Who Has Time to Think of Titles at a Time Like This

It's been a while since I've felt this tug at my heart. The kind of tug I know can only be achieved by myself, me, as a child that is. Let me back up a little, I will not dare to speak of my inner child. I will speak of the knots in my stomach that I've only experienced as a child. Blows of disappointment, and blinding light of hope.

It wasn't until I was on my knees, trying to breathe through what felt like my heart trying to beat it's own record of bouncing off the walls of my rib cage, that I realised that I have spent the last six months fighting. I have been fighting myself, fighting for survival, fighting to be heard, fighting to be understand, fighting to be trusted, fighting to still believe in change.

At some point I was on a table, in a doctor's office, watching him explain what a holter* device is, and why I have to have it on for 24 hours. 4 days later, I'm waiting to hear if I I won the elections for student union president or not. 2 months later, I was crying like a 4 year old in the university's clinic, holding 56 pages of holter results, trying to tell the doctor how unfair it is that I have to get a medical excuse for missing class, and how low it was of the dean to threaten that he wouldn't let me take my exams unless I shut myself, and everyone else up about everything wrong he ever did. 2 months later I'm standing in front of yahia el sady on he 4th floor shooting down all his attempts to make me believe that the student union that I'm supposed to lead, actually accomplished anything worth mentioning.

Three and a half years ago, My father asked me for the last time, Do you want to go to the American University in Cairo? 8 days ago, my eyes felt dry because I was staring and my laptop screen for more than 45 minutes trying to figure out why AUC would require that a student applying for the Community Psychology Diploma should have a minimum of 3.00 GPA average. 2 and a half years ago I was holding a report card of my results for the first year of college (faculty of commerce, Cairo Uni/Georgia state university joint program), I'd failed two subjects out of five and barely passed the three others.

Two years ago, I was rolled up in a fetal position, biting my forearm, trying to scream as quietly as possible, so my mother wouldn't know that I'm still not over the fact that I wasn't accepted as a secretariat In Model United Nation's UNICEF. Two weeks ago, I ignored an email from the Egyptian National child rights' observatory that was asking for my C.V because I was a possible candidate for an internship with UNICEF or the observatory itself.

A year ago, I was waiting for my sister to have her baby, so she'd be stable enough to hear about the dangers of sexual molestation and how to protect her son from them. He's 8 months old today, and I can't get myself to put the image of someone hurting him in anyway in her head, I am frozen.

I keep having dreams that I bump into the child version of myself, and I pretend I've never seen her before in my life. I always thought it would be the other way around.

I feel like a failure. Is that so bad?

*holter: An ambulatory ECG that can record the heart's activity for 24 hours or longer. Especially helpful for diagnosing transient symptoms (those that come and go without any predictability), such as rhythm problems, atrial fibrillation, and angina.