It’s so upsetting when people who expect things of you can’t understand the extent of psychological disorders. They think it’s something you can tuck away to squeeze in one more thing. When I say I can’t, it’s very difficult on me, they say what? To write ONE email is difficult? To do these two SMALL things is difficult?

YES. Rub my disability in my face will you. Make it glaringly obvious how powerless I am at times will you. Make it obvious how you and society at large sees me as some lazy scoundrel will you. Rub salt in my wounds, please.

What’s worse is that it took me so many years to own my depression, to own the days I’m down, to own when for reasons unbeknownst to me my brain is on a survival lock down mode. For years I internalized this response I’m met with so much so that I’d get panicky as soon as my mood would take a dip. Not for self-compassion, not because I was afraid of that I’d get lost in the dark abyss, not because I was afraid that I’d encounter a setback I’d never be able to overcome. No. I’d get panicky because I was so afraid that I wouldn’t be able to meet expectations and not knowing how to explain what happens to me. It sounds absolutely maddening when I spell it out like this, but when you’re in survival mode 24/7, you don’t have the luxury of having a clear mind for reflecting over the situation. It never got as far as to reach my neocortex. My amygdala had me in a lock down because to defy the panic, to defy the disappointment felt like DEATH. There was NOTHING for me beyond people’s disapproval. My life was hanging by a tiny thread. I couldn’t on top of everything else shake up the little stability and familiarity that gave me enough will to live to see the next day at least.

No matter how many words I learn, I doubt I’ll ever be able to communicate the horror I lived through. It really showed me the underbelly of society and that’s why I’m so passionate about truth and sincerity and empathy. I’ve been to the very bottom and for some reason or another Allaah didn’t let the bottom give way. He kept fishing me up and I’ll never ever ever be able to fully show how grateful I am to Him. I was swallowed by the beast and imprisoned by the devil. I was stuck in situations no one could ever bail me out of. It wasn’t that Allaah saved me, but the way He did was nothing short of a miracle everytime. I deadass don’t know how I made it to my 29th year. That’s just wild to me. And that’s why I made a promise to Allaah that for the rest of my days I’ll be in service of the divine will of helping people in whatever capacity I’m inspired to. My only hope in this world is to fulfill my existential purpose. I’ve seen through the false allurements and deceptive persuasions and I have no interest to get entangled in that cesspool. Ironically, the so-called pleasures of life is what makes the world a toxic place to be in. But the world isn’t inherently toxic. Not if you’re aligned with the natural rhythms of things. Not if you don’t attempt to control and invert and reverse the divine order.

Respond to Forget-me-please

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