I hate the feeling of not wanting anyone to know how much I’m struggling.

But at the same time, I wish someone would notice without me having to say it.

To be honest, I’m not okay.

I feel like I’m dying inside. My heart literally hurts.

No one knows how many times I’ve sat alone and cried.

How many times I’ve wanted to scream.

No one knows.

What if I’m not healing? What if I’m just learning how to carry pain so quietly that even I forget how heavy it’s become?

Why does overthinking have to be so unbearable?

Happiness lives in three places for me:

Letting go of what was, enjoying what is, and trusting what will be.

I’m learning so much from the past and I am applying that knowledge to the present.

I’ve made many mistakes in the past but at least I’m not living in it anymore. At least I’m trying.

Mistakes happen and I have come to terms with them. Not every mistake has a happy ending but sometimes they teach you what not to do going forward.

Never chase what is removed from your life.

Trust the exit.

I read a quote online that really touched my heart. The quote was quite brief but it said something that I already knew deep within my heart and my mind. I just decided to push it away…until now:

“It's never too late to come back to Islam, you stayed away too long. Allah wants you to come back to him.”

Being a revert means learning a new way of life while slowly unlearning the things that once felt normal.

Be patient with yourself.

You're learning, growing, and finding your way one step at a time.

You don't have to know everything overnight. You don't have to be perfect to be a good Muslim.

Give yourself grace for the things you're still learning, and trust that every sincere step toward Allah matters.

Allah has His ways of showing you signs.

Only Allah knows what is truly inside your heart.

Keep turning back to Him.

Sometimes, staying alive is an achievement that no one applauds.

No one sees the night you had to talk yourself into seeing the following morning.

The shower you took after days of not caring.

The message you almost didn't answer.

They may never know how much effort it took just to still be here.

There are people walking around carrying battles we know absolutely nothing about.

Sometimes, the person who looks like they're doing very little is actually doing everything they can to stay alive.

So please remember that before deciding someone is lazy, distant, difficult, or not trying hard enough.

Suddenly, I'm in that phase again where I just want to distance myself from everyone, disappear for a while, and be alone with my own thoughts.

Not because I hate anyone.

I just don't have the energy to be around people or explain what's going on inside of my head.

When my own energy is off, I tend to stay away from people until I get myself together.

Isolation heals me, and some people just can't understand this.

I have to remind myself that it's okay not to please others.

Sometimes, removing yourself from things that repeatedly trigger your mental health and hurt your heart is top-tier self-care.

Don't ever forget that.

As an update to my mental health, I'm currently experiencing grief. Reflections of those who are gone from my life. Natural causes, cancer, suicide.

People seem to rush to get rid of grief because they see it as hanging onto loss.

But grief is really hanging onto love — which is why you always feel it.

Always remember, you loved them.

They knew it.

You're allowed to miss them as much as you do.

They are still a part of you. You carry them with you.

Living with joy doesn't mean you left them behind.

There will never be a need to "get over it".

Grief is the price you pay for the love we had. It isn't just missing what was, it's learning to live without what will never be.

Everyone you meet serves a purpose. Some test you. Some use you. Some teach you. And some bring out the best in you.

We are not here long enough in this life to be unhappy.

Don't carry your mistakes around with you. Instead, place them under your feet and use them as stepping stones to rise above them.

Not every moment is going to be perfect.

If you encounter a bit of rain today, remind yourself that the clouds will clear, and the sun will shine again.

There is always something to be grateful for.

You don't have to know where the current version of you is going.

You just have to stop walking back toward who you had to be.

Lately, life feels like one long fight between staying strong and quietly falling apart. I don't even know which side is winning anymore.

Some days I survive by reminding myself that tomorrow hasn't seen me yet.

Tomorrow is not promised, and the past cannot be changed.

Time moves like a river. The water that passes us will never come back the same way. So treasure the moments you have while they are here.

Live each day to the fullest and know that every day is a blessing.

Tomorrow doesn't heal everything.

But it just teaches us to live with what's left...

And smile over the scars.

I'd like to dedicate this post to Suicide Prevention Month.

You never know what someone might be carrying in the shadows of their life.

Have you ever reached a point where you no longer recognize yourself? It's as though the person you once were has slowly faded away, leaving you going through the motions of breathing, moving, and existing but no longer feeling truly alive.

That feeling when you don't even know what you're feeling anymore.

Not sad. Not happy. Not fine. Not angry.

Just floating, numb, overstimulated, confused exhausted, everything all at once.

The fact is healing from some of the hardest phases of your life shows your strength and resilience.

Sometimes, you're even more apt to help others than yourself. Even in a state of deterioration.

There's magic in people who carry tremendous pain, yet still make room for yours.

That kind of space is sacred.

Hold on. No matter how it feels. Feelings are temporary and the pain will subside.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you'll ever do, is take a leap into the unknown, and trust that something beautiful is waiting on the other side to call you home.

Please. Don't let go.

Having a mental illness can eat away at your entire being very quickly. It will make you give up. It will haunt your dreams. It will drive your mind crazy.

It is real. It is a silent and dark friend that carefully, gracefully, but oh so subtly walks into your life and gaslights you.

Life with a mental illness can seem lonely and impossible.

Feeling as though you've been unlovable your whole life is soul-crushing.

I do not judge anyone's darkness. Mine almost took me with it.

Sometimes, the best advice to give yourself is this:

Be kind to people. You never know what they are going through.

No one seems to talk about the heavy guilt that comes after a manic episode. Sifting through the wreckage when the high fades is exhausting and isolating. And the worst part about that is you feel alone in the aftermath.

Would you like to know what the scariest part of a manic episode is for me? Forgetting what it feels like to be myself.

I just remember this:

Every day is a fresh start.

Every day is a new beginning.

Every morning we wake up is the first day of our new life.

Give yourself some grace.

Stop stressing over things that you can't control.

Finding stability doesn't mean losing a part of yourself. Maybe it's finally having space to find yourself.

The introduction of a new medication to the current regimen can be exhausting at first. Sometimes the medication cooperates after a short period of time and sometimes it doesn't.

My bipolar depression became a focal point for my doctor. She recommended that I start taking Zoloft. Currently, it's my 7th day of taking it as of this writing and I'm already exhausted.

The most common side effects are:

• Digestive issues: Nausea, diarrhea, indigestion, and decreased appetite.
• Sleep disturbances: Insomnia or increased daytime drowsiness.
• Physical changes: Increased sweating, dry mouth, tremors, and fatigue.
• Sexual problems: Reduced sex drive and difficulty achieving orgasm.

I'm experiencing most of these symptoms currently. I'm on a low dosage of 25mg that will increase to 50mg starting tomorrow. From there, my doctor will see what current state my depression is and decide whether or not to take it a step further with the dosage.

Better days are ahead. I'm convincing myself of this. Right now, I'm struggling with tremors and lack of appetite.

It could be worse, I suppose.

“There is good news in sight but there are some dark clouds on the horizon.”

The uphill battle is real but I'm sure that I'll find my way to the top.

Having a mental illness definitely has its challenges when it comes to physical and emotional attachments. Symptoms can make closeness feel completely overwhelming.

Racing thoughts. Restless nights.

Constant fear, overthinking, and sheer panic.

The list goes on.

It is not always easy.

It can convince someone that they are a burden to the very people who would do anything to keep them here.

Sometimes all I need is reassurance that everything will be okay.

We have to keep reminding each other: your pain does not make you harder to love.

It is a life term. But, so is the love that you feel for yourself and others.

It's good to cry every now and then. I was taught not to cry when I was growing up.

“It's not what a man does. Especially in public.”

I don't see it that way at all. It's a part of the human condition that is necessary for all of us.

I see it as the body releasing parts of the challenges that we all face. It prepares us with a sort of clean slate to approach new things, good and bad.

Not every day is a crisis, thankfully. Some days are, indeed, better than others.

It's as though I didn't survive the transition to be full on schizoaffective. I came from the aftermath. When the ashes and dust already settled, I became who I am today.

But overcoming a struggle with the disorder that I have is a powerful and rewarding experience. I don't feel it often enough though. But I suppose that I can say we're persistent in our own way to capture that brief moment and never desire to let it go away.

A good cry is not a weakness. It's a sign of immense strength and determination to clear the air and the mind.

Give yourself some credit for surviving the storm.

I'm beginning to think that my brain can no longer house my thoughts. My depression has become so crippling as of late. Do you want to know what the worst part about that is?

I have no control over it.

Depression has stolen more from me than my failures ever did. First, it took over my thoughts. Then, it robbed me of my ability to focus. Relationships. My personality. The list goes on.

It leaves you dying. Slowly.

Only then will the world gather around you.

And do absolutely nothing.

I miss being well.

I miss not waking up in a cold sweat to a racing heart.

I miss feeling when my illness was merely a chapter and not the entire story.

I wish I could go back to the version of me that felt alive.

Imagine waking up from a restless night only to realize that you'll never experience a beautiful day again.

I've completely forgotten how to give myself the grace that I deserve.

I'm not even going to try and make myself happy today.

Why?

It's a temporary hell. I do know that eventually I will feel human again.

It may take a while to get there but the ride will make me stronger in the end.

I hope.

Well, this certainly took a turn from the previous post. I have thought about this for a while now. It's been on my mind for months:

The path we're presented isn't the path we necessarily have to take.

When something becomes a challenge, we can approach it a couple of ways. We can embrace it and hold it dear to us, regardless of its lack of fulfillment or we can let it go.

I chose the latter.

Some of my most memorable moments were when I reverted to Islam. I will cherish those memories forever.

But I can no longer pretend to smile when the narrow road is closing quickly. When you begin to carry a load, is it worth it?

Life is so brief. It should never be a matter of struggling with your decisions.

Interesting enough, I felt a bit of relief when I made this choice. It wasn't made for others. It was solely made for myself.

I don't know what life will mean for me without Islam but I'm grateful and excited that I've opened another chapter in my life.

I'm working on myself for things that aren't of my wrong doing. It is my responsibility to make sure that it doesn't control me for the remainder of my life.

“I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”

Sometimes the person you need to believe in most is yourself.

Take care and stay safe.

I supply many offerings as to how to contact me on this site. Surprisingly, email is the most popular option used by my readers. They tell me where they're from and how my site has impacted their attention and curiosity.

From small introductions to well versed and interesting topics, I read and respond to every one as quickly as I can.

I've read close to 500 emails currently this month. About 70 of them asked me why the My Journey to Islam blog disappeared.

Heartfelt and sincere inquiries that mean so much to me. It was, by far, my most popular read blog that I offered here on my site. I'd like to address why it came to an abrupt conclusion.

I felt a need for a change. You may have noticed that the site is missing a couple of elements that were a staple of my day to day writing. Hopefully from a navigational perspective, it's easier to get around and discover. But there's more of a focus now.

To address the elephant in the room, I suppose that I'm giving Islam a break for a while. It's strange to even type those words out, to be honest.

I have always felt “new” to the Islamic community. Not that I wasn't accepted. I was embraced.

But I'm focusing more on my mental health at this time.

Did I close the door on God?

No, but my direction has shifted. Let me explain why.

God has always been a part of my life as far back as I can remember. Religions changed throughout the years but that same force has always been there.

I needed to step away from Islam to appreciate it the way it should be treated.

More on this when next we meet.

Thank you for all of the positive comments and encouragement. It makes this small project even more special.

I remember spending time with a close relative shortly after my Father's passing. I opened up rather intensely about everything that was going on in my mind. The response? Uncomfortable silence followed by:

“It's all in your head.”

Trusting someone with what no one else knew — and having it fail so miserably — hit me hard.

I was urged to participate in therapy by my general physician. It felt as though I failed. But I gave it a try. After 4 consecutive monthly sessions, it started.

The voices and visions began.

At first, it was quite surreal, if I'm being honest. Shadows of people just wandering through my living room. It was as if they were searching for something. Imagine it for a moment, if you're able.

The voices are what prompted me to yet another hospital visit.

Vile words. Cold decaying words. Over and over again.

“You're nothing.”

“Useless bastard.”

“I hate you.”

I knew I was losing my mind. I was quickly yet quietly going insane.

Did my Father's death trigger something deep within me?

Fast forward to this moment. The hospital stays. The medicine changes. They still occur.

The truth is, I don't have all of the answers. Nor do any of us.

Perhaps, I needed to write that out to fully understand my illness.

It's not what you're labeled by a doctor or therapist. It's how you live your life with it.

And I choose to live. One step at a time.

There is a quote that states “Most men die at 27, we just bury them at 72.” I've spoken to many people in my lifetime thus far and many, not all, can relate to something that changed immensely in their lives at that age.

Coincidence? Probably. But something happened to me that I'd like to share with you. Perhaps, it will help me get beyond the point of that in which I struggle with daily since I was of that age.

I buried my Father at the age of 27 and part of me went with him. A part that's still not reclaimed. I'm even more lonely now than I was that morning after I received the phone call.

12:17am. 13 rings. I can hear them even today. I'm haunted by them still.

He was part of me as I was a part of him. We never spoke much. He was not a man of many words. But he showed his love and his courage to me every time I saw him alive.

After the funeral, I met with so many of his friends and colleagues who considered him a dear acquaintance. Hazed faces, like after a hot August afternoon storm passed by me. But the same words were spoken. In slow motion.

“I'm here if you need anything.”

Some people are unsure about what to say or offer to others to help out or whatever the case may be when tragedy strikes. Back then, I didn't need them, I needed him.

But he was gone.

I focused on staring at the open casket. My Father was at peace. He wasn't enduring any pain. But I distinctly recall the amount of my tears that lightly stained his blue suit jacket. And I knew I wasn't okay.

But then it started.

To my knowledge up until that point, I never experienced a full blown panic attack. But it happened that day. Right there. That very moment.

I honestly can't remember going to the emergency room. The tests, the scans, the bloodwork. But the questions though, I do recall:

“Are you currently on any medications?”

“Are you on drugs?”

“Do you want to harm yourself or others?”

Then came a name for what was happening to me. Panic Disorder. And with it, the wonderful world of medications. And their side effects.

The beginning to an end. And the start of something that I battle with today.

Part two comes next time when we meet.

Until then, stay safe and always be kind to yourself and others.

Beginning the week is so dreadful when I'm in an episode. My focus on the good things tends to be on a much smaller scale than usual — some weeks, adequate just means getting through Monday.

I do have a local hummingbird at my feeder now. I was getting worried that I might not see any this season. I'll keep fresh sugar water in the feeder daily. I hope to get a few good photos of them.

Small as it is, I'm letting that be enough reason to feel okay about this week. Chronic depression is so mentally and physically exhausting. Since episodes last 2-3 days back to back, some days are unproductive, which I'm getting used to, sadly.

But watching for that hummingbird gives me something to return to — a small, steady thing that's still showing up, even on the days I'm not sure I am. This week, showing up counts as flying too.

There are evident days in which I know that the illness is progressing for the worse. Bits of uncontrollable upper body movements are becoming increasingly apparent, as of late. Yesterday it was a cup I couldn't hold steady. Small things, but they add up into something I can't unsee. I know that it's here. It's like the illness announces itself, in case I haven't remembered to recognize it enough.

What's the inclusion of something positive going to do, really? I have to accept fate. It's my only option, I feel. Accepting it doesn't feel like peace — it feels like giving up the argument. But it doesn't mean that my remaining years will be spent focusing solely on the negative aspects. There's still the people who stay close. The work still in front of me. Ordinary mornings that don't ask anything of me yet.

Will it continue to decline? Probably. Will I be prepared for it? I certainly hope so. The illness will keep announcing itself. I don't have to keep flinching at it.

My therapist doesn't give me homework to do like my old one did. At least then, I had something to occupy my mind — a worksheet to fill out, a thought to catch and examine, proof that the work continued even when the session ended. Without it, the days between feel emptier, like I'm holding a breath I don't know when to release.

I know I must stop comparing the therapists. It's not fair to them or me — each brings a different method, and maybe the absence of homework isn't a lack but an invitation. Perhaps I'm meant to sit with what's already been said instead of rushing toward the next assignment. I must absorb all that's been revealed thus far, let it settle instead of filing it away, and I must live in the now — not in the last session, not in the next one, but here, in the quiet stretch between.

If you find yourself in that same in-between space, waiting and unsure what to do with your hands, know that stillness is not the same as standing still. Growth doesn't only happen in the room with your therapist — it happens in the walk away from the computer, the sleepless nights, the ordinary day when something you were told finally makes sense. You are not behind. You are not doing it wrong. You are simply living it, one now at a time — and that is enough.

I decided to start again after realizing I'd been putting off dealing with some things for too long. It felt like the right time to stop avoiding it.

My therapy sessions have started. So far, he's gathering information to guide our future discussions. It feels productive so far, I have to say. Opening up to a stranger is getting a little easier for me — maybe just from the number of times I've done it by now.

If I'm honest, I'm hoping this helps me feel less alone in my own head — less like I have to carry everything by myself.

The meetings are virtual, which is a relief, especially since my old therapist was against that idea. It feels like a blessing not having to show up in person. My social anxiety appreciates being able to get help from the comfort of my own home.

Starting the 14th of August, the appointments will become weekly. I'm a little nervous about the jump in frequency, but also hopeful — more consistency might mean more progress. Here's to actually showing up for myself this time.

If you're reading this while still putting something off — consider this your sign. You don't have to have it all figured out to start. You just have to start.

Beginnings seem to grow more difficult as I get older. The shadows linger longer now, like the ghost of a burnt-in screen that refuses to disappear no matter how long you wait.

I'm on that journey once again.

Part of me is afraid of starting over. There's always that quiet fear of telling your story from the beginning, over and over, wondering if someone new will truly understand the complicated landscape of your mind. How do you explain years of victories and setbacks, moments of clarity and moments of complete darkness, in a single conversation? You don't.

But a greater part of me knows I have to keep moving forward. Growth has never asked for comfort. It has only ever asked for courage.

So I'll tell my story again. I'll answer the familiar questions. I'll take another uncertain step toward someone who may be able to help. Not because I'm certain everything will work out, but because standing still has never healed me.

Sometimes a new beginning isn't an admission that the past failed. Sometimes it's simply hope refusing to give up.