The Void
Short story/Fiction
I battled the rock of resistance in my stomach as my phone alarm jarred me awake for the fifteenth time, the aggressive beeping increasing the tightening in my belly with each second. I couldn’t quite understand why it was so hard for me to get up– it wasn’t that I didn’t want to get up. It wasn’t even that I was tired. And I certainly didn’t want to avoid the sun– I yearned for the daylight, and hated that icky feeling of waking up late when I knew so much of the day passed that I would have liked to have experienced it instead of dozing away.
Yet, this predicament wasn’t new for me. For some reason, I couldn’t help but stay chained to the covers even as I felt suffocated under them.
A painful comfort– the kind that doesn’t feel good but you feel attached to it anyway.
Maybe the source of me staying in bed even though it didn’t feel good despite simultaneously yearning to free myself from the covers was something too much for me to unpack, especially first thing in the morning– and so I did the next best thing:
Avoidance.
And it turns out, sleep was a great way for me to avoid my intrusive thoughts and other things I wanted to keep tucked away, in the depths of my unconscious mind.
Unless of course they manifested as weird dreams or nightmares.
And this time, the horrible tinny sound of my smartphone alarm had actually saved me from one that one reoccuring dream where I was alone, surrounded and trapped by flames, my screams and begging for help going unheard despite several people being around me– two of them being my parents, two of them being my younger siblings.
But there were hundreds of people beyond them.
It didn’t matter that there were several people around me– they continued going about. I might as well have been in a void by myself.
But somehow it seemed worse to know that there were people who could hear me, and simply chose not to listen or help. It was especially worse knowing that my family was among them.
Could they really not hear me? Could they really not understand I was in pain? Or did they know, but deem me so insignificant to choose to let me suffer– not caring in the first place? Perhaps it’s the indifference that hurts the most.
With a sigh and a huff, I finally turned the alarm off and got up this time. Desperate to forget the dream and the knots, I opened Instagram, curious to see how the video I posted last night was doing– and also nervous to see if I had gotten any hate. It had 240 likes and 18 comments– not as well as I hoped for it to be, but not horrible either.
I wasn’t famous, but had the occasional viral video. I made videos about confidence and spirituality– particularly about law of attraction and manifestation. I sprinkled in bits and pieces of feminine energy advice, too.
Before I knew it, 10 minutes turned into 30 as I scrolled and scrolled, internally berating myself for already losing half an hour to scrolling. I then tapped on TikTok to soothe my shame, only for it to get triggered again as my feed was flooded with women my age who were doing so much better than me, having the things that I thought I would have had by now. There were copious examples of how much prettier I should be, and how much I should be doing and achieving and accomplishing as someone in my mid-20’s– especially considering the privilege that I had.
My ringless left hand taunted me as various proposal videos and other happy couple videos popped up, reminding me that not only had I not found my soulmate in college like I expected to as a reward for saving myself for marriage and for opting out of dating in high school, but I also hadn’t had a real relationship in college, either.
And still not two years after graduating.
“Why can’t I feel good enough? What’s wrong with me?
Where are my manifestations going wrong? What blocks do I have from finally finding true love and making money from my content?
And from being more attractive?
Am I not in my feminine energy enough? Do I need to be more soft and submissive, and more of a receiver?”
I finally got my ass out of bed an hour later. After brushing my teeth, showering and eating breakfast while having minimal conversation with my mother whom I still lived with while feeling relieved at avoiding my father who left for work much earlier that morning (it was currently past 1 o’clock in the afternoon), I sat down at my ever present, familiar desk in my childhood bedroom. I stared at Google, willing for today to be much more productive than the rest of this week prior to today had been.
I had so many content ideas, and good ones. Eighty-seven ideas and with notes underneath them. I had a month’s worth of videos about confidence and manifestation and the like.
I was so productive!
So why did I still feel like something was missing?
Wasn’t I on the path of succeeding?
Somehow I found myself on TikTok once again, and then Instagram and then finally doomscrolling on TikTok only to be doomscrolling back and forth between the two apps.
There were so many important videos I had to save. Surely, I was being productive and using my time responsibly. This wasn’t any old school social media scrolling after all. I mean, the videos I watched were good videos. They were about helping me grow. They had the hashtags #selfdevelopment, #confidence, #manifesting and #success. And it wasn’t like I was binge watching TV shows on Netflix, like some people. Nope. Instead of spending hours on TV screens, I was spending hours learning from my phone screen– which was smart, given that not only did I binge watch self help videos at home, but also in lines at the grocery store or in car parking lots. Because after all, the grind mattered to me.
Consuming as much knowledge as possible meant that I was taking advantage of my resources.
I was working on myself. And focusing on myself meant that I was in my feminine energy– so what was I doing wrong? Why hadn’t a real masculine man shown up in my life yet?
After all, I had taken at least three courses on mastering my feminine energy and making sure I wasn’t being so hypermasculine and unattractive, and I had even spent several hours on becoming a manifestation expert through a couple of manifestation courses from the most famous women in the coaching industry. Sure, there were a few Reddit posts criticizing these women for supposedly scamming people and promising grandiose results from their courses– but still thousands of people enrolled in their courses and there were a few success stories. Surely, the people criticizing these famous women were using the universal laws wrong and therefore manifesting wrong– maybe they needed to work harder. At least I knew I did.
So what was still broken and wrong with me?
Somewhere along my scrolling law of attraction advice, money manifestation and confidence tips, relationship videos popped up. I felt a pang in my belly– or ahem, in my sacral chakra, as I had learned from a self-proclaimed trauma guru (not to be confused with a licensed medical professional or therapist)– as I watched the loving glances and the epitomes of feminine and masculine balance from these totally non-patriarchally packaged at all dating experts. I was a feminist, after all. Didn’t that mean that I was entitled to a masculine man who I would attract through my feminine energy?
As tears sprang to my eyes, I told myself– I would manifest everything I wanted.
I just had to be good enough first.
But to be good enough, I had to be motivated. Or rather, I had to stay motivated.
But day after day, self help video after self help video, and especially relationship video after relationship video alongside montages of women my age hanging out with their friends, that pang– or to be honest, that void– just festered.
And the rate of it felt exponential.
I was craving something.
Sure, the void was always there, even if I wasn’t consciously thinking about it.
What was the root?
WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WITH ME?
Seeing early twenty-somethings making five figures every month from coaching that I wanted to do reminded me how much I was not doing. Sure, my own Instagram and TikTok were starting to grow, but I wasn’t making any money yet. And I couldn’t help but save video after video about affiliate marketing and crypto and other money-making opportunities that would finally allow me to have the financial resources to get out of this house– to overcome the shame of being a 24 year old who still didn’t have a “real” job. I just wanted to finally feel free– I didn’t want to confine myself in these four walls of my childhood home, a constant safe haven for me from the judgments of my parents and their unpredictable outbursts over me.
Each video of a “girl boss” that reminded me where I was lacking stung.
But for some reason, it was those videos with other people– be it friends, and especially more romantic partners– that cut the deepest. And shame on me for that– how could I be so desperate for external validation? After all, self love meant that I was to fend for myself. I was supposed to be independent.
Only then would I be worthy of having friends, especially ones who wouldn’t be burdened with my troubles and traumas. And especially only then would I be worthy of a romantic relationship with a man who would be in his masculine energy, not weighed down by my insecurities.
And at 24, I was still relying on my parents’ credit card.
Why did cuts suddenly turn to wounds?
Why couldn't I be like my college self– extroverted and outgoing?
Why did I turn into a completely different person in 2020, after I had finally found myself when I was three hours away in my college town?
Why was it so hard to keep college Naima when the COVID pandemic led me to living with my parents back in my hometown?
Where did she go? Did I really have to go searching for her remnants far away from my hometown again?
I used to have friends. I used to confide in people and let people confide in me. I used to be vulnerable. But maybe I was too much, and that is why I didn’t have friends now.
Maybe that’s why some friends ghosted me.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to commit to me.
Everything felt so overwhelming and I needed something.
When I was 21, I had my first relationship– or, “situationship,” to be accurate. Even though he wouldn’t commit, he would tell me he loved me and get upset when I wouldn't say it back. I told him I needed commitment– but I welcomed the heady, pleasant feeling of his lips on my neck as they seemed to erase the void. It was as if the void never existed. But when it finally blew over before I graduated, the void came back with a vengeance.
A few hours later, I found myself at my small town’s bookstore– I was in the romance section. But soon enough as always, I was eyeing the self help section. Never mind that I had bought self help books on my last visit, adding to an ever growing pile. Wasn’t I investing money well if it was about helping myself, after all? Isn’t the more knowledge the better, even if it’s not until many tomorrow’s that I actually get to reading them?
Wouldn’t I at least feel supported by these books to make up for the support I was missing?
Maybe they would finally help me figure out what was wrong with me, or what I was doing wrong.
Maybe they would at least help me fill the void.
Everpresent darkness. A cloud around me that never seemed to go away.
Maybe these books had the answers I was seeking to fill it.
Maybe then I could finally focus better and be more productive and finally launch that manifestation coaching business that I’ve been wanting to do since last year.
Where did this dark cloud even come from?
After two hours of browsing the bookstore and taking home two books bought with the family credit card, I found myself sitting in the parking lot of the mall to which the bookstore was connected to. The sun had long set, and I sat in disbelief, wondering how I was so unhappy.
In high school, I busied myself with homework assignments during lunch time so that it would look like I was sitting alone by choice– not because I didn’t have any friends.
I watched as my peers freely dated, feeling a separation knowing that I wasn’t allowed to date and priding myself in my loyalty to my parents and to God.
In my late nights of staying up to do homework with classes I couldn’t keep up with, I told myself that I had to work hard now to be happy later.
Relationships, especially romantic ones, were simply a distraction. And I wasn’t supposed to have a social life, anyway– unless it involved being in an extracurricular club that I could put on my resume to impress colleges.
Friendships and fun in general were luxuries I wasn’t allowed to have until I had deserved it; but I didn’t have straight A’s.
So I just had to work harder.
And that hard work was supposed to pay off after graduating high school, and after going to college–
So then why didn’t it?
I was supposed to be happy, basking in success–
So why did I feel unaccomplished and unfulfilled?
Why was I still so fucking lonely?
And unsuccessful?
The void was a persistent companion, louder at some times than others.
It didn’t matter that I hid in my room, rejected my parents’ dreams for me, saying no to their blueprint.
Their voices, though silent, still loomed in my psyche.
The dark cloud suffocated me, but I was desperate to pretend that I could keep breathing because I feared acknowledging my reality would choke me.
When I saw other, more successful, more socially adept people’s videos, I felt the familiar feeling of their disappointed glances. When I stood in front of the camera to make my own, fear and guilt crept over me, my authenticity threatening to ruin their reputation. I gave up on trying to film when they were home– what if they heard me and wanted to analyze me, assessing me, like a project pet instead of a person, like they did when offering their unsolicited advice? What if they tried to strike up a conversation with me, again going into those painful discussions about careers that started off innocently enough only to end in mind games and manipulation to reconsider their vision for me, guilt-tripping me into molding to their blueprint? What if the privacy of my own mind was taken away from me again, their opinions and desires demanding authority over my identity and experiences?
I may have craved to be been– but being seen by them terrified me.
And that’s why I hid.
After adding my new books to the pile heaped in the corner of my room and changing into my favorite oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, I plopped into bed and turned the TV on. I decided on a romcom that showcased two families scheming together to get their respective son and daughter together romantically.
I wanted to escape– but alas amidst the shared dinners on screen, and the inside jokes among siblings and banters among the main character love interests, my mind fogged up, a familiar numbness taking over before the void intensified.
The void wasn’t a rock like I had felt in the morning.
The void this time, like it tended to in the later hours when the loneliness was the loudest, empty yet heavy. It demanded my attention and consumed my consciousness, taking advantage of the night to corner me.
I drowned in shame, bogged down by the weight of my insecurities.
I could no longer outrun the void as it swallowed me. How could I have been in denial of its imminence?
But somewhere, deep down, I know there would be a way out.
After I had risen out of darkness, I found myself staring at brilliant rays of sunshine that I could physically see against the clearest blue eye, glimmering upon my naked skin and increasing in ever-pleasant warmth. I noticed that these rays were hands, safe people whose faces I couldn’t see but whose familiar yet unknown embraces I easily melted into, making me feel giddy.
Still enveloped in the warmth of others, my gaze shifted below to notice the soft, jade green grass shift and slowly transform into even softer sand, waves kissing my toes, leading my eyes to follow them into an ocean of various shades of blue being bathed by an orange-red sunset.
I melted even deeper into the bodies that surrounded me.
I finally belong.
Suddenly, a large wave crashed into me and I gasped by the shock of it, observing a white ceiling instead of water or a sky.
I took a deep breath– and several more after.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time.
I don’t know how– but even if it takes time, everything’s going to be okay.
