Farahquotes

I used to wonder why people stayed in abusive relationships. How could someone remain after all the hurt, all the tears, all the broken promises? Now I think I understand. We stay because we believe we are loved - or at least that somewhere beneath the cruelty, this person loves us. We convince ourselves that this is what we deserve, or we hold on to the hope that one day they will become the person they were in the beginning. So we endure. We cry in private and justify their actions. We bend ourselves into shapes they might approve of. We give in to their wishes, their demands, their version of who we should be, even when it means slowly killing parts of ourselves. We stay because we are afraid. Afraid that if we leave, no one else will ever love us. Afraid that loneliness will hurt more than the pain we already know. We stay because we believe we are unlovable, and because this person once looked at us and said, “I love you.” We keep hoping that the love we saw in them will return. We cling to the memories that felt like love. The good days. The gentle moments. The promises. We forgive, we trust, and we wait for change. Sometimes, the hardest thing to let go of is not the person. It’s the love we believed existed. And sometimes we stay because we never learned how to love ourselves enough to leave.

You who always want something from me, can’t you see my pale face, my dark circles, my broken heart, my crushed soul? You keep asking, you keep wanting, you keep taking… Can’t you just let me be? Can’t you just let me die? You keep waking me up, you keep pulling me back, only because you want something more from me. But I’ve already given you everything. There is nothing left. I’m empty. Can’t you just let me go? Why must I keep existing for you? Why can’t you, for once, think about me and let me die? ~ farah

I lose interest in things so easily. One minute, I’m excited about something; the next, it feels futile, and I no longer want to do it. It’s as if I’ve lost all my energy. All I want to do is sleep. It happens so often now. Sometimes, all it takes is a single comment from someone, and suddenly nothing feels worthwhile anymore. Everything I was looking forward to loses its meaning. Then my mind drifts to death. I find myself thinking that maybe only then will my misery end. One day, I’m excited to be alive, making plans, imagining a future. The next, I crave death like a person lost in the desert craves water. I swing between wanting to live and wanting it all to be over, never knowing which version of myself will greet me when I wake up tomorrow. ~ farah

I have always believed that the people who say, “I don’t care,” are often the ones who care the most. Not because they are dishonest, but because caring is vulnerable. It is easier to act indifferent than to admit that something, or someone, has the power to affect us. Yet beneath all our masks and defenses, I think we all care more than we are willing to admit. We care about ourselves. We care about the people we love. We care about being seen, valued, respected, and understood. We care about things both big and small, even when we convince ourselves otherwise. ~ farah

I wish I was a pet in my house. My mother would baby-talk to me instead of raising her voice. She would never look at me with disappointment. I would not have to measure every word before speaking or live in fear. She would love me simply because I exist. Everyone would adore me. No one would expect perfection from me. I would not have to constantly prove that I am worthy of being here. And the strangest part is that I would not even need to speak. I would be fed when I am hungry, held when I seek comfort, bathed, cared for, taken on walks, hugged, kissed, cherished. My silence would not be misunderstood. My existence alone would be enough to deserve affection. Oh, how heartbreaking. How strange that it feels easier to imagine being loved as a pet than as a daughter in my own home. ~ farah

I’ve never considered taking my life. But I want it to end on its own. There’s nothing about it that excites me. There’s no spark, no drive, just an overwhelming desire for it all to end quietly. While others think about longevity, I’m drawn to the idea of an early ending. Life feels more like something I’m enduring rather than experiencing. Living feels like a curse, a relentless cycle that drains every ounce of energy. I’ve become detached from the world around me. People feel distant, life feels hollow, and everything seems like a monotonous passage of time. ~ farah

Love was never quiet in my house. It was loud and devastating and impossible to hold without bleeding. And sometimes I hear my mother in me. In the way I break things when I feel too much. In the way I push people away before they can leave on their own. In the way I take back every soft thing I say because being loving for too long makes me feel exposed, weak, ashamed. I spent so much of my life promising myself I would become different. Softer. Kinder. Easier to love. But no matter how hard I try, there are days I feel her living inside me like an old wound stitched into my bones. And it terrifies me. The thought that maybe pain is inherited. Maybe some people do not pass down jewelry or recipes or family heirlooms. Maybe they pass down rage. Maybe they pass down the inability to love without destruction attached to it. ~ farah

Love was never quiet in my house. It was loud and devastating, impossible to hold without bleeding. So I love like that. In the way I break things when I feel too much. In the way I push people away before they can leave on their own. In the way I take back every soft thing I say, because being loving for too long makes me feel exposed, weak, ashamed. As if tenderness is something punishable. As if love is only real when it hurts.