grayscale photo of woman holding umbrella

Through Hurricanes And Sandstorms

I am walking through the damage like revisiting a site after a hurricane. So much destruction, so many broken pieces that I can no longer recognize what they used to be. The snow will soon fall, and everything will be covered in white, a blank slate for me to start over, but that doesn’t mean that what’s hidden underneath no longer exists.

My body is a map tracing the battles lost and the wars to be won. And I feel numb; the only reminder that something is boiling inside me are my tears, like steam from a pot ready to pop. Time wasted as it stands still; the world is on hold, but I am running as fast as I can to escape it all. With nowhere to go, with so much darkness within, existence is excruciating.

I am flooding. Overtaken by so many emotions, I can’t differentiate between them, or maybe it’s their unity that fools me. Missing pieces from my memory, gaps in the stories I tell so I can convince myself that what I am pretending to forget, in reality, is nonexistent.

My stomach turns; this sudden urge to empty my insides attacks me in the middle of the night, as if to warn me that it will consume me if I don’t let it out soon. I am meant to be alone, but I was not made to tolerate it. This much compassion kills every other feeling, and oh, how I wish to feel anything at all.

I ask myself every hour, “What will you do? What can you undo?” and my answer is always the same: nothing. I rise and fall like the waves reaching to the sky, dreaming of the moon. Feeling the tides push and pull through my soul. I am bent as I am trying to bend time.

And I dared to think that I had the answers to questions that are kept unknown. I speak with certainty that I am that reflection in the mirror, when in reality, I do not see who is staring back at me. I dared to believe that my heart was whole. The time I cannot account for, buried in the sandstorm within the hourglass of my mind. Always wondering if the lost years of my past are mirroring the future. Or am I trapped in the present?

I am disabled by hope, blinded by a light that only shines for those willing to see.

About the author
A daydreamer that allows certain dreams to seep into her reality. Follow Hebatallah on Instagram or read more articles from Hebatallah on Thought Catalog.

Learn more about Thought Catalog and our writers on our about page.