My cold and dark universe (Part 1: The dark chambers of my heart)

“Don’t get too close

It’s dark inside

It’s where my demons hide

It’s where my demons hide”

~Demons, Imagine Dragons

Warning: I decided it was time to write a short summary of my sad life and suffering in a single series of entries, the only expected result is a very dark collection of painful stories. You’re strongly discouraged from reading this.

How is a person expected to be a good person with so much darkness inside of their heart?! Actually, how is a person expected to live a normal life with a very painful history? No, how can a person even continue to stay alive with a frozen heart?!

A story of a frozen heart:

As a child I loved a cartoon called the Snow Queen[1]. It was about a Snow Queen that lived very far in the north that could freeze people’s hearts depriving them from any love or good. The heroes of the story were Gerda and Kay, two children who were very close friends. One day, however, the Snow Queen decided to freeze Kay’s heart. As a result, he became very cruel and lost all the love he had to Gerda. The Snow Queen then took him to live with her in her palace to serve her forever. Poor heart-broken Gerda decided not to give up and go and save Kay. After going through hell, she finally succeeded to find Kay, who didn’t seem to recognize her at first. But then the ice on his heart melted by Gerda’s love and warmth, and he returned to his old self again.

I grew up watching this lovely cartoon, but I had never imagined that I would one day have a heart much colder than Kay’s frozen heart. In my case it wasn’t a Snow Queen, but a series of sad life experiences that turned my heart into ice. And every time a Gerda finds me, something happens and we get separated forever, making me even colder and more hopeless. This week, this is happening again to me.

It’s very painful for me to write this, but it hurts even more to keep it inside.

Dark labyrinths of childhood:

I feel I have suffered a lot as a child, whether it was because my parents’ bad parenting, the horrible school I went to, or the very cruel country and society I grew up in.

Whenever I wonder how much ignorance can make simple people inflict a huge amount of suffering in other people’s life, I need not to look any farther than my close family. Do you know how painful it feels not to be able to love your parents -nor hate them? And how sad and empty you feel for not being able to call your family “my family”? I would argue that it is essentially bitterer than losing a family you love, because feeling that you never really had a family can be worse.

I’m not saying there are bonus points for whoever has suffered the most. I’m just saying that I have suffered … a lot, and it hurts me when I feel that the amount of pain I’m in is not understood/appreciated.

I feel I’ve never felt loved in my whole life, with some very few exceptions. And that’s the darkness inside me that seems to have no end. I really wish I had lived a different life, or that something unexpectedly amazing will happen to change everything and make me feel that all the waiting was worth it.

As a child, I hated my parents so much that I refused to believe they were my real parents.  I used to believe that I was kidnapped by people who looked like my parents, who were pretending to be them. They beat me, shouted at me, called me bad names, they humiliated me, never told me they loved me, embarrassed me in front of others, compared me to other children to make me feel bad about myself, and dismissed all of my talents as nonsense and a waste of time.  They made my childhood very miserable. I just can’t forget how bad I felt about myself when I sometimes tried to hug my mom who would reject me out of disgust. I can’t forget how my dad would not leave me go into my room to cry when I needed to so badly after he shouted at me or beat me. I can never forget that my own mom told me once that she prayed to God that I would never come back home. I never felt accepted in my own home, by my own parents, therefore I have no place on Earth to call home, and no people to call family. I always wanted to run away, but I had nowhere to go. I was always afraid that anywhere else in that country would have been a hundred times crueler to me. For years, I had only two reasons to continue living: 1- if I killed myself, I believed I would go straight to hell forever and ever, and 2- that I trusted that I would eventually grow up and be able to escape all of that.

They’re not bad people, in case you’re wondering. They’re just so stupid and ignorant. If you were to meet them, you wouldn’t be able to believe they did all of that to me. But that changes nothing. Does it matter why they damaged me beyond repair? Maybe. But it doesn’t change what happened, and it definitely doesn’t fix me.

 All of this has caused me an everlasting heartache that I continue to live with. Every single time I remember this (my whole fucking childhood) it literally hurts! I literally feel that my chest is burning. I sometimes even brake into tears. I had to stop several times while writing this to wipe my tears and calm down.

“What’s the worst of all?”, I sometimes ask myself. I think the answer is: suffering alone!

First childhood friends ever … lost forever:

As a child, I didn’t have any lasting friendships. I never had a friend or a person in my childhood life whom I could trust with all of this, whom I can open up to. That’s why I think I’m a very closed person now, and why I still struggle with intimacy issues.

My very first childhood friends were Emma and Farid (who I introduced in a previous entry). We were in Saudi Arabia, where I was born. I spent most of my time with them and I loved them a lot. But around the age of 8, my parents decided to move back to Egypt. So we left Saudi Arabia with no returning back, and I lost all contact with my first best friends forever. Till this very day, I know nothing about them.


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