Knowing this paralyzed me. I thought I could write because I was good at it, because I could do it. Discovering that I used to write just to survive devastated me. It crashed me into alphabetical letters that I am now failing at creating meaning out of them.
Today, I have decided to get out of my shell and talk about my state of depression. I am going to talk about the feelings and thoughts I have been having and have been afraid of sharing because of it makes people feel... "uncomfortable" and because it makes me look "unattractive".
I have been planning on starting a series of blog posts for a long time now. I will be sharing intimate stories about the childhood, adolescence and adulthood of an almost young Tunisian woman.. about me.
I'm Nada. I'm almost 27 years-old. And this is my story..
(to be continued)