It all started there.

There was always a starting point. I used to be a better writer. Now I only write about sadness. I am tired of showing the world that I am happy. But I don't want them to worry. Look at what I have done, when I show my insecurities to the world. And so the facade keeps building. The walls keep rising. 

"Keep building those walls, Aynn. You're doing amazing."

It is not surprising really, to see that I am a different person. I like it. This facade. This facade is the only thing I have which can save me from the world. As you grow older, you realise how cruel the world can be. And how cruel you can be. To yourself. 

But this facade can't save me from the akhirah, because only He knows how I feel. 

Because truthfully, I don't even know what I am feeling now. I don't even know myself anymore.

That's the worst part about me. I am my own enemy. I cannot love the flawed person I am because I am the person I hate. I cannot bring myself to be positive, but I can, for the sake of other people. You know I am doing it for you, my family, the generations after me. People cannot see me like this.

The sudden panic attack as I stop in the middle of the road as I cycle to my lectures. The mini but severe breakdown I get as I sob in the toilet at the Student Union. The flow of tears in the tube as I head back to Euston to go back to my uni. The thousands of silent cries in the prayer hall. 

Another problem then emerge, when I open my heart up to people. Even to those I love, I end up hurting them. They say that they've sacrificed their life for me and in return I am ungrateful. And that they did not raise me to be this ungrateful. And if I tell my problems to my peers, are they trustworthy? I suddenly realise that I have social issues as well. But at the same time, I tell my problems to random people. I can't tell people who are more fortunate than me because they will only give me pity eyes. And the next thing you know, they'll say "I feel sad for those who didn't get to achieve their dreams." It's like your whole life is shattered. You tell them your problem and they'll only end up hurting you in process. If I tell my problems to those who are less fortunate than me, then they'll tell me to be grateful, and that people would kill to be in my shoes.

No, honey, you don't want to feel like you're helpless to yourself. 

I am grateful, but it is this whirl of sadness which comes back again and again, even when your life is working out fine. Here's a food for thought; do you think I like this feeling?