This is the end

I stand at the entrance of my hospital, bombed time and again, watched by the world. I’ve given everything here, working through this endless genocide, consumed by soul-shattering anxiety, fearing I may be torn apart while waiting for an end to this madness, or that my family will become another casualty in yet another massacre.

As I write this, a massive explosion shakes the ground, just as we were preparing fro Suhoor: Instead, we now received the victims of this latest attack; four young girls, the youngest suffering the most severe injuries.

I’m done. Sharing our suffering changes nothing. Pleading with the world is pointless. No one is coming to rescue us. No one will save us.

I WILL NO LONGER BEG FOR HELP. THIS IS THE END.

I’m done. Sharing our suffering changes nothing. Telling our heartbreaking stories only makes people feel sad, not an urgent need to act. Exposing the evil and mercilessness of our enemies brings no justice.

Pleading with the world is pointless. No one is coming. No one will save us. This is the hell we were promised, and the world stood by as it unfolded.

I will no longer beg for help. I will no longer wait for a rescue that will never come. This is the end.