I, Zahra from the ghetto.

There's one thing I now 100% know about the future, and it's that I'm not going to stay unmedicated forever. Whatever mental instability I have will win one day, and I will eventually become fully convinced to take medication.

I consider myself someone who is progressively getting better at managing my life with a brain that won't work in my favor. It usually goes like this: I spend a long, comfortable period of time functioning like a normal person, until one day, I feel like I am physically starting to lose control over myself and can't convince myself to leave the bed. I find myself hyper-fixating on something to get me through it until I slowly lose focus on it and return to my normal mode. Rinse and repeat.

With time, I started taking control over these phases by recognizing my pattern and trying to identify what triggered me—something I'm proud of, especially since I denied having depression for a long time.

One of the things I realized about myself is that, growing up, my inability to focus on basic tasks and everyday things, including education, built up so much anger and eventually insecurity in me. Realizing this at 17 and seeking help to understand what was happening inside my brain really helped me get through things and work on myself. I won’t get into why I’m no longer in therapy tonight, but I promise I’ll talk about it one day.

What I’ll be sharing tonight is about my hyperfixations. And believe me, it’s a wild one. It’s something I’ve enjoyed recognizing over the last week.

I am usually obsessed with podcasts—I literally help pay people's bills by how much I listen to and repeat them. Having the brain I have, I would get bored from waiting for episodes of my favorite podcasts, so I’d start searching for new ones. One day, I stumbled upon an episode of a podcast by someone I usually see in the media. I’d listen to what they had to say and then scroll. Day by day, this person became someone I thought about when I wanted to give an example of something. Then I started imagining scenarios in my head about what I’d talk with them about, and over time, I began relying on this fixation to help me get through my daily tasks—like metro rides to campus, studying, or even eating. I thought about them the same way I think about food—it became something that highlighted any bad moment.

As I said, being able to recognize these patterns made me think: to what lengths could this fixation turn against me? I mean, logically, if it gets me out of bed and my productivity goes through the roof, what could go wrong? So I started tracking all my hyperfixations and when they started.

Now, people who know me are aware of my love for comics, but few truly know the story behind it. When my parents first brought a plasma TV into the house, the first show my older sister put on was The Amazing Spider-Man. That day, she unlocked a new world inside my brain that I didn’t know existed. I understood instantly why women in my family wanted to get married.

I would spend my days on the internet rewatching the rooftop kissing scene over and over again, and I couldn’t understand what was happening under my pants.

Eventually, I did, and it got dark—God forbid the hyperfixation turned sexual. But anyway, I based my whole personality on comics. I went to school with a Spider-Man backpack, convinced my parents to buy me my first Spider-Man bicycle, and kept wondering why none of the girls wanted to sit next to me in class.

Now, this was a fixation that turned into a passion and still follows me to this day—moderately, of course.

Then I started collecting hobbies: music, knitting, crochet, karate, climbing, makeup, hair, pastry, pigeons, and turtles. The list goes on.

I realized I got really good at many things, but not good enough to be considered a genius. I thought to myself, "No wonder I get miserable. I know so much and nothing at the same time. I lack consistency."

Did my pattern damage my self-esteem this much? Is there nothing I am really good at? Is this the damage these fixations have caused?

I always thought it would be something like obsession or self-harm or burnout, but is the price I pay my averageness?

That day, my aunt and cousins visited. I didn’t feel like getting out of bed to talk to anyone, but I already made plans with a girl friend—we’re going to call her Sage. I actually had more fun than I thought. Spending my Saturday night playing card games at a café seemed horrible at first, but when I got home, I had to meet the family and sit at least an hour with them. As the night went on, I started enjoying myself more and more. I was still thinking about this fixation, but in a way that didn’t consume me. It never did, actually, but the idea that I have to depend on something to function usually annoyed me. That’s the main reason I won’t take medications.

I was dancing and scrolling through traditional songs with my people—something no one outside of us would understand. I felt a rush of happiness, but this time, it was real. It wasn’t something I made up during the day to dissociate from my reality. And even though it wasn’t perfect, my reality wasn’t horrible either.

I was always appreciative of what I had and what I currently have, and God knows I will never complain about what He gave me. But in that exact moment, and for the first time, I realized I was letting go of this fixation on my own, by my own consent, and not losing focus on it with time.

The next morning, we were all watching a movie, and the answer to my previous question, "Is there nothing I am really good at?" randomly crossed my mind.

Oh my God, I, Zahra from the ghetto, surrounded by mostly undereducated people, got to learn more than three languages on my own—English included—and educated myself on topics my younger self would’ve never imagined talking about. I am the daughter everyone comes to for answers in everything, and I’m writing a blog about my own experience in my third language, fully passionate about practicing more. I never forced myself to focus on it, even though I loved it, and it’s getting me where I want to go in life in many aspects. I was so caught up in finding what’s wrong with me that I forgot to look at and appreciate what’s amazing about me.

When your brain doesn’t think your reality suits you, it will find ways to distract you in an attempt to protect you. The realization that my brain is on my side, not against me, made me understand that the lack of communication between us was the actual conflict. I, the girl who speaks many languages and dialects, forgot to learn my own brain's language—actions, not words or whines. That’s why going out and forcing myself out of my bubble that night was the end of my internal struggle.

I love who I am. I really do.