Counting

Start counting cause this will be over soon.

Go back and count the days, messages, laughs, the cups of coffee and the places you went and everything in between.

You do that and try to forget.

Yeah, try.

On getting kicked in the heart

I had a really really bad day. The kind of day where I'm awkward and stuttering mess of hurried words and lack of control. This was a bad idea. Bad idea. Such a bad idea. The urge to run and hide behind my dad's back was so strong but you're not a child anymore. And one day you need to grow up and be mature and face people you don't want to face. But when would that happen to me, I don't know. I really don't know.

On Meeting Strangers

I know it has been a long time, but here I am, and I'm alive and okay.
Last Friday, I met someone I've met online since last October. The experience was both amazing and thrilling, I've never done such thing before.
Meeting someone who doesn't know someone I know, or even I worked with, or went to the same places I go to. I've always had this urge to talk to someone I don't know in a cafe or a restaurant and let them in and tell them stuff about me, then leave. And I finally got to do that.
May be I have a bad girl streak in me, but it didn't feel wrong.
Since my last breakup I had no friends. At all. They were all gone just like my ex. They took his side. And I was alone, and I haven't been alone or felt that much loneliness since a very long time.
So I used twitter to get me out of my depression. And I found solace in people I don't know who accepted me the way I am.
And I found that in meeting strangers that:
I'm not my past.
I'm not what my exes made me.
I'm not what my parents told me I am.
I'm new.
And the person in front of me is new as well.
He's not his past.
He's not what his life turned him into.
He's new.
And this made me happy. I made him happy and he did.
And this is what matters most. 

I can't answer the phone!

It's the little things, like answering a simple phone call, or even calling someone I want to call for sometime now, and they seem simple enough, but they aren't, cause I have to come up with a convincing answer to Ezayik? 3amla eh? I panic and suddenly don't feel like calling anyone or answering the phone or the happy new year msgs or whatever people send me.
It's not about being negative.
But I don't know how to describe the feeling I get when someone asks me "How are you? How's life?"
And anything I say, anything, will be a complete lie.
It's just difficult. 

Word Vomit

I see you being happy and okay while I get deeper and deeper in my misery.
I see that nothing has changed in you. You still go out, same friends, same trips, same everything. And you seem really okay, like unaffected, untouched okay.
While I starve for a while then go back to eating to eating more and more till I get sick.
I feel disgusted and pathetic and sometimes I don't feel anything.
It's the very first time that I consider seeking help. I once brought it up to Mom. Who is oblivious to all of what I'm going through. And she said that there's no point. I don't have problems to go to a therapist. That it would be a waste of time and money.
But I never listen to her anyway.
I don't know how do people do it. How can they get out of bed and face the world. How to get dressed and go to work and just focus. How to be.
I want to just be. I want to get over shit and move on. I want to get a passport and go anywhere. I want to get out. I don't want reminders, I don't want to revisit certain places. You contaminate them for me. I just am not brave enough.
And I didn't do anthing for my birthday, except going shopping and baking muffins. No calls. No gifts. Nothing. I just turned 24. No big deal. But I need new friends, maybe. I'm grateful for my work, for keeping me busy. Even working on weekends. Its a distraction.

I don't know

Wondering...

Is this it?

Is that all?

Why arent you happy?

Is it enough?

Is it all?

Things I miss and more

I miss the sound of cutting paint paper with a cutter.

I miss shopping for new paint and ink pens and the sweet joy that engulfes me all day, high on my new purchases.

I miss walking through rows and rows of paint and touching paint brushes and contemplating the ones I should buy, the ones I could afford.

I miss their voices, each and everyone. I miss what made them special to me. The ones I've lost. The first's cheek dimple, his voice, the sound of his laugh and his smell. And I have to stop writing what I miss about him ,cause I can go on and on. You see, he was the first. It always comes back to that. Though I'm over it, I know the feelings are gone, but there's an impression that still remains...I don't know.

I'm drawing again and that's good. There's progress. But I can't feel satisfied with what I draw. It's simple and lacking depth. And I want to really draw and paint, like I used to. In the middle of the night, or at sunrise. For hours. I want a stiff back and achey neck for hunching over too much. I want it back.

And I want someone to tell me that I'm pretty. No, not pretty. Beautiful. I want him to see me as such, makes me feel as such. And tells me to my face. The whole thing with my ex, left me thirsty for affection. Cause I didn't see it from him. And as someone so insecure -though I don't appear so- as me. I crave affection like an addict. I crave care and warmness and intimacy. I need these things, like I need air.