The Door

In the past, it used to be really helpful for me to redecorate my room whenever I felt down or upset. I feel melancholic lately. For a long time actually. And the dark thoughts are more haunting now. My old strategy is not working any more. I changed the colour of everything in my room. I hanged new pictures. I changed the location of my bed, desk, and library. It is not helping any more. I feel like crying all the time.

In the past, I used to open my diary, let my feelings go, and then my tears would drop on the pages. I simply write. I just keep on writing until I can't feel my fingers, because I write with anger, sometimes with hope. Yesterday, I opened my diary. I don't know why I quit writing. To my greatest astonishment, I found the last page ever I write in my diary reads as follows:

Today I came to Your door. I had the hope in my heart that You'll be there. You are always there, because this is what You keep on telling us in the Holy Book. I was totally desperate. Rage was eating my heart. I climbed up the stairs to you. With each step, hope within me grows. There is a way out for me here. And... there I was. Standing in front of a closed door. Speechless and shocked, I knocked with so much anger and rage. My strong feelings pushed words out of my mouth, or was it my heart?: "Open the door. Open the door. You have to listen to me. You have to prove to me that You care". A veiled woman came running down from the upper floor and said: "What do you want? The mosque is closed for women except on Fridays." In my mind I was screaming: "But I need to speak with Him RIGHT NOW. I used to talk to Him anywhere, but he stopped listening. I thought maybe if I came all the way down here, He'd know that I really need His help". But I said nothing.

That day hope deserted my heart, and life has been awful ever since. Something in me has no will to ask for anything. I just wanted to be left alone.