#You know when someone asks you something بس

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

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[alaa-sayed]

Hey.

Congratulations for the marriage 🎊. I already congratulated both of in the comments but here I do it again . الله يسعدكم دايمًا .

Remember that girl I talked you before?. We spent a day together recently. We had fun together, laughed, played, and it was whole new me with her.

We text not oftenly and we have phone calls not occasionally and we go out rarely. We can be much more of that but I’m keeping a distance.

She is beautiful, decent, well-mannered, and family oriented. Everything I want.

The thing is I wanna talk you about is when I’m in a good elevated mood I like her presence, care about her, ask about her day, ask why she cried. I’m there for her.

But when I’m feeling down, grey, alone, little depressed or something has happened to me. I don’t go and talk. I wanna ghost her and ghost the world. Be alone, recover, and get backs.

I’m not toxic here or some. We are on the same chapters of friends and she is well aware of that - and I’m keeping my distance as I told you- so it’s okay if I didn’t talk for a day or two.

I have always thought loving is someone you run towards him not away from him. But I come to think that I have always been running from ppl and I’m afraid if I will always run away.

I wanna be more than friends and I wanna take the shortest road to her doorstep but i don’t know if that’s what I truly feel and it may be a moment of excitement. And I’m used to be alone.

Hhhhh I guess she won’t wait until I figure my mind out.

She has your name “:).

Hello

الله يبارك فيك ويسعد ايامك يارب

I thought you’ve canceled the whole thing since you’ve been so silent, anyway, welcome back

لأ خليني اكمل بالعربي احسن عشان اتكلم بأريحيه

انا مقدرة ومتفهمة اللي انت بتمر بيه، بس هل عندك خلفية ان تصرفاتك مع البنت ممكن تكون مؤذية بالنسبالها، وان هي معندهاش اي علم باللي بيحصل جواك، اكيد مش هتبقى حابب تكون شخص سام بالنسبالها-وانت اصلا مش كدة-، وخد بالك هي حاسة بيك، حاسة انه مش مجرد صداقة، حتى لو العلاقة كلها متبروزة في اطار الصداقة

لما بنت بتيجي تحكيلي على علاقتها بصديق تشبه علاقتك بالآء، بقولها اهربي، عشان مش بنكون قادرين نقرا حقيقة مشاعره ونيته.

جرب، جرب بس تشارك معاها الجانب المظلم في حياتك، اوعدك مش هتخسر. ولو ارتحت انت بنفسك هتاخد اول خطوة. انا مصدقة انك ناوي وحابب، بس خايف ومتردد.

جرب، مش هتندم زي مانت متخيل

هتندم لو ماجربتش

[sherlocked007]

Wake up....

Life woz going seemingly as it used to seem so before a girl a girl i don’t even think she is whot she is a intriguing little butterfly in her own shell but smyet strong enough to make u on your knees a girl suker for litereature aet and exploring but a girl fearing to see even a thunder storm a girl problem being like being mistreated badly thinking only she’s the one with worst parents a girl tht can make u wet ur pants but as sensitive as being broken down by just a shush a slut for deep talks long rides and care people who know random things are so platonically attractive to me like yes let me be your best friend tell me about the history of liquid soap

Lately I've been thinking about why I love and sometimes crave intimate intimacy. Is it a feeling, an idea, an action or all three? I believe I've found a new beauty that living within in: genuinely being able to embrace someone's authentic self while expressing my authentic self. From this type of intimate intimacy a connection is formed; that connection can lead anywhere, but it's then left to other people to decide where. That's what's been making my intimate intimacy with other so bittersweet: they can be okay with a few moments shared and that enough, but then I'm still present either wanting more or nothing at all. Even though I love experiencing the beauty of it, it's just soothing that's a little too complicated for me right now.

So then I ask myself, "How can I still experience this same beauty emitted from the intimate intimacy I love, but within just myself?" My answer is: genuinely expressing myself in a creative way.Being able to embrace and express all of me while still having boundaries in place four a healthy balance with others is my goal. I will no longer crave or expect intimate intimacy from other before myself.

In a dream i saw a narcissist girl moving away away wanting stop but eventually can’t I want to let her go but still can’t control and managed to go after her she sensed me and stop but then started to run abruptly but i stopped her she turned around with and started weeping having tears in her eyes tears like rubies with her dark red eyes depicting the internecine she is going through eacg of her tear like emotions for something incomplete

I grasp her hand she responded equally like snuggling with my finger but again hold my hand with her other hand and tried to unwrap

But she can’t not coz she is not trying best but her emotions are not letting her unwrap i hold her with my both arms and let held until she stopped struggling then i hold his face in between my hands and tried to unmask her but she reacted reacted not in resistance but in a warning manner ignoring her reaction i unveiled her face her eyes dropped like they were defeated defeated in centuries but i lifted her face by her chin gazed in her no momentarily but for as long as i can her lips unsealed and gasp mesmerised and unknowingly i moved moved loser and hugged a hug not romantic but a hug we do let ourselves free i hugged and she responded she put her wait on me like dhe let her self free like releasing her exhaustion anxiety and her fears i held her tightly we both having our own storms but still meeting i can feel her breath heavy nit slow breaths she tried to escape again but still this time i didn’t fear anything instead i kissed a kiss not rmoantic but still have the power to shatter us to the core It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.

The way she made everything around us disappear. No one will ever consume me the way she did. Sit with me.. sit with me and talk my head off, tell me your intimate secrets.. the things that make you tick. Be my friend and my lover, just talk to me.. deep talks, shallow funny bits.. I want it all with a 🚬 and puffs sharing a same cigarette at a place were we r we no one around us just having a malt in between us no need to observes and guess everything is clear, woth our pants folded upto our knees and partially dipped in a slowly flowing lake just a after a heavy storm that destroyed the whole scene fallen 🌲 covered with mud with a rusty smell that is filling our nostrils a catastrophic storm that destroyed that destroyed everything but still that destruction results in a peaceful situation where one can discuss discuss everything hands in hands starving for a good conversation with a girls who is like a bud a smoll bud but having roots deep down rath meant to be a tree that is going to last last for centuries but fragile fragile and wounded with insecurities and not wanting to grow. A bud present in a mud-hole surrounded by scum and wanted to be the scum but still she can’t probably due to her insecurities or I don’t know whot but still caring for other just like don’t want to let her surroundings let down just for the reason that they let him growth but its not the mud it is.

We ought to have met In another time

In persuit of attainable dreams Below different sky

Upon a different earth

بے ربط لکھتا ہوں بہت خراب لکھتا ہوں میں تو بس زندگی کے عزاب لکھتا ہوں

Like she said in our her first glance:

SLUT SHOW IS OVER GO AHEAD

Shooo shooo

[bibo-marwa-blog]

2. مكاني المفضل  سريري اللي كنت بنام عليه بالساعات والايام، اللي كنت بحس بالوجع وانا قايمة من عليه كنت حاساه هو الوحيد اللي بيحتويني واللي حاميني من وجع كتير. كنت بنام بالساعات متنحة في الحيطة وحاسة بمنتهي الراحة، كنت بحسه المكان الوحيد المريح ليا اللي بيحميني من العالم ومن الناس. 2. My Favourite Place

My bed, where I slept for hours and days, where I felt pain just to get up and leave it, was the only place that comforted me, that kept me safe from a lot of pain. I'd sleep for hours or just lay back staring at the wall, feeling completely comfortable, like it as the only place that could protect me from people and the world.

كنت بظبط المنبه قبل معاد صحياني عشان اروح الشغل او اي حته بساعات عشان اتحايل على نفسي اقوم واواجه الناس وانزل الشارع. بالنسبالي دي كانت أكبر معركة بيني وبين الاكتئاب، ايام كتير كنت بنتصر وايام كتير الاكتئاب كان بينتصر عليا. بعدت عن ناس كتير وزقيت صحاب كتير من حواليا لان هو كان أامن صاحب وأقرب حد ليا. كنت بحس ان مفيش حاجه تستاهل أنى اقوم من عليه عشانها حتى لو عايزه اقوم اجيب كوباية مياه.

I would set up my alarm hours before the time I needed to get out of bed so that I could convince myself that I truly needed to get up and face people and the world. This was the biggest struggle for me. The battle between me and my depression. There were many days when I won the battle, but there were also many others where my depression won. My bed was my closest friend, my safest refuge. I withdrew from a lot of people, pushed my friends away even those close to me. I would often feel that there was nothing worth getting up for, even getting a glass of water.

فكرة أنى اقوم من عليه وابدا يومي كانت فكرة مخيفة، كنت بحسب كل خطوة هاخدها عشان اروح شغلي او الجامعه بحسب عشان اشوف الموضوع يستحق اصلا ولا لأ. المعركة التانية أنى كنت ببذل مجهود عشان اداري ده حتى عن اخواتي مكنتش عايزه ولا حابه اقول لحد، ممكن كنت خايفه اسمع كلام يضايقني اكتر ويتقلني اكتر زي: قومي صليلك ركعتين او اقريلك قرأن، العبي رياضه، اسمعي موسيقي، اقريلك كتاب او متسبيش نفسك للكلام ده ومتقنعيش نفسك بيه وكله هيبقي كويس. مكنتش عايزه اسمع لان انا فعلا جربت كل ده ومكنش في نتيجه ولسه حاسه بتقل الدنيا والكلام وحتى تقل النفس اللي بتنفسه. The idea that I would leave my bed and start my day was a troubling and scary thought for me. I used to calculate the cost of every step I'd take to go to work or college; I'd think about if each of those steps was truly worth it or not. My second battle was to hide all of this from everyone, even my sisters. I didn't want to tell anybody about it because I was afraid they'd tell me something that would hurt me more, or worse weigh me down more. I was worried they'd say things like: get up and pray or read some Qur'an, play sports, listen to music, read a book, and don't focus on all of this, don't convince yourself that you're depressed and all would be fine. I didn't want to hear those words because I truly tried all of these things and they were useless. I still felt the weight of the world, the weight of words, even the weight of every breath I took.

سماعي للكلام ده وانا اصلا جربته كان بيحسسني بالعجز الاحساس اللي دايما كنت حاساه في الفترة دي، بيحسسني ان انا اللي في ايديا اعمل حاجه ومقصره مع اني كنت بحاول انبسط بحاول بس حتي اصغر الحاجات مكنش ليها طعم، الحاجات اللي كانت بتبسطني زمان مبقتش بتبسطني ولا بقيت عايزه اعملها ولا الناس اللي كنت بحبهم بقوا بيريحوني . كنت بغصب على نفسي انزل واشتغل واشوف الناس واروح السينما كل حاجه، كل حاجه الناس بتقولها بس لسه كنت حاسه أنى مش حاسه، مبقاش في حاجه ليها طعم، كنت بحس أنى موجودة معاهم ومش موجودة. كنت ببقي عايزه اجري عشان ارجع لمكاني المفضل تاني . The hearing advice I already tried made me feel helpless, an emotion I had often felt during that time. It made me feel that there was something I could do to help myself but that instead, I was negligent. Even though I had tried to do the small things, there was no flavor to it. The things that used to make me happy in the past no longer had the same effect on me; I didn't even want to do them anymore. Even the people I loved no longer made me feel happy or comfortable. I would force myself to go out and work, to see people and go to the movies; everything. Everything people said but I still I felt indifferent. Everything had become bland; I felt like I was with people but wasn't truly there. I used to want to run back to my favorite place again. My bed.

الصورة دي من مجموعة صور مشروعي عن رحلتي مع الاكتئاب ورحلة التعافي، هدفها الأول ان جزء من رحلة التعافي هو الحكي، بحكي لإيماني بقوة الحكي واهميته، اهميته ليا وللي هيقرا. الهدف التاني ان الحكاية ممكن تكون سبب ان حد يتشجع ويطلب المساعدة او ممكن تساعد ان واحد يحس انه مش لوحده ويقرر يحكي هو كمان، مبقولش للناس تحكي زي ما انا بحكي لأني عارفه ومقدره صعوبة الموضوع بس تحكي حتى لو تكتب مذكرات، حتى لو هتحكي لحد قريب.

This picture is one of many in my project about my journey with depression, my journey to heal and recover. The first part of this journey is told stories. And I am telling my story because I have faith in storytelling and its importance to me and to those reading my words. The second reason for this is that my story may encourage someone to seek help or even help someone feel that they are not alone and decide to tell their story too.

I'm not telling or asking people to tell their stories the way I do because I understand the difficulty of it, but tell your story even if you can just write it in a diary or journal, even if you're just going to tell someone close to you.

I am telling my story because the disease was never something to be embarrassed about or something that should be hidden because, in order to survive depression, people need to know. You need every kind word and gesture, every pat on the back, and every prayer.

I am telling my story because we shouldn't live all of these symptoms alone as I did at the beginning.

I only began to heal once I started telling my story.

بحكي لان المرض عمره ما كان عيب ولا المفروض نستخبي منه، لأن عشان تعدي من الاكتئاب محتاج الناس تعرف، محتاج كل كلمه كويسه وكل طبطبه وكل دعوة. بحكي لان مش المفروض نعيش كل الاعراض دي لوحدنا زي مانا عملت في الاول وانا متحسنتش غير لما بدات احكي

[alexstrick]

Language Learner's Journal: Phone Calls and Timed Breaks

[This is a continuation of Taylor's blog series where she details some of the week-in-week-out lessons that she learns through her Arabic studies and coaching work together with me. For other posts in the series, click here.] 

I haven't written in this space in a bit because I've been taking breaks, both extended ones and daily small ones. At first I was anxious about "wasting" time by taking a sort of staycation holiday, but I'm seeing now it did me well.

Two friends came to visit me around Ramadan, and I threw a lot of my daily habits to the wind to enjoy having them here. One stayed an entire month – having a friend from Rio de Janeiro to pound pavement around this city with me during the unique time which is Ramadan was a fine way to enjoy what is otherwise a rather quiet and still time. I think together we made as many Jordanian friends as I had otherwise made in the six months before she came. We went to multiple yoga classes, including the Indian embassy's "International Day of Yoga," took a makeup shopping spree with two young women we met at Amman's Roman amphitheatre and waded through Wadi Mujib with a guide who seemed happy to have any clients during a slow month. There's something to be said for the "reset" button you can push when you have the novelty and joy of seeing a place through a visitor's eyes. 

Even as I wasn't studying formally and took a month off from classes, I still had useful, spontaneous ways to put my language to use. I got a speeding ticket on the way back from the Baptism site, which taught me some useful new vocabulary words (مخالفة غرامة، رخص). I even tried to argue with the officer that we couldn't see the sign because it was covered by a tree, but I was not successful (that said, the ticket was only 20JOD). During a week-long trip to Greece, a friend who took me to Athens' central fish market told me one of the men working at a booth was Syrian, so I went and introduced myself. It is a motivation super-charger to see how someone lights up to hear their own language when everything else around them sounds like Greek. 

When my trips were finished, I sat down with Alex's "Mastering Arabic" to review and refresh my study methods. I'm doing decently with motivation, a topic Alex covers at length. Learning Arabic has always been a project stemming from intrinsic motivation, something I chose to do for and by myself. I have no hoops to jump through to please an employer or scholarship committee – for now, I define my own success, which usually is satisfaction at being able to make a phone call or recalling a precise and useful word I've studied and putting it to use in the real world. 

"Mastering Arabic" did prompt me to think more about time organization methods, which I had let slide into just some vague sort of maximalism ("I have the evening free and will study as much as possible.") Two methods that have been useful are to divide tasks into discrete parts and then "reward" myself by taking a break afterward. That may mean: Read one story in حكايتهن from the UNRWA and then take a break by chatting on Whatsapp, or make Anki cards for 45 minutes then go do pushups while listening to Despacito. 

I've also made more active use of a language notebook. In the past, I took notebooks to class, but wasn't proactive enough to take it to stores or pull it out as soon as a friend and I part ways. One of my favorite exercises now is to try to recall new words or types of sentences I heard the soonest possible after I finish an activity – that recently included زبيب and شمندر after trips buying groceries, and اخبرني عنك and شو خطة الليل؟ when I listened in on phone conversations. I heard a friend say ...كنت رح اشتغل في محل بس كان عندي مشكلة and jotted it down. I've been feeling that what I lack is many basic speaking forms and daily vocabulary, and as simple as many of these things are, I didn't know them beforehand – I wouldn't have know how to say "I was going to do X" and that it was such a simple construction. I've long been a podcast fan, and now, when circumstances permit, I listen with a notebook beside me to jot down anything new. (My favorite new podcast discovery is عيب، which is in Jordanian colloquial Arabic and on subjects very accessible to me.) I've returned to private classes twice a week with a fabulous new teacher, so I bring her the questions that have accumulated in the days between our meetings. 

Alex is a big proponent of making phone calls, which for me is one of the final frontiers for language learning – it's hard to have no visual cues and introduce yourself coherently when you are a disembodied foreign voice over the phone and ask for things like interviews or deliveries. Thankfully, each successful call boosts my confidence a bit more, though I can't say I'm great – I stutter and stammer a lot, and I speak much more simply than I know how to speak if you gave me a quiet space and time to compose my thoughts. Still, to my delight, I was able to speak several times with a business whose employees I sought to interview, to my landlady to complain that she's been locking our veranda door unnecessarily, and to order food deliveries and try to explain where I live ("between the liquor store and the dukan of fulan"). My comprehension rate is variable – I understand nothing my building's haris tells me on the phone other than a general sense that he is granting or denying my request, but, thankfully, he seems to understand me.

A final reflection on taking breaks: When I was hosting visitors, I had moments of stress about how behind I was getting. I could do some calculation for you about how many words I "lost" by kicking back and speaking more English, Portuguese, and Spanish on a daily basis than Arabic. 

That said, the break served me well. One, it was nice to reflect on what language skills are – not a one-time performance but a world of abilities we keep in our pockets and pull out often at unexpected times. I haven't been in a Spanish class in about ten years, but I still am making friends and enjoying pop music in the language. Many of Alex's techniques are about how to maintain language abilities, i.e., not how to just do well on a test but recall vocabulary even several years from now. 

Two, athletic comparisons have always made sense to me when it comes to tackling this difficult project which is learning Arabic. My Rio de Janeiro guest added a new layer to that analogy when she began to show me what she was learning in her advanced yoga and acrobatics classes back home. My mode of exercise had long been about having time to daydream while I threw my body into motion, muscles and mind unattached while I ran ten, fifteen, twenty miles with little effort and thought. A pushup, on the other hand, or playing a competitive strategy-based sport was always difficult to me. The difference, my guest said, is attention to form and control and knowing that it won't "be natural" and effortless in the beginning. We practiced yoga chaturangas and headstands, two exercises that require total concentration and engagement rather than "zoning out." We also talked about rest. Nobody will run well if they run every day; yoga always ends with a savasana "corpse pose." The rest makes us more energetic and more engaged the next time we work out, pushing forward the frontiers of what one day will become natural for us. 

P.S. – This blog writing was also a timed activity. I went a little over my allotted hour-time block, but still wrote swiftly. Now, I'm off to do some pushups.

[bibo-marwa-blog]

٣. البانك اتاك

٣. البانك اتاك:  اول مرة كنت في الشغل، مكنتش فاهمة ايه اللي بيحصل حسيت ان قلبي من سرعته هينط من صدري مكنتش عارفه أخذ نفسي بدات اتشاهد واقول خلاص كده، هي دي السكتة القلبية اللي بيقولوا عليها. حاولت اهدي واخد نفسي بس كل مدي ضربات قلبي كانت بتزيد كان أصعب أنى أخذ نفسي، حطت راسي بين رجليا زي ما كنت بشوفهم في التليفزيون وحاولت أنظم نفسي واهدي واتشاهد كانت بتاخد ما بين ٣ ل ٤ دقائق لحد ما اهدي وارجع أحسن. 3. The Panic Attack There was this one time when I was at work, and I had no idea what was happening to me. My heart beat so hard and fast, I thought it was going to jump out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe and started reciting my last prayers, thinking 'this is it. This is the heart attack people talk about.' I tried to calm myself and breathe but my heart kept banging, and breathing became harder every time I tried to inhale. I put my head between my legs, the way I'd seen people do on TV, and I tried to regulate my breathing while reciting my last prayers. It took around 3 or 4 minutes until I calmed. بعد الموقف ده مركزتش، عديته وكملت حياتي كانت بتجيلي كل فترة وانا مش فاهمة ايه ده وليه بيحصل، مع مرور الوقت بدات تكتر وتزيد بدأت كل ما اتنرفز او اتعصب تزيد ومدتها تزيد، لحد موت مروة ومشاكل شغلي، مبقتش بعرف اتحكم فيها بدات تجيلي وانا في الشارع وانا في البيت، أصعب حاجه كان أنى مش فاهمة ايه اللي بيحصل عشان احكيه لحد. I let the incident go and went on with my life. But this thing continued to happen every now and then, and I didn't know what it was or why it was happening. With time, this strange attack increased. When I got angry, it became worse and took longer. Until, the death of my friend Marwa and my problems at work. By then, I couldn't control it. It started to come to me in the street, at home, and the hardest part was that I didn't know what was happening to me so I could tell someone about it. سمعت كلام الصحاب وسافرت دهب عشان افصل كانت بتجيلي كل يوم، كنت بقوم من النوم مزعوره مش عارفه أخذ نفسي وبحس ان روحي بتطلع. لسه فاكره اليوم اللي اتعصبت فيه في الشارع من موقف وجاتلي ومعرفتش اسيطر عليها ووقعت في نصف الشارع، لسه فاكره اليوم اللي كنت في الميكروباص واتنرفزت من حاجه وجاتلي وكنت عشان اسيطر عليها لازم ابقي لوحدي عشان اعرف اتعامل، نزلت من الميكروباص وقعدت علي الرصيف ورجليا مكنتش شايلاني ، قعدت ساعه في مكاني مش عارفه اتحرك ، مش عارفه اكلم ��د ،مش عايزه اكلم حد، مكنتش عايزه حد يشوفني وانا ضعيفة. I took a few friends' advice and traveled to Dahab to take a breather, but these attacks came to me every day. I'd get up in a fright, unable to breathe, and it felt like my soul was leaving my body. I still remember that day when I got angry in the street, and couldn't control it, and fell in the middle of the street. I still remember that day on the micro-bus when I got so pissed and it came to me and in order to control it, I needed to be alone. I got out of the bus and sat on the sidewalk. My legs couldn't carry me. I sat there for an hour, unable to move. I couldn't talk to anyone and I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want people to see when I was weak. بعد اليوم ده بدأت اعراض تانية تظهر لي، احيانا لما كنت بتنرفز مكنتش بحس بنصف وشي والموضوع زاد لنصف جسمي. -الكوابيس: هي من اسوء الاعراض اللي كنت بشوفها كانت بتجيلي حتي وانا صاحية زي فلاش باك ، كنت بفتكر كل المشاهد اللي اذتني بالتفصيل . (مروة وهي في المستشفى والأجهزة داخلة وطالعه من كل حته، يوم الغسل وشها وانا بغسلها لسه مفارقش خيالي لحد انهارده ، مواقف الشغل المؤذية والمكالمات المؤذية ، مشاهد الجري من العساكر أيام الثورة ، مشاهد الدم ،الجري والغاز ، صوت الصويت قعد شهور في ودني مبيرحش .....) من هنا بدأت أحس ان المشكلة بتزيد واني لازم اطلب المساعدة من مختص، ومن هنا بدأت رحلتي اني ادور علي دكتور كويس وثقة واني اكسر خوفي وقلقي ان حد يعرف وازاي الناس هتبصلي لما تعرف اني بروح لدكتور نفسي وازاي هفهم الناس ان مش ضروري عشان بتروح لدكتور نفسي انك مجنون او انك مزودها ومركز بالزيادة مع نفسك، انا قعدت بتعالج اكتر من سنة من غير ما حد يعرف عشان كان تقيل علي قلبي ادخل معاهم في النقاش والجدال ده، ماكنتش عايزه ، ماكنتش قادرة . اللي حواليا بدأوا يعرفوا لما انا بدأت ابقي مستعدة أتكلم واقولهم، حتى اهلي. After that day, more symptoms started appearing. Sometimes when I got angry, I couldn't feel half my face and sometimes even half my body.   Nightmares: it was and still my worst symptoms, it happened even when I was awake like a flashback that hit me every day and where. Made me remember every single detail that hurt me. (Marwa’s face at the hospital where the tubes were everywhere, and she couldn’t even breath by herself, her funeral day and her peaceful face, my problems in my previous job, their harassing calls, threatening me. The running from the police scenes in the revolution and the smell of the blood, the screaming, ooh the screaming it stayed in my ears for months. That's when I felt that the problem was getting worse and that I needed to expert help. That's when I began my search for a good doctor, one I can trust. That's when I began my journey to get over my fear and worry that someone would know that I was seeing a psychologist. I wanted to get over my fear of how people would look at me when they knew I saw a 'shrink,' and how I was going to explain to them that going to a psychologist doesn't necessarily mean that I was crazy or that I was focusing too much on what was wrong with me. I spent a year getting treatment without anyone knowing because it was tough for me to talk and argue with people about this. I didn't want to, and I couldn't do it. People only began to learn about what was wrong with me when I was ready to talk, even my family. I learnt that these episodes or states are called Panic Attacks. الكام سطر اللي فوق دول كانوا جزء من حياتي لمدة سنتين والموضوع كان بيزيد بزيادة المشاكل والضغط، ده مش معناه ان كل مريض اكتئاب لازم يجيلوا نفس الاعراض. كل حد المشكلة بتزيد عنده بتزيد بشكل معين وبطريقة معينة.، الحاجة الوحيدة اللي متشابهة ان اول ما الموضوع يبدأ يأثر على جسمك فانت محتاج مساعدة في اسرع وقت. These above lines were part of my journey for the past two years. The issue kept popping up and other problems and pressure increased. This doesn't mean that every person struggling with depression will have the same symptoms because with each person the problem will increase but differently. The only thing in common is that once these panic attacks start to hurt your body, it is then you know that you need help. And fast.

الصورة دي من مجموعة صور مشروعي عن رحلتي مع الاكتئاب ورحلة التعافي، هدفها الأول ان جزء من رحلة التعافي هو الحكي، بحكي لإيماني بقوة الحكي واهميته، اهميته ليا وللي هيقرا. الهدف التاني ان الحكاية ممكن تكون سبب ان حد يتشجع ويطلب المساعدة او ممكن تساعد ان واحد يحس انه مش لوحده ويقرر يحكي هو كمان، مبقولش للناس تحكي زي ما انا بحكي لأني عارفه ومقدره صعوبة الموضوع بس تحكي حتى لو تكتب مذكرات، حتى لو هتحكي لحد قريب.

بحكي لان المرض عمره ما كان عيب ولا المفروض نستخبي منه، لأن عشان تعدي من الاكتئاب محتاج الناس تعرف، محتاج كل كلمه كويسه وكل طبطبه وكل دعوة. بحكي لان مش المفروض نعيش كل الاعراض دي لوحدنا زي مانا عملت في الاول وانا متحسنتش غير لما بدأت احكي

This picture is one of many in my project about my journey with depression, my journey to heal and recover. The first part of this journey is told stories. And I am telling my story because I have faith in storytelling and its importance to me and to those reading my words. The second reason for this is that my story may encourage someone to seek help or even help someone feel that they are not alone and decide to tell their story too.

I'm not telling or asking people to tell their stories the way I do because I understand the difficulty of it, but tell your story even if you can just write it in a diary or journal, even if you're just going to tell someone close to you.

I am telling my story because the disease was never something to be embarrassed about or something that should be hidden because, to survive depression, people need to know. You need every kind word and gesture, every pat on the back, and every prayer.

I am telling my story because we shouldn't live all of these symptoms alone as I did at the beginning.

I only began to heal once I started telling my story. #dont_suffer_alone #Mental_health_awarness_month

[bibo-marwa-blog]

من تلات سنين بدأت رحلتي مع الاكتئاب تظهر، خسرت شغلي وحلمي والثورة والامل، شفت صحابي بيموتوا واللي بتقبض عليه ونجري وراه ما بين الاقسام، واللي بيتحكم عليه بسنين سجن، قابلت ناس كتير اذوني وخدوا مني اكتر ما ادوني، حاولت انقذ حيوانات كتير وكتير ماتوا في ايديا وانا قاعد ه متكتفة مش عارفه اعمل حاجه واخد القلم واقوم اكمل عادي.

Three years ago, my journey with depression began, I lost my job, my dream, the revolution, and the hope. I saw my friends die while others were arrested. We followed them between police stations and some go imprisoned for years. I met many people who hurt me and consumed me endlessly. I tried to save as many animals as I can, but many died in between my arms while I sit helplessly, it was like a slap in the face nonetheless I got up.

احساس العجز كان رهيب وانا بشوف كل ده ومش عارفه اعمل حاجه واخرهم مروة صاحبتي وحبيبتي اللي شفتها بتطفي قدامي يوم بعد يوم، موت مروة هو اللي كسر ضهري، لانها كانت الشخص اللي يطبطب ويحتويني وهي اللي بدات تشجعني أنى اتعالج. موت مروة حسسني أنى مش عايزه اقوم تاني، مش عايزه احاول تاني، مش عايزه اكمل. عايزه كل حاجه تقف عايزاها تسكت عقلي وقلبي مقدروش يستحملوا سنين من المحاولة والخسارة، سنين من اني عماله ادي ومحدش بيديني بل بالعكس بياخدوا مني. My friend Marwa died, I watched her wither away, it’s a terrible feeling to feel helpless, unable to help the ones I love and care about. It’s like my back was broken. It broke my back because she was my support, the one who took care of me and contained. She was the one who encouraged me to seek treatment. Marwa’s death took away my hope, and I didn’t want to continue, I wanted everything to stop, and I wanted my mind and my heart to stop. I felt like my heart can’t take years of trying and losing.

انا بتعافي من الاكئتاب الحاد واضطراب ما بعد الصدمة بقالي سنتين بدأت الرحلة والحمد لله بفضل ربنا والناس اللي ربنا وقفهم في سكتي ولسه بيوقفهم انا بتحسن، للأسف مرض الاكتئاب مرض مزمن بيفضل مستخبي بيظهرله اعراض كل فتره بس مبنخدش بالنا منها.

After Marwa’s death, I started treatment, and I started a journey of recovery from anxiety, deep depression, and PTSD. I am grateful to God and the people whom I have met and for those who supported me. Sadly, depression is a chronic disease that’s hidden and appears while we are not paying attention.

بحكي لإيماني بقوة الحكي واهميته، اهميته ليا وللي هيقرا.  الحكاية ممكن تكون سبب ان حد يتشجع ويطلب .المساعدة او ممكن تساعد ان واحد يحس انه مش لوحده ويقرر يحكي هو كمان.  

بحكي لان المرض عمره ما كان عيب ولا المفروض نستخبي منه، لان عشان تعدي من الاكتئاب محتاج الناس تعرف محتاج كل كلمه كويسه وكل طبطبه وكل دعوة

I believe in the power and importance of storytelling for myself, and those will read. The story might encourage some to ask for help or help someone feel they are not alone, and then they decide to tell their story. I am saying my story because the illness has never been . a shame or something that we should hide, to recover from depression you need all the support, the sympathy, and help from your surroundings.Every day there will be a picture of a story.

كجزء من رحلة العلاج قررت اتكلم واطلع اللي جوايا بس بدات اني اتكلم بالصور عملت مشروعي عن رحلة المرض والتعافي وهبدا احكي عن كل صورة لانها مش مجرد صورة ، كل صورة هنزلها اليومين الجايين هي فترة من حياتي، التصوير ساعدني احكي قصتي من غير كلام  لان الكلام كان ومازال تقيل علي قلبي بس دلوقتي انا هبدا احكي والحكاية تقيلة  عليا لسه . و اغلب الكلام ده محدش عرفه غير مؤخرا ولسه في ناس قريبه مني متعرفوش

As part of my recovery journey, I decided to talk about what’s inside of me through pictures. Every picture symbolizes my journey with the disease and recovery. Photography helped me tell my story without speaking because speaking is still heavy on my heart. I shall start today with a very emotional story for me, and no one knows about it not even my closest people.

١. القناع The Mask

القناع اللي كنت بحاول ارسمه كل يوم كل دقيقة وكل لحظة، عشان احاول اخبي احساسي واستخبي جوايا، عشان محدش يسألني مالك عشان الكلام تقيل، تقيل اوي علي قلبي ولساني. عشان مكنتش عايزه احكي، عشان كنت خايفه احكي .، خايفه من كل حاجه. خايفه احكي محدش يفهم او يقارن او يبدا يحكيلي مشاكلة، كنت بحاول اضحك علي نفسي قبل ما اضحك علي الناس. بحاول احسس نفسي اني كويسه وان كل حاجه كويسه وان ده وقت وهيعدي واني هبقي احسن ازاي وامتي معرفش. The mask that I tried to paint every day, every minute, every second to hide my feelings and what’s inside of me because I don’t want someone to notice then ask me how I am, I didn’t want to speak, my heart and my tongue are heavy. I am afraid to talk, and no one understands or starts comparing our problems. I was trying to fool myself. I was trying to make myself feel better and pretend everything is fine; it will pass, I told myself. it will be fine I don’t know how? And when? No one knows.