Enya, 20 from Lebanon

It feels like a big blur. As if my mind had tried to erase this period in my life but left a few gray traces on the paper. It’s hard for me to think of that time—digging up past negative memories and emotions. I was away from my family, my friends, my home. In a country, among people who couldn’t possibly understand what I was going through.

I was buried in a dark circle. Depressed, tired. I would sleep all day to avoid waking up to the overwhelming heartache. I couldn’t eat. I nevertheless forced myself to eat a few bites of food every day.

The sun was shining at my window in a cloudless blue sky. The tree trunks dressed in beautiful shades of green. Some of the things that usually make me smile.

I felt nothing. Hopeless. Numb. I didn’t know this state of nothingness even existed. I couldn’t get myself to do anything other than scroll on my phone to see the latest news, latest attacks, latest bombs, which were five minutes away from my house, five minutes away from my loved ones.

I stopped going to class. My absences accumulated at the same pace as my feelings bottling up. The thought of seeing the university filled me with anxiety. I pulled myself together one day, got dressed, waited at the bus stop, went all the way to the campus, but couldn’t get myself to put one foot in. The thought of living while other people were dying. Acting as if nothing was wrong when everything was.

I don’t want to think of this period in my life anymore. I just want to throw out this gray-stained paper.