If something stirred in your body while reading this, know that there is nothing wrong here. What’s present is a nervous system that has been carrying the load alone for a long time. These lines do not come from something “broken,” but from a body that has endured too much. And first, this needs to be said clearly: You are not alone. These feelings do not make you wrong or incomplete.
I want to run.
I want to run from life.
From my family, and from everything that made me who I am.
I want to run from myself.
I want to escape this world.
To live in a world no one else inhabits, alone with myself.
I don’t want anyone to even feel the breath I take.
I want to be alone with my breath.
I want to build a new life. But I’ve realized that building a new life does not mean creating a new order. Wherever you go, the fluttering or aching emotions and scenes in your subconscious go with you, along with the marks they have left on your body. And until the moment you say, “I don’t want to live with these anymore,” they continue living with you.
Why do I feel like someone who knows exactly what she wants, and at the same time like someone who has no idea what she’s doing or wanting? Should I continue tormenting myself, or should I decide for myself and choose myself? Why do these two seem to exist at the same time? What will happen if I choose myself? This fear tightens my breath. It locks my behavior. Where should I start? Which part of these heavy emotions should I hold onto? Or should I choose myself without looking at anything and just keep going?
If leaving is not the solution, then staying is not the solution either. Every day I stay, I continue to torment myself with what I cannot accept. My emotions and behaviors keep circling in the same loop.
Do I really need to make a choice? Or am I rushing right now?
Will time heal my wounds? Or should I put on my daily mask and continue life where it left off? As if nothing happened. No one can hurt me. I am strong. The housework is waiting. Work starts tomorrow. We lived through it, and it’s over. The children shouldn’t be affected.
Were these the screams of the house from my youth, and am I living with them now?
Am I the one I criticized? Am I facing the things I once said, “I would never do that”?
There is a saying in Turkish culture: You won’t die without living what you judged.
Were these the things I judged? Was it saying, “I will never be like you, Mom”? Or saying, “I will never marry someone like my father”? What are these? And why do I even want to look for a solution? What will I do once I find it? I said I wanted to run… Even now, I want to run. I want to run even from writing. I want to run from my children.
What should I do with this feeling of betrayal, of being deceived? What should I do with a family that never truly cared about me? Where did I fail to be myself? Where did I fail to complete myself? Why do I blame my family and my spouse? Or in other words…
Why am I looking for a victim? Maybe that’s easier, even if I don’t want to admit it.
Why do I have to empathize with everyone? Why does this empathy lead me to abandon myself? How can a betrayal take me back to a bond I couldn’t form in childhood? Will I get lost as someone searching for the cycle of life within that bond? Will my life end like this?
I can’t breathe. My heart is racing. It feels like I’m having a heart attack.
Yes, I didn’t die. I couldn’t kill myself. I couldn’t do it. Maybe a prayer made in time prevented it—a mother’s prayer, close and protective, a friend’s wish, clean and sincere.
But I continue living as if I might die every day. My breath tightens a little more each day.
As days pass, I search for meaning in what I’ve lived, and I can’t find it.
On one hand, I’m struggling with these emotions, feeling at rock bottom… On the other, endless household fights, insults, physical violence, responsibilities, children, and financial hardship.
Where am I? I’m lost.
If I had money, would everything be easier? Would it be easier to escape this house? What about my children? What will happen to them?
As someone who couldn’t find herself within an unhappy family, how could I leave them? Maybe I could support myself… But my children?
One is very young. One is sick. How would I continue their treatment?
Oh, My Lord, I am not okay right now. I can’t breathe. Is this what they call a panic attack, or am I having a heart attack here without realizing it?
I can’t contain myself. There is a fire burning inside me, surrounding everything. My children, myself, and the betrayal I cannot accept. While my inner knowing refuses to accept, there are also outside voices… “What will become of this girl?”