Nush Writes

Happiness was there when I sat in my dad's car, passenger seat, my dad driving around that small town. Happiness was there when I laughed until my stomach ached with my best friend in school. Happiness was there on my thirteenth birthday and on my seventeenth. Happiness was there, when I went with my parents shopping for groceries. Happiness was there and I was too blind to notice it. Happiness was there when I was in college and carefree, not stressing about jobs and bills. Happiness was there when my nights weren't spent worrying but texting him. When we had all the time in the world. Happiness was there. I didn't see.

All my life I couldn't enjoy even a moment of happiness because I kept anticipating things for the future and grieving for the past.

If you want it bad enough, you will chase it. That one dream. No matter how many hurdles you face you'll keep going. If you fall several times you will pick yourself up again no matter what. It will become your routine. It will be so well incorporated in your life you won't forget it. And no matter how much chaos there is you will stick to it. If you have to try and fail several times you will try everything. If you want it bad enough you will forget to sleep. You will dream and dream endlessly. But you will also act on it, every single day. And even if you fail one day you'll try again the next day. If you give it up, it wasn't truly your dream. But if it is then you'll stay. And one day, without realisation you will be on the top of the world, at your desired destination. And when you look back there'd be miles and miles you've left behind, it's a reminder of how far you came.

What will I do if I achieved it all? I've been chasing my dreams for so long. But when I think of having everything I wished for, there's a strange kind of emptiness that comes along with that thought. I've been at constant war, with myself, with my reality, that the thought of peace unsettles me. What does an injured soldier do after the war is over? When there's finally peace, but his brain chemistry changes forever from prolonged stress, he suffers from PTSD, flashbacks from war, bullet wounds still unhealed. There's a strange kind of emptiness, that comes at the thought of no longer fighting. To be healed, to feel safe, is a luxury, do I even deserve it? A lover, a home of ours, and laying in each other's arms, protected from the world, is it even possible, is it only a dream? If it came true, what would become of me? I'm always scared and paranoid, that another war will break, and I will have to fight again.

They think narcissists are dangerous, or psychopaths or an antisocial person. But what's more dangerous honey, is an empath, who is hyper aware. The empath that knows you're messing with them. They know what the fuck you're up to, and they're observant and quiet. They don't make noise. And when it's time they'll fuck you up quietly, without you knowing it.

And I know now, that I won't die. Everything tried to kill me but I survived. Sadness tried to kill me. Depression tried to kill me. Loneliness tried to kill me. I, myself tried to kill me. Everyone who loved me, almost killed me. Love almost killed me. But I am alive. So, I know that I will fucking rise even after the darkest night.

I can sew a million poems, about how I feel, but the matter is, who will care to read?

Do not love me. Slit my throat but do not love me. Love is unbearable. Love makes me vulnerable. Love makes me act like a madwoman. If you ever see me in love, shoot me at sight.

Mother, your anger will someday swallow me whole. Mother, your anger will burn us all. And when nothing remains, who will you pour your anger on?

You cannot judge or blame someone for grieving for too long for a loss that you didn't experience.

"Get out of it," they say, as all my friends and all the people I know try to drag me out of my grief. They fail. What they never tried was to sit with me for a while in this darkness instead of dragging me into the light. For someone who's found comfort in the dark, cannot easily get out of here, until there's a hand to hold, until there's a shoulder to cry on.

I wish, for every time I said, that if I disappeared, no one would really care, someone would say, that they did, instead of stating that I was seeking attention. What else would a person who's drowning would do, if not seek attention?

People think that grief is like a little wound that will heal slowly with time and I will let it go. But grief is like a permanent scar, I carry it in my soul.

Death almost found me. The first time I was eleven, recklessly swinging on the terrace railing, wondering what would happen if I fall. Would mama and papa be sad? They loved me deeply, but I felt so alone. The second time, I was fourteen. I had failed a math test and it felt like the world was ending. Mama and papa were mad. I was bleeding in the classroom corridor with a broken sharpener. I was punished instead of being cared for. The third time it found me, I was seventeen. I was heartbroken from a love that had no hope from the start. I loved a boy who had no heart. I did not break sharpeners anymore, I cried, until I didn't and I repressed it deep inside. The last time, I was twenty two. My father had died. And my world crashed completely and I found no way out. I contemplated death for months. But mama would be sad, I was all that she had. So, I knew I had to live, through all the things I went through, I had to live, for my dad.

All my friends are just ghosts in the past. They now live a life I know nothing about and they've probably become someone I don't know. I have become someone, they wouldn't recognise.

I have lived a quiet and empty life. If you ask me my favourite memory, I'd have to think for too long and yet I won't be able to come up with an answer. Days just went by. Years have passed. I have nothing with me, still I feel a strange nostalgia, but why am I nostalgic, when I have never fully lived.