Thursday, 21 July 2016

Chronicles of a 19 Yo Moroccan Girl #13

Welcome back, 

Chronicles of a 19 YO #13:

Staring at the ceiling while silence is my background music. Why does it have to be so dramatic? Is it depression? Aren’t the pills working?

How come? I am cheerful person. I love to hear the reasoning laughter when I make a perfectly good joke. I like to motivate people when they are feeling down and hopefully inspire them. Am I falling within the stereotype category of the sad clown? No way.

How can I even begin to describe this feeling? A blank page would do.
A white virgin piece of a paper would accurately represent this “feeling” if it shall be called like that.

Whatever I write after this would seem insignificant, maybe funny nonsense.

Identity Crisis? Is it what I am going through now? Will I look back and laugh at my questions and my uncertainties? An identity Crisis, indeed. I don’t know anymore what I am and what I want to be but I sure know what I don’t want to. Yet, I feel trapped into conditions that will make me inevitably be what I desperately avoid.

 I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to love. I don’t know what to do.

I embrace each day with its being and I try to float like an old directionless shell between two waves hoping for a way to resurface again.

Am I living mindfully? Living the present in the way that those “self help” books talk about? (Those books that promise you secret ways to Happiness for only 5 dollars and annoy you with meaningless-bumper-sticker-vague sentences such as “Be YOURSELF”)?
I mean I can’t think of a damn thing I need right now. I am satisfied and … (I was about to say happy, yet I’m uncertain I am) ... and just FINE.

It’s boredom. Maybe it’s boredom playing with my head like we would play with a doll. If I sleep a little bit more I’ll get rid of it. My dreams are amazing, even the nightmares are better than the bitter

It’s been four years or more that I ask myself those damn questions. Each month, each week, each day I try to keep myself busy and silence them like you would turn on the volume on your headphones to avoid listening to the complains of your grumpy grandfather. 

But they are still talking…

They are still talking and they are getting louder and louder whenever I try to shut them down.  

No matter how hard I try, in silent nights like those while I am staring at the ceiling. They come back.

With love, 


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Thanks for sharing !
Maybe I'll read it, maybe I don't care