If you loved me, how did you leave me behind? How did you go to another man? You used him too. He didn’t have a heart like mine, but you used his tall, muscular body and his handsome face. You used his success and his authority. Or maybe you loved him—but you didn’t love me.

If you truly loved me, how did you let that man hold your hand, put a ring on your finger, run his fingers through your hair, hold you tight to his body until you felt his heartbeat? How did you wear a wedding dress for another man? How did you brush your hair for another man, stay awake at night for another man… how did you give yourself to another man?

You didn’t love me, Delilah. Maybe you loved him—but not me.

But something brought you back to me. Something still drives you to me. Maybe you feel sorry for me. You came back with your child on your shoulder, asking to start all over again. You left your husband just to come back to me? It sounded like a dream… a good dream.

But you’re still as selfish as before. You would destroy your child’s life for your own desires.

No, Delilah. There is no coming back.

I want to—but I can’t. I want to hold you and your child in my arms, but it wouldn’t be best for him. He deserves to grow up with his parents. He deserves a normal life.

I won’t take part in your wicked scheme.

You wanted a family from one man, and now you want a heart from another.

I’m sorry, Delilah… you always had

my heart.

But I can’t.

That’s when I started thinking that maybe I am addicted to sadness.

I don’t call it depression, because I still want things from life. I still dream. I still desire. But sadness feels… comfortable.

Maybe I’ve been sad for so long that I forgot the taste of happiness.

Sometimes I want to cry, but the tears don’t come. I feel that if I cried, I would feel better.

Life didn’t treat me well, my friends—but it didn’t treat me badly either. I know I have a better life than many people.

Still, sadness became part of it.

I don’t know what I would do if I had everything—love, money, a perfect body. Would I sit and enjoy life? Or would I live in fear of losing it all?

Sometimes, thinking about death brings me comfort. Like everything would finally be quiet. Like the war inside me would stop.

When I pass by cemeteries, I envy the dead for their calmness. They no longer feel anything. Or maybe they do.

Maybe after death I will go to heaven and regain everything I lost. Maybe I will meet the women I couldn’t keep—not because I didn’t love them, but because I was afraid.

I imagine meeting her again. This time, I would be good enough. I would touch her hand. I would tell her how much I loved her—and how afraid I was.

Even writing this makes me sad, because I realize there was more than one woman in my heart.

Don’t think I am a bad person. I never cheated. I was only afraid of heartache.

I don’t know which one I loved, and which one I used to run from pain. But one by one, they all stabbed my heart.

God knows I wanted them all—or at least one of them.

I was honest with all of them, and they still left me with nothing but heartache and guilt.

There is one woman I still think about. Even after she started a family. Even after she had a child.

I wait for the day she might text me.

I know I am not brave enough to raise a child who is not mine. I wouldn’t hurt him—but every time I looked at him, I would remember my pain.

I refuse to build my happiness at the cost of a child’s peace.

He deserves to grow up with his parents. Unfortunately, I won’t be part of that.

I no longer speak to her. I chose distance for the sake of her family.

I only know what she shares on social media.

But I miss her. I miss her smile. The way she stuttered when she spoke. She wasn’t very pretty—but I was always happy when I saw her.

Maybe we will meet again. Or maybe we won’t.

Today, I want to talk about God — about religion, belief, and life. About how I see them, and how I’ve been trying to understand them for as long as I can remember.

I was born and raised Muslim. And I like my religion. I can’t say that I don’t.

But I also can’t pretend that my relationship with God came from peace alone.

I wasn’t always mentally well. I was often anxious. Often alone. And maybe — just maybe — that’s why I believe in God in the first place. I’m afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of life. I’m afraid that I’ve lost things I’ll never get back. Afraid that no one will repay me for what I’ve lost.

And still, I can’t live without God.

I feel Him everywhere — in the wind, in the sun, in the moon. I feel Him when I wake up at dawn, afraid and anxious. Not afraid of darkness, or spirits, or anything like that. Afraid of my future.

Maybe I didn’t worship God because I was afraid of hell. Maybe I didn’t even think much about heaven either.

Only recently did heaven cross my mind. Hell never really did.

What I know is this: I love my Lord. I love God. I love giving to Him. I love asking for His help. I love being a believer.

And I believe this life leads to something. It doesn’t lead to nothing.

I don’t believe I’m just an animal — eating, sleeping, surviving, then dying. There is meaning here. There has to be. We are something in this universe. The universe itself feels made for us.

Every religion — Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism — carries ethics. Don’t steal. Don’t curse. Don’t harm. Even when beliefs differ, the moral core feels the same.

And sometimes I wonder: If there were no religions, how would we make sure people wouldn’t cross those lines?

Yes, I want self-control. Yes, I want ethics. But I’m also afraid of God.

Sometimes I want to curse someone — and I stop. Because I’m afraid of God. Many times, being a believer is the only thing that stops a person from doing something bad.

Fear isn’t always weakness. Sometimes it’s the first line of defense.

Even if the police disappeared for days, I know I wouldn’t steal. Not because of the law — but because I’m still afraid of God.

That fear reaches my mind before anything else does.

God has been with me my whole life. My friend. My Lord. The only one I truly have.

And sometimes I ask myself a painful question: What if I’m just creating God in my mind and worshipping Him?

People once built statues from mud and stone — and worshipped them. Maybe I’m doing something similar. I don’t build a statue with my hands. I build a figure in my mind.

My God is merciful — but strong. He can punish. He isn’t afraid to punish. He isn’t weak like me, afraid to hurt anyone.

He is strong. He does not fear.

And then I test that thought.

A statue doesn’t speak. It doesn’t think.

And yet, my God feels alive to me.

I don’t know if this feeling comes from Him — or from my mind doing things I no longer question.

I don’t have answers.

But I know this: Belief has shaped me. Fear has protected me. And God — real or imagined — has been the only constant I’ve ever had.

First, I want to tell you that I’m sorry for bringing you into this world.

I thought I could keep you safe, but I couldn’t even keep myself safe. Life always finds a way to make you suffer — whatever it likes best, it will use it to punish you.

I’ve felt hunger, pain, and loss. I was strong enough not to care… but fear — oh, fear, my son — is the only thing that brought me to my knees.

I fear no human, not even death. What I fear is *you* — and *for* you.

You’re the only one I care about. I’m afraid you might not see me as a good man. Your father has always tried to be a good man — whatever happens, believe that. But I’m afraid, my son, I’m afraid that life might throw something at me that could make me do something I never wanted to do.

I wouldn’t care about myself if that happened — I would only care about you.

I was wrong to bring you into this life. I didn’t love your mother, though she was good.

Don’t get me wrong — I don’t love any other woman either.

She was good. I thought she could change me, but I was wrong. It was my fault — I pretended to be a normal man in front of her.

She didn’t give me peace; she fed my fears. It wasn’t her fault — she was too good to be my wife. No woman could ever be my wife.

I was afraid that I couldn’t give her the normal life she wanted — and I was right. I couldn’t.

Whenever she saw me awake at night, lost in my thoughts, she would ask, “Is everything alright?”

And I would say, “Yes, I just don’t want to sleep.”

But deep down I knew — *nothing* was alright. I was afraid.

Fear is killing me, son. But I’m a man, and a man must carry his fears — even when the burden is too heavy.

Promise me, son. Promise me you won’t be afraid.

Promise that fear will never hold you back.

Care for yourself, my son — because caring too much for others will only feed your fears.

Don’t be greedy, but put yourself first.

Don’t fear anything.

Don’t fear losing love.

Don’t fear losing people’s respect.

Don’t even fear losing yourself.

Keep the fear for me — and move on, my son.

Don’t be like your father

who spent his whole life fighting fear.

I’ve been thinking for over a week now about starting a novel.

I had a lot of summaries and ideas, but none of them felt like something I truly wanted to write.

In this novel, I want to discuss something I’ve always been fascinated by — people.

How do they feel? What makes them do what they do?

Have you ever thought about a criminal — why he did his crime?

Did he really want to do it? And if not, then why did he do it?

Was that criminal born bad, or did society fail him and turn him into someone he never wanted to become?

Or even worse — what about people who got punished for things they never did, but the evidence said otherwise?

To be honest, I don’t know how it will go.

I still have some thoughts about changing the plot.

But I want it to be real — to live it day by day.

Thank you for your support.

---

If you suffer from OCD or anxiety, please don’t continue reading.

---

Everything I’ve written above, I wrote a long time ago but never published.

I don’t really know why.

But I have something to admit.

Since I was diagnosed with OCD in 2019, I’ve been fighting my thoughts.

I’ve been afraid of doing something I don’t actually want to do —

and that people would judge me as a bad person, even though I have no intention of hurting anyone.

I just want to live a quiet life.

My thoughts keep changing from one thing to another.

Sometimes I’m afraid of embarrassing myself in public.

Other times, I fear that I might lose control over my body for a while —

that I might hit someone, or harass a woman.

Or, my favorite one — that I might try to steal a police officer’s pistol.

I don’t even know why —

I don’t want to do anything with a pistol. 🤣

Why now?

Because over the past few days, I’ve felt like my OCD has started to relapse.

So I just wanted to vent about it.

Even though I hate to talk about my OCD or dramatize it somehow

My novel won’t be about my OCD —

because, as you can see, my OCD is quite silly.

But I’ll use all the pain and thoughts I’ve had

to reflect them in the novel.

Not all of them, of course, but I don’t want to talk about my childhood traumas. I want to talk about how people, including me, don’t want to accept being average.

Mostly, you are average. Don’t get sad — me too, I’m average, but we both don’t want to admit it.

If we are all gifted, then how would “average” people even exist?

I wished many times to be a hyper-intelligent person, like Einstein or Elon Musk. But I am not. Half of my life I spent trying to convince myself and others that I’m very intelligent.

I felt bad about myself just for failing to solve a mathematical equation using only my brain.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t convince myself or others — simply because I’m not.

But then I started to think: why do people want to run away from being average? Some even play dumb just to avoid being labeled “average.”

You are most likely an average person. That’s not shameful. You probably won’t be a great scientist who discovers a cure for cancer, or a billionaire driving a million-dollar car while people starve in the next street.

But don’t take this personally — you may be talented, I don’t know.

I just care that you don’t end up being too hard on yourself.

In today’s world, you see so many “successful” people on social media. They try to convince you that you can be like them. 90% of the time, you won’t — but they want to sell you something, or they just want you to be obsessed with them.

What did they do?

What are they doing?

What will they do?

The truth is, they don’t care about you.

Don’t take my words as a declaration of giving up. Take them as advice: you don’t have to be ultra-successful, you just have to be average.

You don’t have to be a billionaire — just having a good-paying job and some extra cash for emergencies is enough.

You don’t have to be the scientist who rearranges the alphabets — you just need to keep learning and seeking knowledge.

You don’t have to end world starvation — just feed the poor around you.

In modern society, we hate average people. But it’s average people who keep society alive.

They work they start a family.

They don't control Media 

They don't use the poor people to be rich 

They give Even though they don't have much money 

They give and take 

Thet are the main consumers of most of the products

You know I would be lying if I told you that I 100% believe what I just wrote.

I'm still starving for being an elite, but I believe I would stuck their for life.

They got me in the trap. you decide.

I had known her since we were twelve, maybe even younger. People used to call us Romeo and Juliet. Then, suddenly, my doorbell rang. What I saw was not what I expected, but what I had often dreamed of.

It was her. She was still beautiful, only a little older. I didn’t know what to say. I had ended our friendship the day she decided to marry another man. He was handsome, older than her—but not by much. Successful. Rich. The last thing I had heard was that she had a son now. A cute kid. In another life, he could have been mine.

She said, “Hi.” I replied, “Hi, how are you doing?” “I’m doing great. How about you?” she said.

At that moment, I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted to hold her in my arms, the way I once did a long time ago. But my beliefs and principles held me back. I couldn’t betray them—they were all I had left.

So, I stayed silent. Sometimes silence is better than any word.

I went back inside, sat on the couch, rested my head in my hand, and closed my eyes, wondering what I should do. I waited for her to say something, to explain why. But she didn’t.

Then, I felt a hand holding my wrist. For a moment, I felt more happy than sad—but still afraid. I opened my eyes, only to find that it was my cat, holding onto me.

It had all been a dream.

But it felt so real. I think I’m the only one who still remembers. Everyone else has moved on with their lives—except me. And I don’t think I ever will.

Do you remember me? No, I won’t say Mario as we used to laugh— It’s me, your old friend.

How are you doing? Is everything okay? I hope you have someone to calm you down whenever you have a panic attack. You used to have a lot of them when we were together. I was always trying to cheer you up, to help you forget the reasons that caused them— but I failed, every single time.

I’ve heard you’re getting married. Do you love him? Is he better than me? I’m sure he is.

You know I’m the type of man who doesn’t like to stay friends with married women, but I’m sure I’d make an exception—even if it kills me.

Are you still listening to those teenage bands? You know, I realized your music taste was awful— but I enjoyed the songs because of you.

Have I ever crossed your mind? I hope you smile when that happens.

I’m not sure if you cared enough to think about how I’m doing— but I’m doing great.

I got a good job now, but I’m alone. You used to see me surrounded by friends, but the circle started to get smaller— and somehow I found myself alone.

Do you remember when we talked about dreams? You told me your dream was to make someone else’s dream come true. I wanted to achieve that dream for you. It wouldn’t have cost you a thing—just staying with me.

You were my dream, Matilda. But I believe now we’ve chosen different paths in life.

You want a life full of adventure and journeys. I want a quiet life. I just want a roof above my head, a meal on the table, and you beside me.

I want two cups of coffee and one pack of cigarettes to share with you.

You lied to me, Matilda— your dreams weren’t that simple.

But it’s okay. I lied too.

I told you I didn’t have a dream.

But I never told you… my dream was you.

Sincerely, An old friend.

Some people will argue about that. Some say it's a magical feeling—you fall into it. Others say it's just chemicals and hormones our body uses to mate.

I believe both are wrong.

Love isn't a magical feeling that gives you comfort. Love can hurt—it can even kill you. It’s not hormonal changes either. If it were just hormonal changes, people would be like whores, sleeping with anyone they meet. Yes, some people do that, but not most.

I believe love is a personal feeling. Everyone has their own meaning of love. For me, love is a hard thing to find. I’ve never found it before, and I don’t think I will.

I’ve lived through ups and downs. During my ups, it was easier to find a girl. But in the downs… Damn, in the downs, it’s hard. The issue is, most of my life has been downs. No one felt, no one was there for me. I’m messed up currently, but I’m sure I’ll get back on my feet someday. But when that happens, how can I trust anyone?

I’ve heard stories about women who stood by their men during hard times, but I’ve never seen it—not in this generation, at least.

So in my opinion, love is finding someone you can trust—someone you're sure would be there for you, even if the whole world teamed up to hunt you down.

Love is being there—always. It’s sharing everything: feelings, food, happiness, sadness.

Love is dying beside someone you feel comfortable with.

Love is finding someone who would cry at your funeral.

Love is having a kid or two—it doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, what matters is that they’re yours.

Love is a quiet place, away from the world’s noise.

Some people say women don’t have to accept a loser in a relationship. I’d say they’re right—she doesn’t have to.

But why should a man stay loyal to a woman who would leave him the moment he loses everything?

---

**I’ve always tried to be a good person.**

I believe that most people around me see me as one.

But you know, sometimes you look at other people’s lives and start thinking,

**“I want to be better than them,”**

or,

**“I don’t want to end up in competition with them.”**

I know that envy and jealousy are normal human emotions.

Most people who claim they don’t feel envy are either lying—or they’re narcissists.

But really, it all depends on how you deal with those feelings.

Do you want things to be taken away from others and given to you?

Or do you just want to have what others have so you can feel equal to them?

Or maybe—worse—you’re willing to hurt others just to satisfy yourself?

In my case, I’m not sure.

I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want them to suffer.

I want to see them doing well—but still below me.

I want to be the best among them.

Not because I hate them. I don’t even have a reason.

It’s just... there.

I read once that feelings like envy come from evolutionary psychology.

Thousands of years ago, resources were limited—

Food, partners, status—

and if someone had something you didn’t, it directly threatened your survival.

But things are different now.

There’s no real reason to feel that way anymore.

Sometimes I hate myself for it.

Sometimes I even wish I could disappear—just to escape these feelings.

And the only solution I see?

Pack my bag.

Leave all the noise behind.

Find a place with no competition.

No envy.

Just me and the Lord.

You want to feel sad so you don't have a loop of happiness and sadness

Instead of moving up and down you decided to stay down.

Have you ever tried to be happy?

Sometimes happiness could be a choice.

But I think we are addicted to sadness.

We love to feel heartache because if we didn't feel that we would feel nothing.

The issue is we have an empty heart a heart which hasn't been loved, didn't taste happiness for a long time.

Go ahead and pretend that you feel happy or assured but unfortunately you are not.

What we need is to unlock the cage we stuck in

Go beyond the body unlock the soul let the heart beats slowly till it stops, relax your muscle، low down your blood pressure.

Then maybe we can taste the true quite or maybe the true fear

When first I saw Matilda we were studying at the middle school, a little teenage with sad eyes,her eyes were brown but I don't know why I remember that her eyes were black.

We rarely talked back then, I didn't care about her back then or maybe we didn't get a chance.

She were in a relationship with a tall handsome young man who I hated or maybe envied, don't know.

Fu*k him we won't speak about that man. He mistreated her in that young age.

Years passed and we took a different passes in life, but we went to the same university.

And I saw her waving at me at the first day of the University the same girl with same sad eye , wearing a glass with her short hair as she always loved to keep it that way.

She was as beautiful as the last time I saw her even though back then I didn't consider her beautiful.

Anyways, I didn't wave back, maybe because I was embarrassed or I didn't expect that.

After I went back home found a message from her telling me what happened, I said I am sorry for what happened and then our friendship started.

She loved music as me we spent hours sharing sad songs.

She was depressed and lost as me.

We shared our pain through the night.

When every she calls to tell me about her pains I felt a strange feeling I felt happy that she chose me to call and sad because she is in pain.

I wanted to know the darkest point of her heart and I wanted to share with her mine.

For the first time I knew the meaning of opening up to someone that you have someone who will never judge you, someone you can really put away your armor while you are with.

But heaven on earth doesn't last long.

Things started to change she started to get away from me.

I felt her hesitation when ever she talks to me.

Sometimes she calls and want to talk, others she calls then she doesn't want to talk.

But whenever I call she didn’t want to talk.

I started to think why.

Did I do something?

I even asked?

Answers were shit I couldn't believe either because I don't want to or they were just bullshit.

That's enough for today if liked the story please inform me.

Thinking was always my gift and my curse.

It's a gift because I enjoy it , I love spending my time thinking about things, thinking of what is gonna happen, and what already happened.

But my curse because some times some bad thoughts intervene into my mind.

Don't know when it started, don't know when I started to care about that kind of thoughts.

I used to have that thoughts as a kid but it didn't affect me, but now, oh now they kill me sometimes 

I think as we grow we become stronger physically but weaker psychologically

I have done that many time.

It all started when I was a kid I dreamt to be a police officer, my mind back then didn't realize that I was too fat to be a police officer or maybe I knew but I didn't care.

I was too young to dream of better tomorrow, I believed in future I have the perfect body, but that didn't happen.

My teenage years came and that was the time for discovering romance, I was crazy for love , I met a girl or two but I didn't have a relationship.

I thought I will be a great man back then, I thought I will be a scientist who is gonna discover a cure for cancer or a leader who is gonna drive his nation to prosperity but as you grow older dreams fall off your head as your hair.

At my 21 birthday I realized that I no longer a kid, I am a man now and maybe I was a man before but I denied it.

But I stopped of having a clear dreams as before sometimes I want to start a family, sometimes I want to live alone but what I am sure about that I amnot happy and I didn't care about happiness as much as I cared about peace of mind.

But you know they always told us you should dream big, no you shouldn't they lied.

They didn't tell you of the heavy feeling that will fellow you when you can't achieve your dreams.

I wanted to speak English, french, dutch

But I am struggling in English.

I wanted to be business man.

But my heart to weak and kind to start a business.

I wanted to be genius but I refuse to admit that I have an average IQ if not below average.

I wanted to be a writer before maybe if my thoughts wasn't useful for me maybe it helps someone else.

Now I am 27 I know some of you may say that I am young but I had to kill all my dreams and focus on surviving.

If you read that blog, thank you that means a lot to me.

In case nobody told you before “ l love you”

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