I think I might be broken

I think I might be broken. I don’t feel anything. No anger, no hatred, no love, no forgiveness.

I use terms of emotion lightly, because they bear no burden on my shoulders. Yet I am weighed down with all these commitments to plaster feelings all over my face. No one lets me have the benefit of the doubt.

“Surely you feel something? Are you sure you don’t feel anything?”, they say, as though saying that sentence will cause emotion to flood back into my veins.

“What about that time you cried?”, they say, being unaware that I have no emotional connection to what my body seems to accidentally do at times.

Like when I am still, vacant behind the eyes, as my body screams with panic. When I throw up and wonder why my throat is retching when my brain is empty. When I feel my skin prickle with hot, angry hives even though I am emotionally redundant.

Depression is more than sadness. Anxiety is more than worry. They are more than the medication you forget to take every day and then suffer the consequences for.

Yet, I feel less. I am less. I am less than what I was, not that I remember anything more than what I am. I cannot connect to who I was, whoever that is, and whoever I will be. I exist reluctantly, without feeling the reluctance, like my body wishes itself away very noisily whilst I sit in it, unmoved by its demonstrations.

I am so far removed from this body and yet I manage to maintain some kind of persona. It’s not personal, I insist. It’s not your fault. You’re not an uncaring person, you just can’t care. You’re not empty, you just don’t feel fulfilled.

I can’t lie to myself, I know the truth. I can lie with my face, smile when required, look sad when someone needs me to, and fulfill the outward emotional quota. What kind of life is this? Is this life? Is this what everything has led up to- an act of kindness without the kindness to make it happen?

Or is it simply me overthinking so hard that I drown out the yearning voices urging me to let that tear fall like it was unintended?

I don’t know. But at the same time, I do.

I know I’ve thought out the way I behave in a controlled manner. I know it’s easier for me to say words like “easier”, even though I cannot identify with anything being easier when nothing feels hard. How can I even speak anymore, and how can I even converse? I cannot identify with what they’re saying, I cannot be moved by their humility or outraged by their vanity.

Who am I even talking to? Do I need to see a counsellor? But then if I see a counsellor, I will just say what I know they need to hear to make them feel better about themselves. But why do I let them feel like there’s progress? Why am I so keen to move on, lips pursed, case closed?

Stop reading me. Stop reading me. Stop reading me.

Posted in Trials, Trials of 2015, Writing | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

I hereby publicly denounce jihadis, extremists, radicals, and scapegoats

I hereby publicly denounce jihadis, extremists, radicals, and scapegoats.

I started a new blog over at mariamunir.wordpress.com, which will be for less personal posts about politics and the like. Feel free to head on over and see this post I wrote about recent moves to make Muslims publicly condemn jihad, or face suspicion.

Posted in Facts, Trials, Trials of 2015 | 1 Comment

Forgetting Time

Screams line my mask.

Eyes clouded, milky-white with confusion,

Traces of yesterday Р timeless on my lips,

Utterances of sin and blasphemy –


Bloodstains creep up the neck,

Mirrors tell no lies, they tell nothing, but

Silent observations of your unraveling and saddening


Forget time.

It already forgot you.

Posted in Trials, Trials of 2015, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Things I never wanted

They started talking about marriage, and for the record, I do not want anything they are offering me ever. I don’t care who they pick; I am not marrying them.
No, I want to live my life freely and do the things I wanted without fear of emotional or physical retribution.
I want to be free to breathe and smile at people without knowing I’ll face interrogations when I come home.
I want to be free to choose a partner who will support me rather than hold me back.

I confirm that I do not, under ANY circumstances, want what they are offering me. This blog shall serve as a diary of sorts from now on so that I can mark any worrying signs. E.g. my mother is talking about moving to Saudi Arabia, my dad is repeatedly talking about “izzat” (family respect and stuff). They will emotionally blackmail me if they need to, which they do every day anyway, along with death threats. YAY. I’m so exhausted. If they find this blog and figure out it’s me, then I’m dead meat. If they knew what I’ve been up to in terms of who I have told, I’d be even more dead meat.

Please, if I say narwhal on here, that means you need to help me. Please, please, please, make sure your friends are happy and that people aren’t just lying about life. Save them.

Posted in Facts, Trials, Trials of 2015, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Portrait of the living

Specks of dust, encrusted crown-

Portrait of the living with

My head upon your knee, so that I may be forgiven.

Jewels tumble to your feet, aqua blue with being strangled

And entangled in your ring-less fingers’ greedy grasp.

I breathe golden embers, glowing and pulsing

Infatuated with the drug that presents a gift for me to bear.

Upon my shoulders, the weight of a heavy silence

My head throbbing with echoes of stories, times, places, dreams

Frozen solid like oil, waxing and waning in short bursts

Rhythms pounding with desperation.

Classical opera ringing in my ears like a dainty bell

Time for tea, dinner, breakfast, lunch, tea.

A gentle sip is all I need; just one intake of that perfume.

Slender wrists for eyes, glinting cloak for hair

Ebony musk for breath and poppies for blood.

Gentle swaying of a breeze, I feel it in my fingertips

Kissing them so lightly, grazing my face and lips

And it slides over my body and I’m adrift

Sailing through my mind with nothing but an empty casket.

I am ever so lethargic.


Stretch deep and feel.

Feel it slipping away.

Live it.

Live a warm, dizzying feeling of calmness.

Be the lamb who settles down.

Breathe out.

Posted in Trials of 2015, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A hasty return

Sometimes I remark at how foreign I seem to myself. I look down at my body and I see folds of skin marked “brown”, the gentle dips of pores dotted over my hands, and the width of my thighs as a frame.

I haven’t written on this blog for a while. I know I say that a lot, but like life, my posts have troughs and peaks. Though, I would hasten to call this a peak, so to speak.

It seems remarkable, in fact, that I should look at my posts and chuckle at the girl who wrote those words with tears in her eyes, looking at the door constantly in case someone should walk through and smash into her life with a word-shattering force, rendering her mute. It also seems remarkable that the girl in question is a past version of me, for I have no empathy with what she mused.

That girl is dead. She’s dead to me.

You might find such a statement curious. But the fact of the matter is that I am increasingly prone to forgetting who I am. These things come in cycles, and I do not recognise “myself”. It is not even frightening anymore. It’s just a fact of my so-called life.

My posts might start to be erratic. I might seem gloriously dark and gloomy one day, and then absolutely vile as a person the next. Then an hour later I might be the sun shining over mountains yelling at people to wake up and enjoy the view; that is, the sunrise.

Overall, I encourage you to ignore me. I always like abrupt endings. Now I’m getting distracted. I forget about the reader but then, this isn’t so much for you as it is for some function of me, is it? Hello people who know me, goodbye those who don’t.

Au revoir.

Posted in Trials, Trials of 2015 | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment


Looking for silence.

Posted in Trials, Trials of 2014 | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment