I struggle with this a lot. Often succumbing to being whatever I want to be in the moment. I am a lazy person. I don’t care. I am not here. Today is not the day I will be myself—so many contradictions. I don’t want to write. I want to write. What is the point of writing? Who am I again? Am I this person again? will the cycle ever stop? I don’t know.

Lately, I have been a runner. Running from uncomfortably as fast as possible. Once upon a time, I prided myself in choosing discomfort for growth. these days lately, I run to comfort like it is the oxygen I breathe. Somehow I am still here tho.
It was like Allah decided that those weak moments were not going to be how I ended up in life. even though at the moment, I was content to allow myself to die believing I didn’t deserve to live if I were this pathetic.

Who are you, Muna?

It’s been a while since I asked myself that. The best form of change is tied to identity rather than a temporary challenge.
Who do I want to be? Or rather who am I that I am not being?
because this misalignment between my identity and actions is causing me an insane amount of discomfort that has me fantasizing about death and it is not going away. No matter how much I indulge and distract myself. No matter how much delicious food I swallow or funny videos I watch. this persistent nagging woman watches me shaking her head and clicking her teeth.

“When will you be done running away from me?”

“Who taught you to hate yourself?” comes to mind.
Why do I run away rather than run to? What perceived safety am I running to hide in? Why do I feel in danger?
My wrist has tightly grabbed hold of comfort and it doesn’t want to let go. Irrational fear is a thing I remind myself.

Being deathly afraid of something only to realize through exposure therapy that it is actually not that bad or scary. That it won’t kill me.

That’s what I need to do more of.

Exposure therapy.

I love you.