I am not alive.
I am not alive. I am not dead. I'm not even in between. I don't know what I am anymore. إعايشين حلاوة روح
I am not okay. Perhaps I never truly was.
But once, I was an ordinary person, simple, natural, human. There was nothing strange or remarkable about me... until these days came, and I stopped recognizing the person I used to be.
Now, I am living in a stupor. Dying in a stupor. Caught in a fog that refuses to lift.
What we live here is not life. And the way we die here is not just death. It is the constant burden of surviving the unsurvivable. Of holding onto hope when hope itself feels cruel. Of pretending there's still something left to fight for, when everything around us has already collapsed.
The suffering is so vast, so relentless, that it teaches you not to ask for help anymore. Because help never comes. And believing that it might, is exhausting.
Our days have become a permanent emergency. And our souls…are maps of unhealed pain. Watching the rest of the world live in a parallel reality only deepens the ache.
It makes us feel abandoned. Less than human.
This is not weakness. It's the cost of reality. And thi reality has become my fate, and the fate of everyone I love.
To live perpetually unwell, because the world has chosen to look away. To cover its ears. To deny our humanity.
The world is not okay. Even those who claim to be, live in the illusion of wellness, because they don't feel the weight we carry, and they don't see what we see And if they ever tried, they'd fail to feel anything at all.
We are not okay. And we don't know if we ever will be.
We are the price of the world's terrible failure; those who no longer wish to live, after once loving life with all we had.
Not because we stopped loving it, but because we are buried in death, denied the chance to live as others do.
Between life and death lies a chasm of injustice and evil, and we are the ones who fall into it.
We pay the price of this world's cruelty, with the last fragments of light still left in our hearts.
Salam!!
