Not going for the iftar dinner thing @ school on Wednesday bcs I’m a sad lonely child
:( ahahahaha I don’t think I’ll regret this but wtv I guess
still not writing that post because i’ve been procrastinating all weekend (i know i know i’m sorry!!) but i promise, soon, because i need to. buuuut, have some gems from this (last?) week:
a little reminder to myself, just because it’s late and the super important essay that i have to hand in tomorrow isn’t done yet and i don’t have the time just yet:
write a thing about grief and the politics of being an orphaned kid in high school. also maybe a thing about privilege.
changed my theme, because i felt like it. i felt like this blog needs a change, because everything else either feels too wrong or too different. i’ll change my icon sometime soon, because i’ve had it for more than a year, and it’s not like i’m sick of it - but it’s been too long. i will, soon.
i feel like i’ve been straying and betraying myself and who i was in some way and at some point, so right now i just - i dunno. i’ve been getting passing thoughts about ceasing to exist, as one does, obviously, and it sounds like being withered away.
sometimes i feel like that is exactly what’s happening.
last saturday i was falling asleep - my body felt like it was literally sagging into the bed and my brain felt like it was being shut off and it would sound like bliss, except it truly felt like falling. i closed my eyes and had glimpses of a nightmare; explosions that look like fireworks but not, and headlines of a bloody massacre. i willed myself to wake up but i couldn’t open my eyes, my head was throbbing and my heart was beating too loudly and it all felt like a giant wave - it was weird. it really was. i don’t think i’ve ever had that happen to me before.
i fell asleep eventually. and i think i slept after that, maybe. but that was that.
i had another dream another night, too and this time it was about aida. in the dream i woke up to her whatsapp message asking me when will we meet and when will i pay her back. i remember shooting up with panic at the message in the dream, when in reality, in this life, she’s the one who owes me. she promised that we were going to meet before ramadan and have her give back what she’s supposed to give but, well. wonder if she’s avoiding me. i know she’s been around, judging from her twitter and instagram, but whatever she’s playing at, i guess.
i’m tired of pushing my feelings aside. i miss writing. i miss how i used to deal with my feelings, no matter how unhealthy they are, because now it’s only getting worse. i had writing as my medium and i’m going to try again.
and then you kissed me with your cigarette scented mouth; your fingers curled around the lithe body of the little cigar, your other hand cradling the crook of my neck, my jaw.
i didn’t like it; it reminded me of the low burn at the end of my throat that feels like it could ignite any time soon and the anxiety seizing truth of the nicotine that is finding its home in the fragility that i call my heart.
i don’t want them to settle in me. i don’t want you to, either.
i miss writing.
more specifically, yours.
constantly getting told you’re lazy and that you’re not trying hard enough when you’re trying your hardest is probably one of the most hurtful feelings ever