Once upon a time, this was the blog of a girl who woke up and had to face the fact that she was now a woman. It was a place where many of her childhood memories of growing up in Kuwait and the US were remembered.
I miss it. I miss this blog. I wish I had not deleted it. Writing something here now feels as if I'm sitting on my heels hugging myself in a corner of my childhood bedroom, gazing round it's walls and wondering how to reconcile that this place was once a part of me. Wondering how it was that when I spent time growing up here, I became not someone else but more of myself.
I get weary of my heartache now, so weary of enduring. Weary of my own personality. Weary of how God made me. Weary of being myself. So many things seem to repeat for me... Perhaps I am the one who has repeated them. And I am just tired now. I am scared of myself..but now I am mostly scared...
It is difficult for me to ask for anything that might give me a moment's worth of happiness from those I love. I never do. And they never give it. I am wasting and have wasted much time. I am not sure that much of it is left for me.
So much may soon be lost. And I am so tired of wrecked things. I have never known how to stop those I let in and truly love from taking bits of me they take without asking - and even when it is offered from me willingly with great love - how to stop them from taking more than is their share or is kind. There are many things I wish I could stop thinking about, but I cannot. I think that I have never, ever, been really loved.
Writing here feels like I am drawing graffiti on my bedroom walls. I am grateful I kept this space after I deleted all my original posts, my old blog. Because I am desperately in need of my own tiny secret spaces right now. Space away from all this other loud and silent desperation surrounding me.
