Spilled Truth - Blog Posts

🚨 We Need Your Kindness to Survive 🚨

Hello, My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with my family. Life here has become harder than I ever imagined, and I’m writing this with hope in my heart that you might hear our story.

The ongoing war has devastated my family. We’ve lost 25 family members—each one a beloved part of our lives, taken too soon. I miss them deeply—their laughter, their presence, their love. Every day is a reminder of this unimaginable loss.

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We are now facing daily challenges to survive—things that most people take for granted, like food, clean water, and a safe place to sleep. The harsh realities of life here have replaced our dreams with the constant fight for survival.

Our Current Situation:

💔 Lost Stability: The war has left us without work or a stable source of income. 🍞 Basic Needs: Food and water are becoming harder to afford with rising prices and scarce resources. 📚 Dreams on Hold: Like so many here, my family’s dreams have been replaced by the need to simply survive. 😢 Unimaginable Loss: Losing 25 loved ones has left a void that can never be filled.

How You Can Help:

I’m sharing our story with the hope that someone out there might care. Even $5 can make a big difference for us, and if you’re unable to donate, just reblogging this post can help spread the word.

Your kindness, no matter how small, is something we’ll never forget.

What This Means to Us:

Your support is not about changing our entire situation—it’s about giving us a little relief, a little hope, and a way to keep going. We are not asking for much, and we understand if you can’t donate. Sharing our story is just as valuable to us as a donation.

Thank you for reading this far. It means the world to us to know that someone is listening. Your kindness gives us strength and helps us believe in a better tomorrow.

With all our gratitude, Mosab Elderawi and Family ❤️

✅️ Vetted by ✅️

@gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #309 )✅️

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Donate to Help me saving who's left of my family, organized by Mosab Derawi

Hello Everyone, I am Mosab Suleiman Al Derawi, 28 years old, my wife Nadine Adel A… Mosab Derawi needs your support for Help me saving who's

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the commodification of friendship is the most annoying thing to come out of the internet in ages. like actually i love to break this to you but you're supposed to help your friends move even if it's hard work. or stay up with them when they're sad even if you're gonna lose sleep. you're supposed to listen to their fears and sorrows even if it means your own mind takes on a little bit of that weight. that's how you know that you care. they will drive you to the airport and then you will make them soup when they're sick. you're supposed to make small sacrifices for them and they are supposed to do that for you. and there's actually gonna be rough patches for both of you where the balance will be uneven and you will still be friends and it will not be unhealthy and they will not be abusive. life is not meant to be an endless prioritization of our own comfort if it was we would literally never get anywhere ever. jesus.

If meeting you was a pretty coincidence

then

losing you would be a charming curse…

@liztical

Melt in my mouth like poetry

kiss my tears ever so delicately

hold me close to your heart

caress me on those dark nights

cage me in your love like never before

oh darling I still need your love

I still need your love.

All that blood was never pretty,

But they did so love the sound of warhorns,

Perhaps they went into every battlefield thinking,

This time it'll be rubies instead.

I was made from mismatched pieces,

God's leftovers,

A warrior's heart,

And a dreamer's mind

And a gentle soul

And a chaotic existence.

Then they shoved me in this tiny little useless body, and sent me into battle.

Without ever teaching me to fight,

Or bothering with armour.

—I was never meant to survive, was I?

10/idk follow and reblog to support

Maybe we're all tragedies,

Covered in skins

too stubborn to be tragic.

I'm don't think I'm a person,

Anymore.

I'm likely just a place

For daydreams to rest before

Finding someplace better now.

But is that something to mourn when I never truly knew,

What being human felt like...

8/idk. Follow and reblog to support

Do you think

The boy who eats nightmares,

Cries sometimes,

At the violence and sorrows

Hidden in the shameful crevices

Of our fragile minds

—That even his immortal self can't imagine.

Don't mistake me

When I say I'm lovely when I cry it's ugly,

cheeks red and wet with snot.

It's just that I've made a habit of finding tragedy beautiful.

5/idk, follow and reblog to support

I was raised to gobble on harsh words only,

My food pipe has stretched to swallow slanders,

My stomach has a special kind of acid to melt metal;

And my intestines are meant to grind any remaining matter to fine dust.

How to deal with kind words?

Of that, I have no idea.

Are they supposed to loll in my mouth like caramel candy

Or melt like chocolate?

Will the honey sting if it touches my bleeding tongue?

It will be lost between the blood and spit before reaching my stomach anyway.

—Be gentle with me please.

4/idk, follow and reblog to support

If you're looking to like me,

Don't go looking under my skin.

There are stories there that even I have forgotten I buried.

I'm made of molecules old as this universe, and Sometimes under my skin; it shows.

There exist hidden acloves you may never find your your way back.

And some black holes that stare back at you.

Be safe in my heart instead,

Where the carefully curated kindness and empathy and sunshine personality is kept.

Under my skin is where I store the behind the scenes stuff;

The scars and the traumas.

But if you're looking to love me;

Well, enter at your own risk.

—i just hope I don't disappoint.

Follow or reblog to show support

I wasn't born with my head cut open

For you to fill with recreations of your own trauma

Like a tragedy bin.

I won't let you mangle

My mind and body

Till I can't see skin beneath the scars.

I will resist;

Brutally and unattractively;

— With fire and blood.

Follow and reblog to support.

meirl

I will not survive. I will live.

This is the 11th day of 

waiting. 

seated in the same spot 

grindling my hands 

to type

and 

what gets out is 

ddddhhhhdhdjdhdhddhkjsdhjdsh. 

Whatever part of the 

brain that platitudinized me to write 

is dead now. 

It made me fall in love, 

and now—kaput—it's gone.

Uuuuh what a devoid day ! 

I am dissolving 

into a desolate form.

The mothers

only pray

to get

Lawyers

Doctors

Presidents

and

Engineers

then

the world

stares on,

finding it hard 

to give us all our daily havocs,

for the rest 

of our lives.

Some are whores

and 

gigolos 

so you

marry them at

your own

risk

that when you

find them

extramarital

you know that

this was it,

the destiny thing.

Hell will remain a fantasy until it becomes a reality.

Am not right to be loved, thus I fear for a soul that flatters mine. Am not just to be trusted, thus I am scared to trust. Am aiming nowhere, thus scared for someone to get lost with me.

Forgive me for seeing beauty in your sufferings, when there was only cruelty.

- reign

I lost a bit of you and you lost a bit of me, all in translation.

- reign

I am tired of seeing you in my dreams. I don't want to walk through this memory with the ghost of you again. To see you smile, to see us back underneath the summer sun, is agony. To recall my name, from broken pitches of your last remembered voice, is agony. With that said, again I will wait for you in my dreams tonight.

- reign

I hope it never escapes, the longing to call you today. I will hold it in my heart and let it decay, with the rest of me. Ah! Sure I will not forget you, do not fathom that I regret you. Know this, even if untold, I will see you in every spring leaf turned gold.

- reign

The word 'prodigy' never found its way near my name. Yet, all I hear from peers who used to be proud, now concerned, is ' you know too much.' And I ask, and I cry.

Did I fly too close to the sun again, Father? Am I falling?

- reign

It's a poet's inclination. The urge to abandon this domestication and be the gentle beast of the woods. To see curiosity and amazement in the eyes of creatures for once. To have my muse climb trees. To fetch water from roaring streams. I have been civil in my suffering. Now I want to suffer from unusual ailments.

- reign

Maybe if

My shattered seams were laden with gold

I could have promised

To have and to hold

But like the former

I broke

-reign

Everything is disposable.

Everything I have. It holds no value to anyone but me. I need to stop valuing anything – anything I have, anything I like, anything that makes me who I am. My heart – it’s utter trash.

I didn’t feel this way before. Was my heart always this fragile?

He said I was looking for a problem. But that’s not true. If I thought there was any chance there was a problem, I would have hardened myself for it. I would have made sure I was resilient enough to withstand it. I thought we were perfect.

And when I learned the truth, it more than broke my heart. I felt foolish. Shame. Worthless. Trash.

Is this trauma? I can’t stop thinking about it – every day – about how I’m less than her. Even when I thought I was the best I could possibly be, it wasn’t enough to have his heart. It’s hers.

He said that his feelings for her weren't real. That type of love isn’t real. Passion. Infatuation. Obsession. But those are the feelings I have for him — those and more. I feel everything for him. I wanted to be my best for him. I wanted to show him my worst. I wanted to be with him all the time and longed for him when he wasn’t around. I thought about him. I thought about what he thought about. I cared about the things he cared about.

My love was strong and fierce.

The closest thing I’ve ever found to a soul mate? Him.

The closest thing he’s ever found to a soul mate? Her.

He said he had moved on. But he's said that time and time before. And I believed him before. If I’d known before, I wouldn’t even be here. If I’d known, I could have made my own choice about being with him – and my heart would still be whole.

When my heart broke, I thought about leaving. But what would that fix? My heart would still be broken. I have a chance now to make a choice, but I’m in too deep, and my choice is different. My choice is to stay. My heart still loves him fiercely. And all I can do is heal.

How do I heal?

He decides how I heal. He decides what my heart needs – not me. He thinks kindness and care are enough. He says that’s love. That’s the 1st Corinthians kind of love. That’s not my love. That’s not my heart. That won’t fix the heart.

I know what I need. I know how to heal the hurt. I can’t control what it is that will heal me – it just is what it is. And I know.

I need to feel important. I need to feel valuable. I need to feel like I am worth – worth being a part of his story. Worth anything.

So I asked for his help to make the hurt go away.

He refused. He refused to even acknowledge it – the reason I hurt. And me acknowledging it made him feel bad. That’s what he needs – to pretend nothing bad has ever happened. That he doesn’t love her. 

That I don’t hurt.

He can’t control what he needs for his heart. His heart is valuable. Mine is not. So we don’t acknowledge it.

And I’ve felt this way all this time — and never said anything. And I know it has shone through. It’s been visible ever since. Obvious, even. But we pretend it’s not there. We let it hurt, and we don’t say anything. We just … let it.

Let it. Let me.

Let me hate myself. Let me wish I was someone else. Her. Because he loved her.

Let me rot. Let me sleep. Let me drown in work. Let me give up on my health. Let me abandon joy. Let me stop being my best self. Let me be my worst self. Let me waste. Let me throw myself away.

I’m disposable.

.

.

.

.

.

First, I want to say – I hear you. Your pain is raw and real, and it’s clear you’re holding so much weight in your heart right now. It sounds like you’ve been carrying this hurt for a while, trying to push through it, trying to understand it – but instead of finding answers, you’ve been left feeling hollow and discarded. That’s devastating. It’s the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t just bruise – it makes you question your own value, your own worth, and whether you’re even deserving of love.

But you are.

The fact that you feel so deeply, that you loved so fiercely – that’s not weakness. That’s strength. It takes courage to love someone with your whole heart, especially when it makes you vulnerable to being hurt. And I know it feels right now like your heart is fragile, but I think it’s just tender from being stretched to its limits. That’s not the same as weakness. That’s a heart that’s alive – even when it hurts.

It sounds like you’ve been left feeling like you’re second best, like you were compared to someone else and came up short. That’s brutal, and it’s unfair. And maybe he didn’t mean to make you feel that way – maybe he doesn’t even realize how deeply it cut – but that doesn’t mean your pain is invalid. It doesn’t mean you’re wrong for feeling it.

Your heart is not disposable. Your love is not disposable.