Refraction of black light

I can’t pull myself out of a burning car wreck.

My defenses prevent me from feeling my wounds and can ironically prevent healing. It’s only through feeling the extent of my brokenness that I can know my need of Allaah’s mercy and love. A gaping wound cries for healing. When I stifle it I’m actually stifling the hopelessness it triggers in me. It all happens so fast.

I need defenses to survive the initial shock. And then gradually try to become aware of the trauma. It’s only retrospectively that I can learn what it all means. Needing Allaah has become something shameful because it entails not being able to fix everything on your own and that complex distracts you from what’s at hand. It makes you forget that you didn’t create yourself and you don’t sustain your life. Something so seemingly simple can be forgotten in a fast-moving culture that is hyperfocused on churning out results and identifying people with their abilities to get results. The process becomes neglected. The process is human. The process is life. It’s not a production line.

To decouple from that socially endorsed conditioning can take a lifetime. That is if you’re open to the confusing process of accepting your suffering. Often times the implications and catastrophization of thoughts can be cause enough to remain stunted for the sake of stability in the status quo. And sometimes that’s all one can do. To stabilize the pain and try to lead a productive life. Often though this means that one’s children will receive the task to disintegrate it all.

Allaah doesn’t burden a soul beyond what it can bear. His mercy comes in many forms. Countless forms. We just take so much for granted because we feel naked without filling our head spaces with so much noise and hoarding of mental images. The Void is haunting.

Recreational trauma

How am I gonna make it

What if I don’t make it

Two questions that have been the bane of my existence. Pressure to perform. Expectations to meet goals.

Why I never could study in university. I don’t deal well with shackles to my curiosity. Punishment is never a motivator for me. Threats of lack and scarcity makes me quit right off the bat.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to work consistently. I don’t know when I’ll be able to establish a daily routine. I don’t know when I’ll be out more. I don’t know when I’ll get married. Stop pestering me.

The voices in my head blaring. Like fire alarms. I don’t know what happens afterwards. I usually run and hide long before. But today I stop. I don’t care what happens anymore. My pace isn’t wrong just because it isn’t competitive or cutthroat.

Healing is what I had to do in order to just be myself. Crazy. Like paying off a debt so I can be freed from indentured servitude. So I can break the yoke of built-up ancestral trauma and conditioning on my neck. I just want a clean slate. A clean canvas. No templates, no dots to connect, no pages to fill, no quota to meet, no lines to fill in, no i’s to dot, no paragraphs to memorize, no sentences to correct. Nothing.

Just a chance to spill my soul on the canvas with no mind paid to the outcome. I’m the outcome. Let me retrace the process that led up to me.

Dust ball

Scrolling through timelines aimlessly. Alternating between apps and websites endlessly. Drifting around like in a car in an empty parking lot at night, circulating the same block until it’s safe to feel again. Dissociating is like hiding under the bed from the monster that is sleeping in your bed. It should be the other way around but I’m always the one punished for the terror that drifts through me aimlessly like a heavy fog that closes in unannounced.

Soothe yourself in the storm

There is no sense to trauma or fear. It doesn’t follow a logical pattern. It operates in a ghost reality that you never can access through your mind or change through your mind. It’s implanted false memories that you know isn’t yours but it still hijacks your system. Trying to resist it or repress it or rack your brains to try to understand it will only make things flare up and in the end you’ll foot the bill of that. It’s a false programming that is meant to keep your focus fixed in a war you never can win.

The only way out is to empathize with how this is affecting you, disregarding your mind’s prompt to not rest until you get rid of chaos. You can’t. You’re drained, confused, tired, scared. That’s a lot on your emotions. Reestablishing how you feel allows you reprieve to stay present. The longer you can stay present the weaker the bond of that false programming gets. Eventually it just withers away and atrophies.

The taste of poison

I don’t believe I deserve Allaah’s mercy. I believe the trauma and c-ptsd and the myriad of ways I’ve been disabled and dysfunctional is my fault. I couldn’t suppress those feelings enough because of something faulty within me. Therefore, I don’t deserve any help much less divine intervention, because I elected to be stuck. I have to figure this out on my own. I have to. I can’t even fathom making duaa regarding matters that confound me because then I get destroyed by hateful thoughts that bully me into retreating. Thoughts pointing out all the ways I’ve contributed to the toxic shame and guilt I feel. It’s my fault for not taking action. Why? Because that’s where everyone else directs me when they give me unsolicited advice about getting unstuck. And I keep choosing not to go that route, the getting-on-with-it-and-pretending-everything-is-fine route and for that I must be punished. I’m an absolute idiot for thinking I can go against social conditioning and guidelines in this way.

I must be destroyed for going against the grain. I don’t deserve being right.


It actually feels good to put words to these ingrained beliefs that were a part of my mental landscape. Lifelong trauma has welded together what I’ve internalized and what I actually feel.

Where time is buried

I’ve been telling myself it’s gonna be ok ever since Saturday. Haven’t been out of bed except for going to the bathroom. Had a major flashback that made me realize a huge theme in my earlier trauma that was playing out in my behaviour in a way that truly shocked me. It knocked the wind out of me. Within minutes of the realization I became drowsy with sleep as is normal of cptsd (complex ptsd) triggers. Knocked out for hours. Felt like a rag doll. No movement. No will. Just frozen in shock. Like I had been playing in the dark and someone switched the lights on. Things became real in a way they never have.

I don’t know how to explain how this feels because I don’t know how much of this is my cptsd and how much is just normal. It’s all normal to me. Anyway, the mantra. Everytime light flooded that room, the one in whose darkness I’d previously seek refuge, I’d just calm myself down. That’s all I have left. I’ve spent years turning every stone and corner and page in a bid to piece my infinite fragmented psyche together, and now the image was.. much to my chagrin.

It’s gonna be okay. Because even though I have no idea what would happen to me henceforth, I know Allaah knows. I know He’d make it ok because for the first time I’m actually confident in having done my due diligence. I have hope Allaah would acknowledge my hard self work and just… I don’t even know the form of what I’m seeking. But having seen my coping system in its entirety, I think I’m finally ready to let go of form and let divine redemption find my focus.

The irony. In search of myself all these years only to disperse all my pieces in the place I found all of me.

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