There is no schindlers list for us

When Gaza is described as an open-air prison, the reality is far worse than that.

Now, we are being expected to survive at the mercy of the very people who starved us, besieged us within a few kilometers, subjected us to relentless bombardment, and time and again vetoed international efforts to end our erasure. This is hell; hell in one of its most severe forms.

More than a thousand people have been killed since the so-called ceasefire, and thousands more were wounded, in direct attacks carried out in broad daylight and in the middle of the night while families slept.

I've been reading my book, which contains all of my diaries since the beginning of the genocide, and I literally can't believe what I have lived through. I can't believe it is still happening, and that I still have to report it to the world, hoping for a miracle.

This horror and these atrocities will not end in Gaza alone. The world has become so accustomed to devastation that the unnecessary killing of large numbers of people no longer shocks it as it should.

Death here is not inflicted only by bullets and missiles. It is inflicted by everything people have been forced to endure.

I have been so overwhelmed by everything around me that I could not find the energy or focus to write about a girl who arrived at the hospital a few days ago after her heart stopped from fear.

I was reminded of her today when I heard my cousin scream in terror after seeing a rat.

That girl's heart stopped because her fragile body could not withstand the panic triggered by her severe phobia of rats. My colleague fought hard to resuscitate her and continued for a considerable time, but she was already gone.

A friend said to me yesterday that the children in his street have already lost their childhoods, and that even if some of them manage to survive and make it out alive, they will never have the same innocence as children elsewhere.

A Gazan life before all of this was worth everything, Now, it feels as though it is worth absolutely nothing.

It feels as though our lives are not worth saving. As though our deaths are not urgent enough to prevent, and our suffering is not important enough to stop. As though everything happening to us can simply continue, day after day, without anyone feeling Compelled to end it.

And the most frightening part is that it feels as though this is our only reality, our past, our present, and our future, as though suffering is all that awaits us, forever.

We are made to feel this way not only because we are enduring one of the longest and most brutal occupations in modern history, but also because so many of the world's most powerful countries continue to enable it while ignoring our humanity. And because the powerful media continue to attack those who dare to speak out and simply call for an end to the genocide.

Shame on those who have watched a genocide unfold before their eyes and still found a way to feel nothing.

Shame on them today. Shame on them tomorrow. Shame on them for as long as this injustice is remembered.

Shame on them while we are dying, and shame on them after we are gone. Shame on every person who saw our suffering, heard our cries, witnessed our destruction, and chose to feel nothing.

I've helped thousands of children and families in my camp, and I am determined to help many more.

This time, the funds will be used to help protect families from rats and mosquitoes, which have become another source of suffering in their daily lives.

If you would like to help, please use the Warm Hearts Nuseirat campaign link in my bio. Your support will help me ease a little more of the misery they endure every day.

Thank you for reading, for caring, and for your support.