Originally written in 2016. As I am closing this year out, I am tracking the patterns of myself. Almost more than a year ago, all of these thoughts still apply.

I see myself as a billion pieces all scattered around. I see myself with my slumped shoulders – afraid of my own life. A time like this I feel confused whatever life holds. I’m sure that these feel good quotes will let me get through the night. I’m sure these nostalgic, early 2000s songs will make sure I rock myself back and forth into feeling calm. Maybe that word should be numb. Maybe that word should encompass the feeling of just alright.

I see myself into shards, fragments, and strings of incomplete sentences. Some days I worry whether I have what it takes to honestly make a decision. On most days, I feel like I’m trailing behind some kind of experience I should have known already. On most days, I feel needy and clingy for some sign I can ground myself. On some days, I wish I could relieve myself the way I did as a teenager where I could cry the sadness out.

I’m not sure who I am; spiritually, personally, romantically, and any other adjectives associated with maturity. Ok, I’m not sure whether I’ll be proud when I look back at this moment when it becomes the past. I’m not sure I’m proud of how of my uncertainty. I wish I knew how to get close to people, without the fear of getting too close or being too much. My immediate response is to pull away and retract from any contact of human vulnerability. I can’t say when things hurt, I can admit how isolated I feel at times for no reason at all. I can’t say I love you without biting craters into the sides of my mouth, or saying it in the tone of endearment of (just friends). I can’t admit how scared I am in realizing I’m not sure what I’ll do with my life. I can’t admit I’m shoveling myself into financial debt for this experience. I can’t admit my shame in not accomplishing childhood things like riding a book or learning how to swim.

I’m stacking all my defects and carrying them around with me. I wear my weaknesses, as if it’s the only way to show humility. I’m whispering to God in my thoughts and dreams how I don’t know how to come back – but I’m fasting and holding onto the memorized Arabic words.

I’m forgetting how to like myself, I’m forgetting to call my family. I’m fearing whether they can accept all of me for what I have become, and have always been. I am afraid of loving the people in my life, because I’m so caught up in doing right.


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