving away and I am scared of getting close-like always-and it’s a bit uncertain.

But it was a wonderful day.

It was a cold frisky night, yet I was warm. And I looked at them and smiled, and they smiled back at me. And at that moment I forgot all my worries and all I could think of is that my heart is happy, and that it needs to stay there.

Do you ever have those moments? Where the silky wind brushes your cheeks and you look at your someone and you know that this is exactly where you belong, that even though it has been stormy, the universe was preparing you for a moment of peace that is worth all the trouble.

And that day, it was.

I keep remembering bits and pieces and I keep smiling to myself. Did that really happen? Did I really say that? How did it end? Why am I so clingy? Why did it have to end?

It’s like all my pain ceased existing. I could look at other people and not feel a gutting feeling; like they’re much warmer than me, that I am cold and stranded. I didn’t feel as cold; it felt like I am as warm as anybody else.

I wish we can live in our happy moments. Put them in a wooden box next to our pillows and access them in times of pain. The box can sense our unpleasantness, and would not let us access memory if we didn’t absolutely surpass our window of tolerance.

And by access, I don’t mean like seeing photos and reminiscing, I mean feeling every happy vibe back, remind your senses that happiness can still exist and that despite whatever, it was a good day because they all smiled at you.

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Dear diary, it was Sunday

I’m sitting by the seashore writing this, wearing my cool new sunglasses and drinking my pepsi, feeling like I actually own my life.

I’m listening to music but I won’t tell you what it is. It’s a “cheap” depressing song that I most enjoy in times like this. Makes me nostalgic, with happiness that is close to sadness, because even though this moment is nice, it will end.

But right now, as the wind nestles within my long striped dress, and as I get ready to dip into the sea, I’m learning what it feels like to live in the moment rather than everywhere outside of it.
Let us focus on the warm sun blushing my cheek, and the feeling of sand tickling my feet, and the guy in front of me trying to steady a bottle with the back of his middle finger. Let us stay here, safe, and content.

Virginia Woolf has been running through my mind saying;

“Pale, with dark hair, the one who is coming is melancholy, romantic. And I am arch and fluent and capricious; for he is melancholy, he is romantic. He is here.”

I can’t wait till sunset.

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It’s 5:30am again.

But this time, I’m happy. I woke up to a text that made it all okay. I woke up at 5:30am and I smiled to myself.

And I couldn’t sleep again because I keep thinking of it, everything. And right now I’m smiling again just remembering. What an odd feeling that is, to be happy because of a word, a gesture, a sense of hope?

Anyway.

I’ve grown to love car cruises. They are a pause from the destinations, from the action, from life at the end of the tunnel. To be moving, unable to work or be as productive, just a small break before we’ll have to go on again,

I love that feeling.

Car cruises have been my favorite thing to do for years; I always ask for a car cruise as a gift for my birthday. And a car cruise doesn’t have to be so hard; we don’t even need to be talking, loud music, and fast speed are I all need to be happy.

Yesterday I had one of those really nice car cruises. Even though there wasn’t any music, but my company was beautiful. We talked and talked and we drove through sunset and the wind was cold. Imagine. Cold air in the middle of this hell weather we have been living in. Nour could not hide her joyful heart.

I’ve had a tough week to say the least, with a sleepless night and a panic attack at 5:30am on Friday, and seeing their beautiful faces yesterday smiling back at me with all the sprinkles and rainbows in the world, it made me feel the grace I thought I have lost last week.

They’re my heroes and I don’t think they know this , but they have saved me so many times from so much pain and anxiety and depression. They’re my heroes.

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Give me chaos

https://www.everydayparisian.com/every-day-parisian/2016/9/21/audrey-hepburn-in-paris-five-films-we-adore

I wish I live in a place that is quieter than here, like Tralee or Sighisoara, where even though they might have problems of their own, they don’t carry the weight of a country. 

They don’t spend their days thinking of ways to feed the millions of hungry, or ways to protect themselves from the theft of traders and corruptions of politicians, or days of no electricity and water. They don’t carry a nation on their skinny backs as we do; they don’t count the coins in their pockets and hope they can pay for the eggs at breakfast. They don’t worry about traffic or roadblocks or motorcades and convoys passing by. 

I was reading an article about the “corruption” of Sighisoara. The ex-director of the Prince of Wales Foundation is explaining how corrupt Sighisoara is because of a club operating illegally with “protection” near her house.

Whenever everything gets too much, I read that article, and it soothes me. A city’s biggest problem is a club that keeps the music loud until 4 am. There is something comforting about knowing that, even though no life is perfect and there are always obstacles anywhere, some problems are just smaller than others.

And this is what I dream of for Lebanon. I stopped dreaming of reform, or hope, or an ideal world where we have trains and social security for the elderly; I simply dream of lesser problems. 

I dream of waking up in my debt-free apartment, having my morning walk on the cobblestone street, and seeing a neighbor not cleaning her dog’s litter. I dream of reporting my neighbor to the police station nearby and the police taking action instantly. The police would fine the lady for not preserving the cleanliness of my city.

I dream of having this as my only problem of the week. I tell it to all my friends on a Sunday brunch and an evening with family. I don’t dream of a Lebanon without any problems; I just dream of simpler ones.

I know I always romanticize Beirut, and I love it with all my heart, but I’m so tired. I’m so tired of all the weight Beirut throws at me. I am so fed with the dirtiness and the debris of it all; I just want a simple city.

I enjoy reading articles on Malta’s economy and Brasov’s restaurants, and the art festivals of Lodz. I thirst for this simplicity and these mini problems. I am so tired of this unapprehended chaos.

Give me chaos, but chaos that I can understand.