It hadn’t occured to me that I had subconsciously stored secondhand trauma for nearly two years since the date I will no longer give power to, sometime in October 2023.
There are no trigger warnings for this post — it would be very disrespectful (to do such a thing) when this is a reality so many people face on a daily basis, so read at your own risk.
Before I begin, I would like to say that in no way am I :
- making this about me
- not acknowledging the privilege I have
- saying that what I am going through is in the same wavelength of what people who are under occupation since 1948 are going through
I know I am one of many who have been feeling guilty, inept, powerless, restless, useless in the face of unspeakable horrors, now amplified through fearless individuals who have risked their lives (and lost it) to bring us the truth on a nearly hourly basis.
(and before I go any further, I would like to credit that ONE therapy session, which was apparently all I needed to get clarity on where my mind was, health-wise)
Almost every morning since that day in October 2023, I would switch on my phone as soon as I wake, and would make myself aware of the atrocities that happened in the past 6 – 7 hours since I last checked. I would be greeted with mangled bodies of all genders and sizes, all the shades of blood a person couldn’t even fathom — on bodies, on walls, on tiles, on soil, and in different forms, too : splattered, dripping, flowing, dry, fresh.
I’ve seen bodies under rubble, a family whose feet are all exposed, dangling out — blue and grey, adults, children, babies.
I’ve seen bodies hanging out from walls, bodies being pushed out of rooftops by their murderers, bodies that have been dismembered in ways I didn’t even think possible.
I don’t think we were meant to see a human being torn apart like this. I don’t think we’re meant to see the way a brain looks when it’s been completely shot off of the head it once belonged in, or headless babies, who are less than a year old.
I don’t think we’re meant to see what one’s insides look like, when they’re turned into mush. I didn’t know I was supposed to see intestines sprawling out a child’s body like that. I didn’t know were were supposed to see children scoop up unidentifiable body parts, or have one of them acknowledge that their brother is in this 9-inch plastic bag that they’re holding shut with one fist.
I don’t think we’re meant to try and puzzle body parts together, in videos where a whole leg is about two meters from the body it used to be attached from, or maybe it’s someone else’s — an evil ‘game‘ of whose dismembered limb is this?, or witness how blood actually gushes out of a gunshot wound to the neck.
People in different positions — laying on the floor, sitting straight in a chair under their umbrella, because they’re manning their small shop on the street. Or bread splattered with blood. Or flour splattered with blood. Or plates of half-eaten meals splattered with blood.
I’ve seen people weeping over dead Fathers. I’ve seen people weeping over dead Mothers. I’ve seen people weeping over dead brothers. I’ve seen people weeping over dead Sisters. I’ve seen people weeping over dead newborn babies. I’ve seen people weeping over a dead Woman and a dead unborn child they tried to save after she was murdered. I’ve seen people weeping over their entire family wiped out in a split second. I’ve seen people weeping over rubble, over bodies they would never recover. I’ve seen people weep over Cats, birds, dogs, donkeys. I’ve seen livestock forcibly taken, or shot dead.
I’ve seen people weeping over rubble — because their entire lifeline is buried underneath. Sometimes it’s an elderly man. Sometimes it’s a Woman. Sometimes it’s a Man. Sometimes it’s a Toddler. Sometimes it’s a stranger holding on to a baby, not their own — the only survivor of their family.
I’ve seen people record their own deaths or shootings, or bombings, I’ve seen people seeking refuge who were bombed in the process, people calmly making their way to a safe zone who were bombed. I’ve seen a Father and his young daughter shot at, even as they lie on the ground from their initial gunshot wounds. I’ve seen people killed whilst waiting for aid. I’ve seen a girl carrying a jug of water who was targeted and killed. I’ve seen people in panic, covered in the blood of their loved one disfigured by a bomb, a shrapnel, a bullet.
I’ve seen and read Hind Rajab be referred to as a Woman. She was 5 years old.
I’ve seen people barely living, in an open air prison, stripped of the most basic of rights, in a country that is theirs, way before October 2023.
They are one of the most dehumanised people to walk this earth, and I cannot stomach any of it. I refuse to be desensitised. I refuse to turn the other cheek. I refuse to think, “I have my own problems to think about“, or “other parts of the world are going through this” — because that’s not the point. The point is that IT EXISTS.
I’ve seen it, and thought that speaking about it, showing my support in my own little way, spreading awareness — I thought that was me processing it. Apparently, I was subconsciously storing it.
Survivor’s Guilt is something we should not take lightly. The reminders I constantly make to myself, to acknowledge my privilege, to be grateful with what I am blessed with … has tipped me over the edge to now questioning why I get to live my life in safety, why do I get to go home to my quaint little space in the city with peace of mind, why do I have a bed to sleep on, why do I have access to food and clean water, why do I not need to worry — or worse — condition myself that the ceiling could collapse on me at any second and that there’s nothing I can do about it, because people who have the power to put an end to this … WILL NOT. BY CHOICE. AND IS AN ACTIVE DECISION THEY MAKE EVERY SECOND OF THEIR LIVES.
Why are the thousands of people peacefully protesting, and very logically expressing their DISGUST towards the INACTION OF SAVING LIVES NOT ENOUGH? Why is ONE LIFE LOST TO SUCH ATROCITIES NOT ENOUGH? Why hasn’t the world paid enough attention before 2023, when doing enough research would make you see that this started way before then?
You can’t help but feel appalled and disappointed (albeit not surprised), filling yourself with self-loathing for holding some form or version of peace that you try to convince yourself of — that it exists — that they will have justice, that they will be free, that people will pay for their crimes, but you look at the ones who are capable of putting an end, a definite end, knowing that nothing will be done.
Nothing before it’s too late.
It got to a point where I was celebrating my birthday week out of the country and I asked myself why did I think I deserved to do something like this when in many parts of the world, people’s murders were constantly televised, and it hasn’t made anyone with power angry enough to end the horrors.
Why are others’ lives prioritised over anyone else’s? We have one world we all live in — what made any of us think we have power and jurisdiction over others? Every life is precious. EQUALLY.
Why do I get to have basic human rights, and access to basic human needs — and others don’t, all because they were born in a specific country, and had no hand in deciding to be born there?
Nothing you say to me will justify this. This terrible, terrible thing that I believed we all vowed never to allow to happen again has unfortunately become a litmus test of where people’s morals lie.
You either support the murdering of innocents, or you don’t — and if your only counter ‘argument’ is that day in October of 2023, then I’m sorry.
A very unbiased history lesson should tell you where the scale tips. Nothing about this is subjective. There is only the truth — that the oppressors are the most inhumane people to exist.
The peaceful acts of humanitarians aboard the Flotillas have all been intercepted, all because they want to deliver aid. The thing is, if you don’t live in an echo chamber, and do your research, and open your eyes to what’s ACTUALLY happening, there’s no way you won’t be agreeing to everything I’ve said.
I oftentimes look at people who at this point have not publicly (even in their small circle, in any way they can), speak out against it, and wonder if I would prefer the ~nonchalance~ they exude. The “not my problem“, the “I have my own life to worry about“, the “it doesn’t concern me” crowd.
The “not political” indicators on Hinge is such a major turn-off, but thanks for letting me know that you haven’t gotten your head out of your ass, that you live such a privileged life and think the right thing to do is to parade that around with your IDGAF about politics demeanor.
One of the guys I dated changed the subject as soon as I started talking about the horrors taking place in a country not so far from where we lived and he goes, “anyway, look at this Açaí bowl I’m having for breakfast” — immediate red flag that I ignored, because I thought it was too early in the morning to be talking about something so heavy — joke’s on me as it bit me in the ass later.
These are my deal-breakers, my non-negotiables. Stand for something. Be passionate about humanity and the causes we need to fight for. LGBTQIA rights. Being pro-choice. Raise up members of marginalised groups. Hate on oppressors. Support gun control. Be disgusted by corruption. Be bothered by the fact that not all people are treated equally and not think of that as an acceptable norm we should all learn to live with. The male population never owning a pair of skinny jean shorts (I’m sorry, I hate them with a passion too, ugh, especially the light wash, ripped ones, BARF).
Acknowledge your privilege and have enough empathy that isn’t selective, enough to go around for people who need it. Use the pedestal society bestowed on you to lift people up to your level — that, or step down and march with everyone else.
While we’re on the subject, thought of including a video of the amazing Shivanee Singhvi (she’s a life-changer), who does a deep-dive into PTSD. VERY FITTING for this blog post, and something I definitely discussed during my session.
As I look deeply into the guilt I carry, I am grateful for it. I am grateful to have the capacity to feel, even if it got to a point where it was too much for me to emotionally and mentally bear.
I’d rather feel for fellow human beings than not at all. I couldn’t imagine going about my day not thinking of all the oppressed.
Yes, my life is important — but so is everyone else’s. If my empathy and my thoughts and my feelings and my prayers are all I could give them, then so be it. That’s not something I’ll be greedy with.
It is a gift — it is the flicker of light we all carry and share with each other to ignite a much needed, bigger flame. May many of us responsibly lug it around to wake the world up. Sometimes, its unfortunately the least we can do.
Having survivor’s guilt is the bare minimum.
thatgirlabbie.com 
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