Home Sweet Home

What's that you say, darling? Weren't you just escaping your 'prison' for the last two weeks? Yes, yes I was.

My dear readers, followers, friends, and stalkers I thank you for hanging tight during my times of tribulation. I must admit, I have deleted the post which describes in detail my melt down approximately two weeks ago. I thought it was wise to do so for two reasons. One, my country director sort of asked me to and two, well... it was really just one I guess. At first I edited some parts out, and then I thought "shiiiiiiiit, delete". I could see his point, reiterated by others that it would bring shame to my community and could be misinterpreted. One of the things I reflected on heavily while taking my little mental health vacation was what did I come here to do? Certainly, it was not to bring negative attention to the people I live and work with.

I thought long and hard about this, spoke for probably a total of 20 hours with different friends about the topic. Why am I here? What was I seeking? It's so easy to get lost in the romance of living abroad, meeting new friends, etc. I lost my way, I lost sight of my intentions and it's been a great relief to be back in my original mindset. I have always viewed service, or self imposed hardships as an opportunity for self cleansing. Through altruism, we can see the bigger picture and better understand our own purpose in life. I have been wrestling with the idea that one of my larger expectations from before coming has been a huge disappointment. I had it made up, that where ever I ended up serving, I would become enlightened or have some huge epiphany that while different and unorthodox, this new community's way of operating in this world had merit. This doesn't mean I hate Armenian culture. There are many things that I enjoy. I feel guilty even admitting this is the way I feel.

But yesterday, as I walked up the steps toward the train station which leads me to my village's bus I realized I was going home. In that moment I knew, the dread that had resided in the bottom of my belly was gone. Let's rewind a few days backward. I was sitting in Chris's bathtub -in the dark- seeking answers or meditating. Last April, I participated in a women's retreat in Pennsylvania recommended to me by my therapist at the time. For a while, I was really good about utilizing some of the tools we'd been given to cope / heal. It's been a long time since I returned to any of that stuff. I decided in Chris's bathroom to start with the very first guided meditation.

Now, I don't think I can properly describe what it is or what I saw, but what I realized and concluded was that my sense of well being or 'happiness' was shattered months ago. It was in the start of my actual service (after training) that the idea I'd been clinging to as my thread of hope and love became obsolete. He was the bandage I'd been using to protect a very old wound, and it got ripped off. I was unhappy. I have been unhappy, deeply sad and lonely for the last six months. Can you imagine? REALIZING that you are unhappy? It sounds so odd, but it's the truth. With that, it became clear that my reaction to uncomfortable situations in the host family, with the director and my counterpart and other PCVs is deeply tied to this other thing that I've been ignoring. It was then I understood that a house with painted walls and wood floors and a nice bathroom is not going to make me happy. If anything, these things that I have with the host family have kept me lulled into happiness. I like the blue walls, I love their shower, I like being taken care of even more. But ultimately, a couple layers below the surface this discontent remains. And so maybe praying that whatever gods may be give me a nice house was short sighted. In a way I think I need to take the unfinished house. It is shelter. I can cook there and entertain there and sleep there. There are walls, a roof, a bed and a kitchen. So, I will continue to rely on my host family for showers. SO WHAT. It could be worse, this could be my actual life.  As my brother Andrew pointed out, there are poor families in America who spend their whole lives relying on others for something so much as a shower.

If there's something I'm extremely good at, it's pretending that everything is okay when it is not. My moment of reckoning came two weeks ago on the phone with an older volunteer. She powerfully blew away the smoke and smashed the mirrors, revealing my unhappiness. Only, I couldn't tell where it was coming from. It took two weeks away, cooking nice meals for loved ones and new friends, a cry outside the bar with a new friend, an international conversation with an old friend, 3 hour long baths, and a ridiculous amount of coffee and writing to get back to good.

I am on my two feet again, eyes and heart wide open.


Song Of The Week: Ben Howard - Keep Your Head Up
Quote Of The Week: "Wait, isn't that the place with the serial killings?"
                                   "What can I say? It's a convenient place to bury people."
                                    "Oh my god, Carolyn."
                                   "Whatever, it's a great beach is all I'm saying."