“The thought of suicide is a great consolation: by means of it one gets through many a dark night.” I’m not here to claim to be a hero for making another blog post that has to be out there, nor am I here to gain anybody’s sorrow. I am simply jotting down thoughts that happens to have been repeatedly thought of - in my own brain. No, I am not a professor in anything, only an experienced teenager, which sometimes can be easier to trust than a professor who has been in a lab all his life trying to understand why people are suicidal. It’s hard to begin this post, as I’m not sure where to begin. Let’s begin with the word itself. “Suicide”, an act of intentionally killing yourself. For me, words don’t seem that serious until you actually take your time to search up for a definition. That’s when it hits you. Why would you intentionally kill yourself? These questions that your friends ask you once they find out is what is the most annoying part. They begin to verbally attack you without having a clue about the context of the word you just said. Why? What bothers me the most is the reactions of people when they see scars on your arm, or let’s say when they ask you why you tweeted such horrible things. Their reaction towards you being sad one day after just giving up. As a kid, I was the one who would smile the largest and laugh the most and goof around the most. I still am, believe me. But once you’re known as the “class clown”, it’s hard to get out of that position without having to hear all the comments. “God, why do you have cuts on your wrist?” - “It’s my cat, don’t worry about it.” - “Oh, I was going to be like “Hey, haha, psycho kid, time to go back to rehab?” Anyways, it looks gross.” Yes, by the way, I’ve had one of those conversations before. Suicide, or actually let alone death, reminds me so much of overestimation. People never even expected me to be sad, and now I had to say my goodbyes since I didn’t know what the next day offered. Would I be lying in my bed unconscious or would I go to school with another wide smile on my face? At times, I preferred the first option over the second. It wasn’t that I was tired of faking it, I never minded that. It was just the fact that I had to live another day. I lived through it and just spent all school days with the nurse putting water resistant Vaseline on my wrist trying to cover it up without people knowing what had really happened. The stress ball wouldn’t help, neither would the Butterfly Project. I needed something sharp in order for me to breathe again. You self-harmers probably know what I’m talking about; painting your wrist with a cute sharpie is different than having a sharp object on it. There was no other way for me to get out without having to self-destruct myself in one way or another. I would do it with such an impulse, forgetting about the ugly cut scars I would gain day after day, that would disgust the hell out of myself. I would go home crying myself to sleep, praying to God not to wake me up. Just let it be over with. I would go to school hearing how I should die, or what a whore I was, without the people knowing that I actually tried to die several times. I’ve always disliked bullies, and I don’t think they realize the negative impact they have on others. This is obviously one of the main reasons people do commit their lives. Although it was never one of my biggest problems, I have heard of people, even knew some, who took their lives because of some kid totally bored had to satisfy himself by unintentionally killing a human being. With that being said, as the nights became darker, I would go under my sheet and pray for an ending. That was my voice in my head saying I’d be better of dead. It still shows up sometimes, and I still don’t doubt the fact that it would be better if it happened. That’s my depression hitting rock bottom. I was sick and tired of hearing how I had so much to live for, and how I should be more grateful instead of being suicidal. What people need to understand is that it is not entirely in our hands. When you have major depression, what you think about or think of doing isn’t completely in your control. I do realize what I have and what my parents built for me and that I am hell of a blessed child, but my thoughts are irrelevant to that. Me being suicidal is irrelevant to my gratefulness. I’m one of the most grateful kids on Earth, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be depressed or suicidal. Owen Wilson had everything he ever wished for. Amazing cars, houses, he had the money he needed, and he could practically get any girl he ever wished for. The world suddenly went in shock when they found out that this millionaire to human being had cut his wrists open and swallowed as many pills he needed to take in order to die. That doesn’t mean he was ungrateful for what he had. It was him and his mind telling himself he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t carry on. Owen Wilson, I and millions of other people - are only human. We hurt too, possibly more than others. There is nothing wrong with being depressed. It’s nothing you should be ashamed of. You’ve gone through the worst and it’s all downhill from now. Just because you cry doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It only means you have emotions like the rest of us. Don’t listen to the rest. You’re not emo, you’re beautiful. 

 

Another friendly blog, yay. Cool. So, there’s this girl I know, who happens to be one of the greatest friends I have, and have ever had. I’m going to make this short, for there are no possible words or paragraphs long enough that can describe her. School pretty much sucks, let me start by saying that. After all the shit that happened, I thought nothing could help me even smile. But I was wrong. Here comes a chick, half Palestinian, half Greek (what the hell) who likes to read and write books. I didn’t even know her so well, until I once followed her to the library. She took stacks of books, and the librarians pointed out that I should learn from her. First I thought she was joking, because honestly we all judge a book by its cover. This girl was beautiful. And unfortunately, media portraits beautiful girls not smart. She proved me completely wrong. From that day on, I saw somebody I started looking up to. (Literally down, kind of, but yeah - you get my point, she a shawty.) Once during a class, we heard a girl who said “Wow, I never thought you were like that, you’re really smart.” That too, was my reaction the first weeks I got to know her. I, who want to take education very seriously, skipped a couple of minutes of my class last week just to hunt her down the cafeteria to see what she was writing. My face was suddenly stuck like glue in her computer screen, reading paragraphs like it came from an Academy Award winning script. I started jumping up and down and was furious when a teacher interrupted us. I wanted to stay. This wasn’t the first time it had happened. The debates we have in school is something this girl aces every time. God forbid she fails anything, but if (God forbid) she does, she can always become a lawyer. I’ll just put it that way. She is too smart. Smart beyond words. I honestly look up to her. She is unbelievable. I can’t put it into words. She is too smart for her age. Her striking beauty, intelligence and heart will take her so far in life in a fast pace, you won’t be ready. I know, by heart, that she will be something huge when she grows up. She will be a strong, independent and award winning woman when she grows up, and I’m going to sit there with my grandchildren and point her out when she wins the Nobel Prize, and I’m going to say “See that girl right there? She’s my hero.” I hope, with everything I am that I never lose touch with her. I am so proud of her beyond words. I love you.  

This is a blogpost that needed to be written. This is regarding me moving back home. Qatar is amazing, I don’t think anybody would disagree. Yes, it has many flaws, but it is truly a beautiful place. With beautiful people, at least I thought. I was the girl from Sweden, coming here to study and make friends. Eventually, people started using me as a second choice, even third and fourth choices, thinking I was the stupid chick who would want to make friends, and this was the price I had to pay. I became the maid of people, the bodyguard. I was constantly used. Suddenly, it became like Top Model. You start eliminating each other from your group. And then you’re by yourself. Friends, who are now just people, started talking smack about me behind my back, which I had to find out five months later. Have you watched Roommate? Now you know. You start killing others to keep one person, but what I was trapped in was getting shit talked about me. Saying I said this or that about that person. That I am apparently using them for who they are. First of all, me using people is absurd. I don’t know what there’s to take advantage of. Their shoes? This whole rumor here started a big old mess. How did I notice? People would treat me like I was a shadow. I would get completely blocked out. Let me tell you the reason for this. When you’re the new kid, and you barely know shit about that person, there is always somebody else who has more power and a bigger impact on people. Which side do you think people will take? The villain or the hero? Now folks, you might think I’m stupid to move for that little thing. I know how I should ignore all the haters and shit, but that’s easier said than done. Second of all, I’d rather be in a place where I can trust people than be somewhere with a boss who gets all the info of vulnerable people. I don’t belong here, nor have I ever belonged here. Only thing I want to say is, for those of you who believe lies, open your eyes. You know me better than that. Thank you for trying to ruin my life, you’re just ruining yours. I don’t blame others for not being able to trust others, I know that feeling now. And for my friends, if I truly have any left, I don’t want you to think I’m using you. To prove it, I’m leaving. Inshallah enti mistansa al7een. Mabrook, you just lost a good one.