Today, I Am Asking for Help!

There are days when writing comes easily.

There are days when I can turn pain into sentences, memories into poems, and silence into something another person can understand.

Today isn't one of those days.

Today, I am tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.

I am exhausted in a way that makes even ordinary things feel enormous.

And today, instead of hiding that exhaustion behind another poem, another essay, or another carefully constructed sentence, I want to be honest.

I need help.

I have spent a long time trying to keep going while living with serious mental-health difficulties. My medical documentation confirms diagnoses including Major Depressive Disorder with severe suicidal ideation, severe PTSD, and severe Panic Disorder, and notes that these conditions significantly affect my emotional well-being and ability to function on a daily basis.

Since January, I was unable to work anymore, afford medications or doctor visits, or our daily needs. And my condition got worse, and now I'm experiencing daily seizures and most of the time I pass out. 

Trust me, for months, I've reached out to many many NGOs, references and people in Lebanon with no success or even a reply. 

I am not sharing this because I want anyone's pity.

I am sharing it because I have reached a point where pretending that I can carry everything alone is no longer honest.

There is a strange thing about invisible illness.

From the outside, you can still look like a person who is functioning.

You can write.

You can answer messages.

You can publish a book.

You can create a blog.

You can smile at someone.

You can tell everyone that you're trying.

And meanwhile, inside, you can be struggling simply to make it through the day.

That is where I am today.

And I am asking you not to look away.

I wrote a book because I needed somewhere for the pain to go.

My book is called I Wrote So I Would Not Fade.

The title is not a metaphor I invented after the fact.

It describes why I wrote.

When my mind became a difficult place to remain alone in, writing gave me somewhere else to put what I was carrying.

I wrote poems.

Fragments.

Prose.

Memories.

Things I missed.

Things I couldn't say aloud.

I wrote about trauma.

About silence.

About fear.

About the parts of myself I was still trying to understand.

And sometimes I wrote simply because I needed to occupy my mind with something other than the places it could go when everything became too overwhelming.

Eventually, those pages became a book.

Then another language.

Then an eBook.

Then a paperback.

For the first time, something that began in some of my darkest moments was sitting on other people's shelves.

That should feel like an ending.

Instead, it feels like the beginning of another fight.

Because writing kept me company.

But writing cannot replace treatment.

And I need treatment.

I am asking for help with something I wish I didn't have to ask for.

I have created a fundraising campaign to help me access the care and support I need.

I know everyone is struggling.

I know there are countless causes asking for attention.

I know that asking strangers for money is uncomfortable.

Believe me, I know.

But today I am choosing to be vulnerable instead of pretending that everything is fine.

If you are able to contribute financially, even a small amount would mean more than I can properly explain.

If you cannot contribute, I understand.

Please consider sharing this instead.

Sometimes a person doesn't need one person to carry everything.

Sometimes they need many people to carry one small piece.

A donation.

A share.

A message.

A recommendation.

A connection to someone who may be able to help.

Anything that helps this reach another person matters.

My fundraising campaign, and in the campaign you can find all reports, medications, everything.

https://fundahope.com/en/campaigns/from-panic-to-collapse-trying-to-survive

I have also gathered my books, writing, fundraising information, and other ways to support me here:

https://linktr.ee/Jean.Hatoum

Please don't confuse my asking for help with giving up.

There is an important difference.

I am asking for help because I am still trying.

I am still writing.

I am still publishing.

I am still dreaming about books I haven't written yet.

I am still building stories.

I am still imagining a future that sometimes feels very far away.

I am still here.

But being here does not mean I don't need help staying here.

Sometimes strength looks like writing a book.

Sometimes it looks like going to treatment.

And sometimes it looks like admitting:

"I cannot do this part alone."

Today, that is what I am doing.

I am admitting it.

I cannot carry everything alone.

So I am asking.

Please help me reach the treatment I need.

Please share my story if you cannot donate.

Please remember that behind the fundraiser is not a number, a campaign, or a link.

There is a person.

A person who writes.

A person who is exhausted.

A person who is trying.

A person who still has books inside him.

A person who still wants to see what happens next.

I spent months writing about what it means to survive.

Today, I am asking you to help me continue doing exactly that.

Please don't let my silence be the thing that makes me disappear.

— Jean T. Hatoum



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