To live is to be hopeful

A lot has happened since I last posted here. I moved out of the house with shitty housemates and moved into another place with shitty housemates. I got covid and the flu and my UC got so bad I had to take new drugs. And I probably had one of the worst depression episodes of my adulthood. I don't know if you can call it an episode if it lasted like 10 days. but man was I fighting for life.

Covid, as you know, is pretty bad, as an immigrant who just moved to a new country and a new apartment it's worse. But I told people when I had covid and they brought me food and bought me groceries. Someone was a dick to me and told me I was gonna make everybody else sick by not being careful. *I was only using the fucking kitchen at midnight and I always wore masks.

Always. So the next time I got the flu, I didn't tell people. I think I stayed in my room for a week. And I only ate untoasted bread with honey and bananas. And the flu was worse than covid, I had a high fever for 3 days and was constantly coughing. in addition to this, I was PMSing, and crying constantly. On January second I cried for 5 hours, before finally going to sleep. I remember thinking I want my mom, I miss my mom. But my mom was never a source of comfort to me, if anything she always makes everything worse. And I think I was missing something I never really had, I missed feeling like I belonged. I missed feeling safe and I missed having a sanctuary. 

I recorded myself talking and crying, which is strange but it was the only thing keeping me from slashing my wrists, not to kill myself though, just to harm myself. I messaged about everyone I know who was comforting to me before. I didn't directly tell them I was self harmy, but let them know I was fucked and needed help. And they helped. But man did I feel shitty for asking someone in Iran for help. 

I am in a really strange place. Moving away from my mom has made all the "trauma" I've been through resurface. But since I am not with her anymore, I don't have "valid" reasons to be mad at her. I just hate everything she does and feel guilty about it. I see how incompetent and weak I am, and I am what I am because she was abusive, parentified me, fucked up my perception of sex, and probably ruined my sex life forever. And I have nothing but resentment for her. 

It's kind of the same with Iran. I cannot physically follow Iran's news, or be in any way politically active. I wish I could remove the parts of my brain that connect to and remember Iran. I wish I had only heard about Iran through CNN or something. And I feel so shitty about being like this. I feel everyone judges me for disappearing from social media and abandoning my country, and my people. But the truth is, I can not anymore. I'm using 100 percent of my mental capacity to survive here and I have no more to give I find myself feeling guilty, and I think I deserve to feel guilty, but I prefer being guilty to being bombarded with bad news and bad takes and fucking masih alinejad.

I am surviving. Some days are better than others, some days I feel hopeful that the pain is gonna fade away, that I'll be content, that my intestines are gonna work probably, and that I'll get used to being alone. And some days I cry on the Ubahn for a straight hour, completely wetting my mask, but I still get off the train, dry my fucking face and walk home, knowing that this too shall pass.

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