The collapse of a nation is the birth of another

“That’s incredibly fascinating and an unusual account”. He leaned back with his arms crossed and looked at me across the small round table where I sat, along with my psychologist.

I had an appointment with my GP in the same building as my psychologist’s office. He was to renew some prescriptions and update my medical certificate that details the conditions of my disability. I had explained to him why the sleeping pills he had prescribed me months ago stopped working after a few days. He said it’s normal because the body gets used to it. What we’ll do is increase the dose. I objected to this by saying that the dose is perfectly fine and my issue isn’t pharmacological. I’ve had severe depression and ptsd which I’ve battled since I was 16,17 and I’ve adapted to the symptoms. Merely correcting the sleeping patterns disrupts me and triggers intense anxiety because it exposes me to the daily routines and the emotional unsafety I encounter in being awake during the day as well as sitting with the expectations that come along with a normal circadian rhythm.

He said, ah, because it makes you face everything you hadn’t dealt with while it was just as easy as taking sleeping pills?

No. This is the only way I can remain alive. When I’ve faced these systematic battles without sufficient resources, understanding and support it’s led me to such desperate extremes that I’ve attempted suicide. That’s why my psyche reacted so viscerally to being snuffed on its only safe space : the peace of mind the night affords. I don’t live in conditions conducive for emotional security. I’ll have to deal with the underlying system before I pull the plug.

“I’ve never heard this before. You’re unusually conscious and aware of this.”

She’s an unusual woman, my psychologist quipped, to which we all laughed. I was beaming because I was believed and relieved that a man of his stature saw it fit to concede to my self-knowledge. It was a validation I could believe.

I’m not disabled by my inability to adapt, but because the system isn’t equipped for someone like me. And it’s easier for people to put that on me than jeopardize their blind trust in the infallibility of the system. If it’s all you have it’s not unusual that these cognitive dissonances arise. No one wants to live in existential uncertainty. But I’ve had to. That’s why my insight and vision is so piercing – clarity is all I have to survive, to avoid being exploited and deceived.

Going back to infinity

No healing can take place when disconnected or dissociated from the entry wound. It may take a long while before you’ll be able to return to the crime scene, the impact crater. It’s a time travel through pain, so don’t feel worried or ashamed if you’re unable to just yet. Focus on making contact with this moment before you think about your existential radius. Try to offload your mind because the more you press it to figure out what it’s not equipped to do, you create more fragmentation and trauma. The stillness of one moment reconnects you to your essence, and your essence is always connected to the divine.

The point is, the longer you can remain present without forcing, the more you’ll come together inside. Healing is about the process to make all of you return to your core after a trauma your mind wasn’t equipped for dispersed your presence and anchorage in your body. Your spirit was evacuated because your body was flooded with stress hormones which are like constant missiles flying overhead and never ending sirens.

You don’t have to fix or figure anything out to be ok again. You don’t have to trauma-proof the world to feel safe again. When you learn to feel safe in your body, you won’t have to rely on your mind keeping guard. You’ll be full of love and you’ll be able to withstand anything because of that strong inner presence. Nothing can budge that or destroy that. You’re still hopeful and aware, despite all the trauma and hopeless nights. That’s all the proof you need; you’ve survived this long without active healing. Imagine what devoting yourself to bringing all of you back to your body would do and mean?

A point of needed return

I was watching a video on a MKUltra monarch program survivor and something she said made me stop dead in my tracks:

She said, a lot of trauma survivors create unsafe environments for their inner child to come forward with the trauma. They recreate their trauma so as to prevent its processing by numbing the pain with physical pain and overstimulation. Basically, drowning out the inner screams of agony.

I don’t know if anyone who hasn’t undergone extensive trauma can relate to this but it’s bonechilling to me because that’s exactly what I had been doing for all these years up until 2 years ago. I tried to erase and kill the traumatized parts of me and live an alternate life just so I wouldn’t have to go back in and relive the shit. Everytime I attempted suicide it was because the traumatized parts of me broke free to my consciousness and I just wanted to jump ship.

Why run when you can walk

Dawn always makes my heart sink and my mind restless. The darkness of the night was a protective cover, and the morning reminded me of the constant hell that my life had morphed into and that the peace of the night was but a dream, fleeting. Even though those days are buried in many years ago my body hasn’t forgotten. It’s amazing how much sorrow and fear I can store. It seems like the more sensitive you are the more you notice and consequently store.

It’s like the first sun rays are so sharp that they burst my bubble of safety that felt invincible in the night. I feel exposed and my wounds translucent; naked confusion.

Dawn makes me nauseous by its intrusion. How rude.

Beam me up Scotty

I don’t know how to live with this kind of pain crowding my body. It feels like there’s no room for me to investigate, as if I’m just pushing up against the sore places, making things worse by my curiosity. As if understanding amplifies the pain and exacerbates the suffering. As if the darkness of repression is a safe house.

But that safe house is where hope dies, so now what? Did I just dig my own grave by believing that the best way to deal with pain is to keep it out of mind?


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.

Hide and See

You ask me with slight contempt in your voice, why are you so obese.

– Because I’m bloated with all the screams I had to muffle, all the shooting stars I had to repress, all the bitterness I had to swallow, all the bullets I had to bite, all the sensitivities I had to hide, all the times I had to hold my breath to keep from flinching in the face of the predators so as not to show them any fear. My body held on to everything I tried to discard and piled them up to show me everything I’ve tried to disregard. I can run but I can’t hide anymore.

Fat protected me better than my parents ever could.

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