Attacking the problem, no the symptom

Tonight, I’m finding it hard to fall asleep, and I feel the need to share a bit of my day and connect it to deeper issues.

Today, I just couldn’t study. Honestly, I felt no motivation, no desire to do anything productive, and I fell into all the bad habits I’ve worked so hard to avoid. Everything I could have done wrong, I did wrong. But at least I chose not to add guilt on top of it all, because I know these are symptoms of something much deeper.

I couldn’t control my hunger, my responsibilities, or even my libido. I let myself be dominated on all fronts. This past weekend was especially intense because I began to realize that I’ve been focusing on the symptoms that affect me the most, while the real issue lies deeper.

The truth is, I’m afraid of being fully vulnerable and open. Life has never treated me well when I’ve allowed myself to be that way. Growing up in a hostile, aggressive, and abusive environment—from… well, always—that fear of being open and vulnerable became deeply ingrained in me. So much so that even saying something as simple as “I love you” to my mother became a heavy burden, Even though I see how those simple words melt her heart, it's still difficult. 

Sadly, with almost everyone I’ve dared to be vulnerable with—except for two people—the result has been abandonment, silence, or worse: manipulation and deep emotional harm. That’s why compliments, flirting, recognition, or kind words trigger a strange inner rejection. It’s not that I don’t appreciate those gestures—they're beautiful. But my mind, body, and soul react with panic. I scream and cry internally, even if I seem calm, cheerful, or charismatic on the outside. Inside, it's another story entirely.

This is part of why I developed such a raw, realistic, and sometimes obsessively honest worldview. I ran from hope, using logic, statistics, and realism to build a self-fulfilling prophecy about how things “really” work. At one point, I even told myself that even if Allah never connects me with a woman or grants me my greatest dream—to build a family—I would accept it. But deep down, I wasn’t really accepting anything. I just didn’t trust myself. It’s not that I don’t trust Allah—I do. I just don’t trust that I’m worthy, or capable.

Even though I have evidence and past experiences that prove otherwise, since those don’t match the internal narrative I built to survive, they don’t carry enough weight to make me believe that vulnerability, hope, crying, or accepting help and love are good things. I’ve always run away from that. And in doing so, I’ve been tearing apart my soul—abandoning the very dream that defines me: to have a family, to protect and love a daughter, to guide and nurture her and her mother. But that requires being vulnerable. And that… scares me. I’ll admit it.

That’s also why I struggle so deeply with pornography and overstimulation. Forgive my bluntness in the next lines—but I need to be honest. Inside, I’ve been replacing those beautiful, pure possibilities with flashy, exaggerated images that give me an easy, fast escape to something primal I long for. And when the act ends, I feel nothing but deep disappointment and sickness, because I know what I’ve done is wrong. Spiritually and emotionally.

It’s also why studying has been difficult. Because studying, learning, and growing academically means I’m one step closer to independence, to success, to becoming someone with no more excuses. And that would force me to confront my fear of vulnerability head-on. That would mean being ready to face love—and risk being hurt.

Even my fall into gluttony again—a struggle I had overcome—was part of this. It gave me a momentary escape from the deep anxiety and crushing emotional weight of these unresolved issues. These symptoms erode my soul and numb my feelings.

And yet… realizing all this, seeing it clearly, analyzing and accepting it, and now sharing it, opened some locked doors and slammed others shut. I hadn’t even been able to sing for a while. But now, in a small cathartic way, I felt something again. Music—both making it and listening to it—was no longer just empty noise to my ears.

But I’ll admit it: I’m tired. Tired of working so hard on myself for so long, only to end up back in the same place. When someone tells me I’m virtuous, kind, or wise, all it does is trigger pain and the urge to cry. I understand what their loving words mean—but I can’t feel good about them. I’ve come to truly understand who I am, but something inside—something ancient and afraid—sounds the alarm whenever love comes near. Or it releases all emotions at once, like a tidal wave that overwhelms me.

Still… I’ll try. Step by step. I’m young. Progress is not linear. I’ll keep working on my relationship with myself and with Allah. And I’ll try, little by little, to become more vulnerable with those who are truly worth it. With hope—in shaa Allah—that one day, I will find a beautiful, kind, humble, and gentle woman who appreciates the way I see, understand, and live the world.