Writer: Maram Mohamed

Being a writer, I have always taught myself to write my feelings away. Perhaps because I found it easier to look at what I am feeling rather than feel it so deep in my chest. It has turned into a coping mechanism, something that I do to maybe try and stop hurting. 

Today, I am feeling blue, green, yellow, and all of the colors of the rainbow. I later realized that when you mix so many beautiful colors together, they turn into a muddy brown. 

Today, my heart decided to deflate, a warning that I need to sit back and start feeling. Perhaps I have been pushing my feelings away for so long now, and my heart can’t keep up anymore. As I sat back and pondered over the many whys and hows, I realized how heavy the weight I am carrying is. I realized that I am an array of emotions fighting over which voice I should succumb to. Perhaps the call for war igniting inside of me, the call for help wilting me away, or the call for pure human connection….

It is traumatizing to admit this, but all I crave is for someone to ask me if my heart is okay or how my brain is functioning today. If I can breathe just fine, if my heart beats are steady, or if my soul is at peace. I crave for someone to just allow the words to tumble from in between their lips so that I can finally collapse and confess.

So that I can confess how not okay I actually am and how my heartbeats are unsteady and my brain is fucking chaotic. How I can’t sleep at night because I can’t catch my breath or how sadness has chosen me as its home. So that I can confess the endless thoughts running through my head.

But I can’t and I won’t, because this is only one of many bad days that I will get through. Like I always do, every fucking time.