I always told myself growing up, whenever I heard about people taking their own lives, that it would never be me. That I was strong enough. The irony is so thick I can taste it.
Growing up as a gay man in an Arab household, in some of the strictest countries in the world, broke something in me. My family is deeply religious. To them, being gay is haram. It's a sin, a disaster, disgusting. My entire community, all my friends there, everyone... they all think the same. And I became a coward. I'd join in. I'd nod and say "Yeah, that's so disgusting," just to fit in. I hated myself so much that I started hating the one thing that was real about me.
I was the fat kid. The one who got bullied and beaten. Then during COVID, I lost the weight, but I went too far. I became a skeleton and hated the way I looked even more. I was always wrong. Too much, then not enough.
Coming to US for university was supposed to be freedom, but it just gave my demons more room to play. The addiction to weed and porn wasn't just a habit; it was a full-scale occupation of my mind. An addiction to worshipping a fantasy of power and submission I could never have in real life. It won before the fight even started. I skipped classes. I hid in my room. I destroyed my future to feed a hunger that only grew.
I want you, if anyone is even reading this, to know it wasn't just the porn or the weed. It was the complete and total exhaustion of fighting every single day. Fighting to be someone I'm not for my family. Fighting an addiction that rewired my brain. Fighting the shame that followed me like a shadow. Fighting just to get out of bed. I am just tired. The kind of tired that doesn't go away with sleep
It's been a good 21 years on this planet
Growing up as a gay man in an Arab household, in some of the strictest countries in the world, broke something in me. My family is deeply religious. To them, being gay is haram. It's a sin, a disaster, disgusting. My entire community, all my friends there, everyone... they all think the same. And I became a coward. I'd join in. I'd nod and say "Yeah, that's so disgusting," just to fit in. I hated myself so much that I started hating the one thing that was real about me.
I was the fat kid. The one who got bullied and beaten. Then during COVID, I lost the weight, but I went too far. I became a skeleton and hated the way I looked even more. I was always wrong. Too much, then not enough.
Coming to US for university was supposed to be freedom, but it just gave my demons more room to play. The addiction to weed and porn wasn't just a habit; it was a full-scale occupation of my mind. An addiction to worshipping a fantasy of power and submission I could never have in real life. It won before the fight even started. I skipped classes. I hid in my room. I destroyed my future to feed a hunger that only grew.
I want you, if anyone is even reading this, to know it wasn't just the porn or the weed. It was the complete and total exhaustion of fighting every single day. Fighting to be someone I'm not for my family. Fighting an addiction that rewired my brain. Fighting the shame that followed me like a shadow. Fighting just to get out of bed. I am just tired. The kind of tired that doesn't go away with sleep
It's been a good 21 years on this planet
good luck,
