Another kind of toilet paper

This world is so different from what I’m used to, it is dry and colorless, depressing in a way and scary for a loner like me, it is my jail and I know very well that I’m being punished .I guess I deserve a little discipline, and I will make myself feel better by reminding myself of a quote commonly used in Egypt, the place I grew up in, "السجن للجدعان"which translates into jail is for a real men, and I AM A REAL MAN!!!

I mean I would have been a real man if I was born a real boy, but I was born a girl so I guess that makes me into a REAL WO-MAN, even better. I have no idea how to translate the word جدعان, I think I’ll need some assistance with that, or maybe install a Google translation thingy here to help all you English speakers out.

My current situation is somewhat miserable, I mean not that miserable, it used to be and I myself am not miserable anymore, I got used to this jail I live in and have accommodated myself to certain activities to forget about it and about my past life outside these walls just to be able to go along with my everyday duties, work, women rights projects and the lack of personal matters. I have made sure to take up new hobbies, and mix, mingle with people I don’t usually mix with. I don’t remember who said that "جنه من غير ناس ، ما تنداس" my current situation is at agreeing with such possibilities and trying my best to keep my optimistic levels to its highest in order not to lose myself to depression or to something that looks like it , and that  happens to be my greatest fear.

I remember being introduced to a far family relative once when I was about 13 ,and after

I said my helloes by doing the" cheek thud "Saudi kissing

technique, my mom whispered loudly "that’s Rida, Huda's sister, she is depressed, and she has been for

a while since she came back from the states, she hasn’t left her house in about 5 years,

I’m surprised

to even see her here. Lana sweetie don’t give in to depression habibti, ok”

I remember I was mortified ,and have had Rida on my mind, especially

since coming back to Saudi. I’m always a step behind or a step forward,

Rida is me and I am Rida!

I think of Rida constantly and remind my mother during our frequent fights, how she jinxed me with Rida's story, and how? BC she brought me in this world, that I am doomed like her, destined to live here forever (although it was my choice to come back to Saudi Arabia) and that I will never marry like my mom wants ,in my perspective get with someone, marriage is over rated these days.



                                     I mean my choices in this particular meat market are very,very limited.



This woman that I have barley known has in a way controlled my life, I’ve seen her once and her depression has gotten to me. talking about negative energy, did I mention my mother's chronic depression that i have witnessed for most of my life and its the same depression she has been forcefully denying ,well that needs about a week of writing and another week of rewriting , I think just to give it justice , it’ll take a month.

I’m reading what I wrote and still don’t know where I’m going with all this, I guess I just am suffering from words and talk, that’s it I have “talk Diarrhea” and this writing pad right here is exactly the kind of paper I need to wipe the remains right off  with.