The little me is proud now
Of the nos I can say
And the yes‘s i stand behind
The people I let go off
And the people I let it
The fear I faced
I befriended
The gift I acknowledge of
The spark within I let out
She is without a doubt
Looking at me with
An admiring big black eyes
I got out
The freedom price was high
High and drunk on the freedom
I convince myself
Everyday
Am I free ?
Totally free ?
You leave no questions in mind
Answer them before I ask
It’s new
I am used to the questions
and the wondering
I wasted a lot of time in the unknown suffering
analyzing
Imagining
Creating stories in my head
Till I became a fictional storyteller for a non fictional life
My life
And now I don’t have to anymore
What a waste
I could have saved me a lot of
A lot of energy
what a shame
I could have become a better writer
I could have used my fantasy
The one that got drained
For stories with better endings ..
I imagine a world where you become the colors you feel
I am between the chapters standing behind a lot of commas and no full point . Just gray !
Trying so hard not to go back to black
Longing for the fresh start, becoming green
the bright yellow day where your ghost no longer exists
I miss the days where I shined red and pink
How would it look like if the hidden rainbow in me came to life ..
The burden to have your name
on my papers
On my shoulders
Seeing you in my mirror reflection
Knowing I have the treats from you
Treats I suffered from
Growing up
You are everything I didn’t want to become
But here I am day by day being you
What a shame
We danced very well.. We became masters .. We moved our hips with avoidance and let the touches of anxiety everywhere on our bodies.. We danced until we bled blood flowing and tears droping on the dance floor.. Waiting for someone to declare the end of the dance I realised late that it was up to me to stop. Dance dance dance.. i set myself free … I could breath again. but I was dying inside, crying and shouting to take me back to the dance floor..
A couple days ago i was talking to a friend about time managment , she recommended me an application to organise my to-do lists, after downloading it i found it that i had a 4 years old account there with my to-do lists , grocery lists and two notes , it hit me hard reading them.
it was the time right before starting my therapy Journey, when i was in the middle of a toxic Friendship that pushed over the edge and had a toll on my Mental health; exactly four years ago.
i remember starting countless of blogs over the years only to not ever write in them, or forget totally about them that at some point i just gave up ever putting my thoughts out there.
Fear that someone i know would read them and the doubt that what I write wouldn’t be enough anyway , indecisiveness in which language should i write in? do i have what it takes ? i am not disiplined enough ,maybe my Grammar is not good enough ,if i exposed what i think i would be naked out there to be judged and ridiculed
what will i have left for me?
writing has always been something magical for me, i started a blog on Tumblr back in the day in 2009 and i really liked it; having someone to read my words and at the time i was all about science and school grades,i didnt allow myself to discover my creative artsy side and started making articles about science just copying articles from wikipedia and it was educational and got some attention, at the time there was a feature on tumblr called editor pages according to each topic and my blog got picked many times and at some point i could even pick other blogs and edit the science section with other bloggers.
honestly i was flattered but deep down i knew it wasn’t my work , i shouldnt be praised nor picked for anything because i only copied ; i mentioned always my sources but it wasnt original.
i knew i had things to say in my own words i just i could not allow myself to.
the thing is i started writing since i was 9-10 years old with short poems and notes here and there to get me through a troubled and strict home and a lot of confusion in the family and school.
when it felt like there is no air for me to breath at home I would just learn and read and write.
i just didnt know where to belong and what i felt or thought ,Homework and books were my refuge from everything, my safe sanctuary …
They still are but i guess after four years of therapy i can now make sense of almost everything that happened in my life and i get to tell the story.
and that’s s what i want to write about here !
Nabila 🙂
Loving and healing journey ☀️ 