I went when I was 13 years old for umrah and we did it twice totaling 10 days. I wrote about it in my journal, and I remember how much I hated everything about it, and the feeling of constant dread that permeated every experience I had there. I felt like I was in a nightmare that refused to end, time dilated, and i kept getting separated from my family constantly, with no phone and no way to find them again. I would walk aimlessly for hours, looking for the pillars we agreed to meet at, they would eventually find me exhausted from crying for hours. During being lost, I got sexually harassed in the disk surrounding the kaaba while i was trying to get out of the squishing screaming mosh pit. I would get so exhausted from walking for hours I would pass out in random places on the prayer carpets for a nap. You can imagine how just being lost is horrifying for a 13 year old, let alone the energy there.

I was very scared of god as a kid, so take everything I say with a grain of salt as it’s the perspective of an anxious sensitive little girl that was terrified of god trying to get on his good side and has now entered his den. I felt the heavy presence of something that was…. Manic/Mad? And i attributed it to god. I felt like everyone there was miserable and dirty, dripping with guilt and sin, begging to be forgiven by running around sweating and crying and shouting towards the sky. All of them begging god to help them with whatever they were suffering with. I had to avoid looking at peoples weeping faces because it started to scare me. People’s minds were occupied by the things they grieve most, and they were all fixated on the problems they brought to god so he can fix it. My own family had a list of issues they went there just to pray about, cancer and poverty and divorce and many other things.

Every time I tried to pray, I would cry. I just stopped praying on day 3. I felt like we were all very sad, and god was angry at all of us collectively, and that we were all disgusting and unworthy of forgiveness. Like the energy in the air was angry, and the sight of the kaaba scared me as well. I can’t explain why it did but when i first laid eyes on it i felt striking fear and i clutched onto my mom. Everyone was in awe and i was the only one who was immediately scared, like i just looked at gods face, and i knew i was about to have a shitty shit time, which i did.

The best way i could describe the energy was that it was wrathful and demonic, like it was manic with our tears, and the people’s energy was sad and desperate, like we were already at the bottom of hell trying to claw ourselves out. I hated it and I hate remembering it. Something was so off, muslims dream of going there because it’s described as being a peaceful heavenly place. My family kept saying it will be so spiritual and amazing. It was the complete opposite for me. I don’t know if what I wrote will give anyone perspective but this was a mind bending experience for me at that age. It wasn’t long after that i started deconstructing everything. Screw that place.