Bismillah.

Ramadan, day one. SO this is it, huh? We here now.

I need to go buy some dates, some fruit.

                           Break.

I don’t know what happened but it feels like my girl abandoned me. Her mom’s situation is dragging her down and I can’t help her. I can’t save her mom and I can’t give her the strength to find hope. She’s been hopeful but I think it’s running out. She’s in a really dark place and it scares me. I just don’t know man. I’m tired of feeling guilty. I wish it were easier. I feel scared and alone. I’m in my own world and my teeth hurt like crazy.  

My teeth no longer heart but now my heart does. It’s a silent type of heart. A quiet hurt. A slow undoing.

Truth be told, my girl’s mom has been in the ICU for over a month now trying to beat CoVid. The toll it’s had on my girl is nearly unspeakable. The splashback toll that her toll has had on me is also daunting.

I’m just sitting here trying to save our relationship while I pray for Allah to save her mother. And I feel helpless. My therapist tells me that it’s wrong to expect emotional support from her at a time like this. But the kid in me is always seeking reassurance, even if the adult in me knows she’s not in a position to do that right now. I sometimes feel very hopeless and I wonder how things will ever go back to normal.

I roll my windows down after iftar, sipping on a mango lassi, blasting UGK, bass rattling the stop light. The warm summer breeze wafts in through my sunroof. The sun has dipped. I’m savoring this one song, this one sin, as if it’s a cigarette. In much the same way as I used to savor cigarettes after sundown, in Somalia, during those first few Ramadans that I fasted.

It had been so long since I’d even thought of fasting. I blame America for all its temptation and careful swaying away from belief. All those years of being told “just have a sip of water, who’s going to know?” It’s silly to think that Americans understand anything about self-restraint for a higher purpose. All they know to do is indulge till their guts can’t take anymore. Unfettered hedonism and exploitation, that’s what this nation is built on. You stay long enough and this country’s values start to seep into yours, until you can’t tell where you end and it begins. And so it begins.

I’m afraid that I’m losing the woman that I love. Or that maybe I’ve already lost her. And that maybe it’s my fault for being so needy and emotionally volatile. I guess there’s no one to blame. I’ve done my very best to be there for her. To be supportive. And occasionally I’ve fallen short. But I’m human. It’s much easier for others to forgive me than it is to forgive myself.

My therapist tells me if I’m looking for acknowledgement from my girl for doing a decent job of supporting her, stop. She’s not capable of doing it because she’s so emotionally exhausted. Imagine what seeing your parent almost-slowly-die-for-a-month would do to you?

I can’t, but I remember when I was next to my younger brother and I watched him almost-slowly-die-for-a-month. I lost it. I fell apart. And I’m sure if she was any less strong, she would’ve already fallen apart. But I don’t know what any of this means for me. I don’t know what to do.

Sometimes doing nothing is the best thing, the only thing.

I’m tired and my heart hurts. My eyes are droopy. The kid in me wants to cry. And since it’s Ramadan, and my heart is softer than it’s been in a long time, I can actually indulge that kid some free tears.

Here you go, little buddy. Watch them drip down my cheek. The big strong man that I am. I have to let you see me weep. See me weak. See me break.

It’s just me, me and me. And Allah SWT. We’ll make it, Insha Allah. One of these days, we’ll heal. Until then, let’s do our best to support each other. And keep praying that this girl makes it through her ordeal in one piece. And that her mother does, too.

I gotta go. I’m all out of words to say. I’ll see you around bro.

B  R E A K….

We don’t like being hurt.

We? Who’s we?

As far as I can tell there are at least 2 other Saids with me. Young Said, that little 7 year old (think ATL). Adolescent Said, that 13 year old (think running away from home in 6^th grade-9^th grade).  There’s probably toddler Said in there somewhere but he doesn’t have words. Just very very strong emotions. It’s interesting to think that not all Saids of me know how to write or even speak. Maybe why such a big gap between what I feel and what I say and what I think. Hmmm.

Anyway, these are all unanswerable questions *at the moment*. So I’m going to switch to the other doc and give the story a shot. Breathe. We’re going to be okay. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. Take it easy. Soon we’ll sleep.

I know it hurts not to reach out to her but I don’t know what other option I have. I don’t have anything left to give. Nothing. I’ve given her everything I could and it still wasn’t enough. And I understand this is not a normal situation. But I’m hurting too much to keep this up. Let whatever happens happen.

I’m angry and upset and frustrated and disappointed and feel abandoned by her. Even if that’s not real. That’s how I feel. And I don’t know how to make that feeling go away. I really don’t. She won’t pick up my calls, she responds to texts with clipped sentences. I don’t have it in me to keep trying. I really don’t. In some ways I’ve given up on her and on the relationship. Maybe she has, too. I don’t know if we can come back from that.

I’m just retreating further and further within myself. I’m shutting down. I’m licking my wounds. It’s all I can think to do. This might not be the writing I wanted to do but it’s what my heart needs to say.

BREAK>The Heart can wait.

BREAK BREAK….

Things are slowing down with my big writing project and I’m not sure why. I haven’t had too much balance in my life lately, so that could be part of it. When I first started writing it, I was really aligned internally. I was at a place of deep quiet and clarity. That’s very hard to maintain, and I guess unrealistic to hope for. Life isn’t so cut and dry. It can be very messy.

Well, I’m making progress, even if it feels like I’m taking these wild tangents that take me away from the story. Call it avoidance? OR maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to put a label on it. Don’t try to understand the thing while you’re in the middle of it. Just vibe with it.

So how do I go back to writing about the story? Well, I tried to abandon the chronological telling, and the emotional one hasn’t been working too well – I came unhinged from the central emotion line. It’s hard to stumble my way into it. And it’s difficult to put a framework on the ground before me.

So what’s the solution? I don’t know. Just keep writing and being uncertain. Be open to the possibility of wild things happening. I know you have too many hang-ups keeping you from writing openly about other people. But just be there. And let the words come out how they want. Don’t judge them, support them. Keep writing and processing. Don’t think, just do. Be you. Love you. Bye.

                          ~~~ BREAK ~~~

2 days after my birthday, 2020 – 4:48 AM:

When I went to give my auntie a hug, some part of me remembered when she kicked me out of her house for being an alcoholic – which, knowing her generation, she probably blamed on me, thought of addiction as a matter of willpower / self-control, not illness.

A part of me felt like I was betraying my younger self when I gave her that hug.

And the drama/tension playing itself out in that room was bigger than what was apparent. Years of pain and unaddressed issues. I never forgave her for kicking me out, making me homeless, instead of offering me help. She tried to help, in her own way, with strings attached. She meant well, but it still ended up hurting me.

Anyway, I’ve never gotten over that. Maybe that’s why I felt so compelled to defend my little cousin when she was blamed for thing’s beyond her control. Beaten down, this precious little girl. So innocent and told constantly how everything is her fault and she’s not trying hard enough. Sounds so familiar. Story of my life?

______was coming for me, especially after I stood up for _____. As if to defend her mom against me. And ____ was in the corner, his foot was shaking something fierce. He wanted to say something, but didn’t out of politeness.

When I left, it felt like that whole room was happy to be rid of me. And they threw in insults for good measure at the end. The whole room turned against me for saying what needed to be said. I guess it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, right?

Or, for future reference, maybe it’s best to stay away from that whole side of the family. It’s a lot of toxicity in the air. There’s so much to deal with there. Wow.

I’ve been in a long hole because of that night. I’m about to go to sleep and it’s 5 am. I need to get my sleep back right. And I forgive myself for the pain I allowed myself to avoid. It’s there, lingering.

But I’m here for you bro. I got your back. Idc what nobody say. We did the right thing, we protected a child from being verbally and emotionally abused in front of a whole room. And for doing that, the whole room turned their anger on me. Because I subverted the expected norms. Wow.

As far as I’m concerned, I was right and if I wasn’t, may Allah forgive me for speaking out of turn. And if I was right, may Allah forgive them. Either way, I need to find a way to be ok with myself. Let’s get some sleep and take care of ourselves. And everything else will be ok insha allah.

I love you little bro, keep your head up and be easy. Be ease. Breathe.

Break…