With the month of July behind me, I look forward to the upcoming events of August. First on the agenda is the Swearing In ceremony for the incoming group of volunteers in a few days. Most of the current volunteers will travel to capital for this event. It will definitely be interesting to be a part of the audience this time around. I look forward to officially welcoming our new site-mates to the Vayots Dzor Region. I am looking forward to some fresh faces in the area and the official start of Year 2.
A few days after Swearing In, I will travel to my friend Branwen's site to help out with the sports camp that she has organized for the kids in her community. I am so excited about this day because I get to share basketball with Armenian children! Though I quit after 9th grade, I still love this game with a passion. Give me a good, fresh Spalding and I'm a happy girl. The plan is to teach them some fun drills, so everyone is moving all at once. I don't know if we'll be able to play an actual game... but it will be funny if it ends up happening. It might be something like the softball game back in April with Armenian men who had never touched a glove in their lives. All I will say is that it was more entertaining than any MLB game (especially a Mets game).
Then, on the 19th of August my dear friend Ari will arrive in Yerevan. Quick story about my friendship with the one and only Arielle Schecter. We met three years ago in Seattle, Washington during an AmeriCorps VISTA training. Like with all other large social gatherings - I slowly ease my way into finding like minded folks. At first, I like to sit back and watch people pretend with one another. This social phenomenon never ceases to amaze, and I imagine that as I get older and this trend continues, I will still continued to be entertained. Anyway, there I was in a large conference room of other 20-somethings who weren't quite ready for big real world jobs and opted instead for AmeriCorps. I was keeping to myself and scanning the room for potential husbands as people flowed around me. One individual (gods bless their soul) struck up a conversation with me. Upon learning I was a New Yorker, they pointed at a young brunette across the room saying, "She's a New Yorker too." "Oh, really?" I responded, and promptly walked away to introduce myself.
From the moment we introduced ourselves, Ari and I spent the rest of the conference trading witty and sarcastic remarks about the shenanigans of events such as the one we were made to suffer through. Unfortunately, she was headed off for her year of service in New Orleans while my job was located in Boston. After three days we were both certain we would keep in touch, which has become a fact over the last three years. Since our time together in Seattle, Ari and I have only had two other opportunities to spend time together face to face. On both of those occasions, we were in New York. While I consider myself a New Yorker , in truth Ari is far more New York than I can ever claim to be. She grew up in the city, lives and breathes and knows the city. The two times that we've had a chance to meet up, she took me to low key places she's familiar with. We sit, talk and laugh and there never seems to be enough time. Well now - there's going to be plenty.
Ari will be in Armenia for 9 nights and 10 days. I have lots of things in store for her and she's compatible for me in that she's going to go ride the Carolyn wave. Hopefully, by the end of our 10 days together we will have discovered more common interests and grown closer than before.
p.s. Ari is an amazing talented and entertaining writer. Read about her life happenings down in New Orleans here: http://arielleschecter.blogspot.com/
Quote Of The Week:
Me: "I watched a bug come to life for 8 hours the other day."
Country Director: "Okay..."
Site Mate: "So he was too big to be killed by the electric fly swatter?"
Me: "Yup. Anyway- it was fascinating. I wrote a poem about it."
Site Mate: "HA- what did it say."
Me: "Nothing- I'm lying. I didn't write a poem. But I did think about writing a poem. HEY! Have you guys every watched a cat stalk and kill a butterfly?"
Country Director: "I think I'm going to require more secondary projects..."
Showing posts with label Boston. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boston. Show all posts
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
How Can I Explain?
I have been meaning to write a blog post for close to two weeks now. So many new, great amazing things have been happening. Yet, the only thing I can think about recently is Boston and the idea of 'home' that is far broader than the house my parents live in. And while I was thinking about it, I couldn't necessarily articulate any of those thoughts, beyond: "Holy f*ing shit".
Two years ago, I was living in Boston. Two years ago, the streets whose images are being broadcasted across the world are streets I felt safe on, streets I walked. I admit, my little hiatus from Facebook took a hiatus as this ordeal continued to unfold. For a little over a year, Boston was my home away from home. It is still a place that I consider returning to once my service is done. So, as I began my morning routine of putting the tea kettle on, turning on my computer, plugging in the flash drive that operates as my internet, then going outside to relieve myself and re-entering the kitchen again, I quickly glanced at nytimes.com and thought, "Huh?" I was sleepy, foggy, so I turned my back and made the coffee. When I sat down in front of my computer again, the shock didn't truly set in for several minutes. I read the headlines over and over again, then I watched the video.
At first, I was extremely confused. Then I was nervous, scanning my brain to think of any friends or contacts that might have been there at that time. Then I realized it was getting late and if I was going to go for a run, I needed to leave. As I climbed the hills of Malishka that morning, I can't say I was thinking about the tragedy. I was thinking about my time in Boston. The times I went downtown to the Public Library because it was just so awesome. And the ever reoccurring thought returned, "How the hell did I get HERE?!" When I got back to the house I immediately sat down in front of my computer and logged onto Facebook. I checked all the pages of friends, and people I've lost contact with who live in or are from the area. I read moving posts from peers I went to school with who I didn't even realize were from Boston and from friends that are runners. Surreal is the closest word that comes to describing how it felt to read the updates every morning there after.
Today, one week later, I am understanding that while unimaginable physically removed from Boston, I was still very much affected by the events that went on. It left me feeling wildly homesick. I wanted to be there, or with people I knew during my time there... or just SOMETHING. I wanted to be out celebrating in the bars when the 2nd brother was caught and the lock-down ended. I wanted to be surrounded by people who KNOW Boston, who LOVE Boston. Instead, it rained and was cold everyday. Instead, I laid in the dark listening to yet another midnight shower. I had vivid, odd dreams about people from that place and time in my life.
There was only one Armenia who asked me about the events. I find this odd, because a good chunk of Armenian news is taken directly from American news outlets. For instance, last fall there was air time given to the Texas high school cheerleaders who made banners with Bible verses displayed. And yet, no one seems to know about the bombings, nor do they really care all that much. When the man at the vegetable market asked me if I knew what had happened I said, "Yes, I do. But how can I explain?". He took me literally, and began explaining - in Armenian- that two bombs had gone off. What I really wanted to say was, "NO! How can I explain the decisions of another human? How do I make sense of someone doing this? Why is the world at a place and time, when news of a bombing gets a mild reaction, almost like hearing that it rained yesterday?" Unfortunately, I don't have the language to say these things. It is times like these, that I feel truly isolated in my community.
There is a part of me (for once) that wants everyone here to know there's something going on and ask me how I'm doing. I wanted the children to know that I don't have the energy to deal with them lately because a place I once lived in is in a state of chaos. Then, I began to think of the Peace Corps Volunteers that sat on the other side of the world while the towers burned in New York in 2011. I wonder, how many of them went home? Were they allowed to? Did they stay together until they were able to go home? How many of them called New York home?
Another thought I had last week was the overwhelming irony in my being in Armenia during both the Boston Bombing and Hurricane Sandy. Before coming, whenever asked where I was headed, 90% of the time the reaction was, "Sorry, I have no idea where that is!" I would then explain that it bordered Iran and Turkey. The look of horror was almost always imminent after imparting this information. "Aren't you scared, to be so...close..to there?" My answer was the polite nod of, "Yes, I understand your concern, but no I'm not scared." Nowadays, the idea seems laughable. Scared? What would have been scary was being in the last two places I lived during the horrific events that have occurred in them this last year.
I guess you could say that the honeymoon phase of having my own place is complete. I promise to post again in the next few days with pictures and more things about new secret admirers from across the street. (Though, it's not a secret because they come one to two times everyday asking if I can come out and play).
Two years ago, I was living in Boston. Two years ago, the streets whose images are being broadcasted across the world are streets I felt safe on, streets I walked. I admit, my little hiatus from Facebook took a hiatus as this ordeal continued to unfold. For a little over a year, Boston was my home away from home. It is still a place that I consider returning to once my service is done. So, as I began my morning routine of putting the tea kettle on, turning on my computer, plugging in the flash drive that operates as my internet, then going outside to relieve myself and re-entering the kitchen again, I quickly glanced at nytimes.com and thought, "Huh?" I was sleepy, foggy, so I turned my back and made the coffee. When I sat down in front of my computer again, the shock didn't truly set in for several minutes. I read the headlines over and over again, then I watched the video.
At first, I was extremely confused. Then I was nervous, scanning my brain to think of any friends or contacts that might have been there at that time. Then I realized it was getting late and if I was going to go for a run, I needed to leave. As I climbed the hills of Malishka that morning, I can't say I was thinking about the tragedy. I was thinking about my time in Boston. The times I went downtown to the Public Library because it was just so awesome. And the ever reoccurring thought returned, "How the hell did I get HERE?!" When I got back to the house I immediately sat down in front of my computer and logged onto Facebook. I checked all the pages of friends, and people I've lost contact with who live in or are from the area. I read moving posts from peers I went to school with who I didn't even realize were from Boston and from friends that are runners. Surreal is the closest word that comes to describing how it felt to read the updates every morning there after.
Today, one week later, I am understanding that while unimaginable physically removed from Boston, I was still very much affected by the events that went on. It left me feeling wildly homesick. I wanted to be there, or with people I knew during my time there... or just SOMETHING. I wanted to be out celebrating in the bars when the 2nd brother was caught and the lock-down ended. I wanted to be surrounded by people who KNOW Boston, who LOVE Boston. Instead, it rained and was cold everyday. Instead, I laid in the dark listening to yet another midnight shower. I had vivid, odd dreams about people from that place and time in my life.
There was only one Armenia who asked me about the events. I find this odd, because a good chunk of Armenian news is taken directly from American news outlets. For instance, last fall there was air time given to the Texas high school cheerleaders who made banners with Bible verses displayed. And yet, no one seems to know about the bombings, nor do they really care all that much. When the man at the vegetable market asked me if I knew what had happened I said, "Yes, I do. But how can I explain?". He took me literally, and began explaining - in Armenian- that two bombs had gone off. What I really wanted to say was, "NO! How can I explain the decisions of another human? How do I make sense of someone doing this? Why is the world at a place and time, when news of a bombing gets a mild reaction, almost like hearing that it rained yesterday?" Unfortunately, I don't have the language to say these things. It is times like these, that I feel truly isolated in my community.
There is a part of me (for once) that wants everyone here to know there's something going on and ask me how I'm doing. I wanted the children to know that I don't have the energy to deal with them lately because a place I once lived in is in a state of chaos. Then, I began to think of the Peace Corps Volunteers that sat on the other side of the world while the towers burned in New York in 2011. I wonder, how many of them went home? Were they allowed to? Did they stay together until they were able to go home? How many of them called New York home?
Another thought I had last week was the overwhelming irony in my being in Armenia during both the Boston Bombing and Hurricane Sandy. Before coming, whenever asked where I was headed, 90% of the time the reaction was, "Sorry, I have no idea where that is!" I would then explain that it bordered Iran and Turkey. The look of horror was almost always imminent after imparting this information. "Aren't you scared, to be so...close..to there?" My answer was the polite nod of, "Yes, I understand your concern, but no I'm not scared." Nowadays, the idea seems laughable. Scared? What would have been scary was being in the last two places I lived during the horrific events that have occurred in them this last year.
I guess you could say that the honeymoon phase of having my own place is complete. I promise to post again in the next few days with pictures and more things about new secret admirers from across the street. (Though, it's not a secret because they come one to two times everyday asking if I can come out and play).
Monday, January 28, 2013
What's In Your Head?
Today is Army Day in Armenia, so there is no school and banks, etc are closed. Over the weekend, I traveled to the capital to do some business, and also for our book club. This was the book club's first meeting, so I was looking forward to seeing how Peace Corps staff lives and also to have a relaxing evening.
Luckily, I was able to do just that the night of the book club. The Assistant Director of the country was hosting and some of us stayed the night at her place, as opposed to a hostel. When everyone was winding down, she told us of the jacuzzi bath located in the guest room. I made a swift move to be the first person indulging in such a luxury. She had epsom salt, lavendar essentials oils and the whole bit! I felt like I was home and it was truly wonderful. I am such a hedonist, that I took yet another 45 minute bath the next morning.
While I was living in Boston in the winter of 2011, and in the midst of the application process, I was fortunate enough to have a clawfoot tub located in the bathroom right off of my room. I would spend the majority of my weekend in there, singing on the top of my lungs, incense burning, drinking chilled white wine and what ever else. After one such occasion, I sauntered into the living room, probably still in my bathrobe, flushed in the face from the heat and plopped down onto the couch with an audible sigh of contentment. My roommate looked at me and teasingly asked, "How are you going to live without the bath tub Carolyn?" I didn't have an answer for him at the time; so we laughed together about the multitude of indulgences I would have to give up upon entering the Peace Corps.
I don't know if he reads this blog, but if he does I would say to him, "Nah Nah!" At this moment, there are three baths in this country with my name on them. One right in the town next to me (this is a new development), my friend Chris up North's, and now the most prized one of all that I must wait until the 1st weekend in March to lounge in once again.
In other news, I found out this weekend that young Armenians are really into The Cranberries, particularly the song 'Zombie'. That was probably the highlight (besides the bath) of my weekend. Also, the search is still on for a house - no luck yet. And nearly all of the snow has melted, its stayed between 40 and 50 degrees in the day! Fingers crossed that the winter stays this mild!
I miss all my babies at home, in particular the four year old.
Quote of the Week: "There are alotta weird things to think about in this country." Tommy Ransdell
Song of the Week: The Cranberries 'Linger'
Luckily, I was able to do just that the night of the book club. The Assistant Director of the country was hosting and some of us stayed the night at her place, as opposed to a hostel. When everyone was winding down, she told us of the jacuzzi bath located in the guest room. I made a swift move to be the first person indulging in such a luxury. She had epsom salt, lavendar essentials oils and the whole bit! I felt like I was home and it was truly wonderful. I am such a hedonist, that I took yet another 45 minute bath the next morning.
While I was living in Boston in the winter of 2011, and in the midst of the application process, I was fortunate enough to have a clawfoot tub located in the bathroom right off of my room. I would spend the majority of my weekend in there, singing on the top of my lungs, incense burning, drinking chilled white wine and what ever else. After one such occasion, I sauntered into the living room, probably still in my bathrobe, flushed in the face from the heat and plopped down onto the couch with an audible sigh of contentment. My roommate looked at me and teasingly asked, "How are you going to live without the bath tub Carolyn?" I didn't have an answer for him at the time; so we laughed together about the multitude of indulgences I would have to give up upon entering the Peace Corps.
I don't know if he reads this blog, but if he does I would say to him, "Nah Nah!" At this moment, there are three baths in this country with my name on them. One right in the town next to me (this is a new development), my friend Chris up North's, and now the most prized one of all that I must wait until the 1st weekend in March to lounge in once again.
In other news, I found out this weekend that young Armenians are really into The Cranberries, particularly the song 'Zombie'. That was probably the highlight (besides the bath) of my weekend. Also, the search is still on for a house - no luck yet. And nearly all of the snow has melted, its stayed between 40 and 50 degrees in the day! Fingers crossed that the winter stays this mild!
I miss all my babies at home, in particular the four year old.
Quote of the Week: "There are alotta weird things to think about in this country." Tommy Ransdell
Song of the Week: The Cranberries 'Linger'
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Weight
These next 5 to 8 business days, while I await my assignment, are going to be some of the longest of my life. It's been a long road thus far with lots of emotional ups and downs. With this blog, I'm not exactly sure (yet) how personal I want to get. My close friends know that there are few things which constitute as personal or 'private' information. My life experiences have taught me that (in most situations) honesty and openness bring only understanding and sympathy. Oddly, in American culture, many of us have been taught to deny sympathy - that having a person's sympathy deems you weak. My fascination with American culture, on an emotional level, is partly why I was drawn to serve in the Peace Corps.
I grew up on the south shore of Long Island, New York in a town with a strong community. Proud Babylonians, we are. I was lucky enough to have two older brothers ahead of me in school, making me proud to be a Rodgers. "You know my big brothers, right? Yea, they play football, they're corner backs- ya know - the most athletic position on the team?". I excelled in my own areas as well, but I bragged about my big brothers to what I imagine was an annoying extent. Whatever. My close girlfriends and I have always agreed that above all else, growing up in Babylon gave us a real sense of identity. I realize now that our experience was not the same for everyone. That we came from stable homes and our greatest worries were about our clothes or what parties to go to. That if we did screw up, or get caught, the punishment would not be as harsh because we weren't 'problematic' for teachers and administration alike. Teachers liked, respected and favored us, and because of this we had a leg up when it came to getting into colleges. Teacher recommendations? No problem. Community Service hours? Duh.
This bubble was burst pretty quickly upon arriving at Providence College. For the first time I was faced with actual conflict. The people I had once put so much trust and value in were beginning to feel foreign to me. My sense of identity was lost. I made friends with people who would distract me from the awful things I thought about myself. Even though I am not too far removed from my four years at Providence College, about 2.5 years, I couldn't be further from there. Sometimes I look back and am amazed at the fact that I managed to graduate on time, with a 3.2 considering what I was going through at the time. College was not a party for me, to say the least. I probably would have been in the Peace Corps earlier, but at the time I needed to focus on more pressing issues. I won't be so cliche as to say 'everything happens for a reason', but things certainly unfolded in a way that allowed me to be fully prepared for my upcoming challenge.
As mentioned in my last post, it took quite a while to become medically cleared due to my own idiocy. That's partly true but more than anything else it was procrastination. Early in the application process it's asked whether or not you have sought mental health counseling. I answered yes. I could have answered no, because it never went through insurance (meaning it was not on my medical record). When my medical packet arrived it included a 6 page form to be filled out by my last counsellor. At this point it had been about a year and a half since I had last seen her. And as I said, I was already in a very different place emotionally. Due to Providence College policy, on campus counselors are restricted from seeing non-students, even alumni. (A poor practice in my opinion). Essentially, she was unable to speak on behalf of my current status.
The moment I saw her review my heart sank, I thought it was over. When I spoke to my medical assistant she informed me that this wasn't the end; that they would most likely ask that I get an updated review so that I may be fully cleared. I jumped on it and made an appointment through my PPO. For anyone who has been in counseling or tried it out (more so you folks), you know full well that some doctors just don't work for you. Their approach and practice is not one that helps. My original experience with counseling was not so, which is why it greatly benefitted me. The next time around, in the dead of winter (and we all remember how awful the snow was in New England) when all I wanted was to be at home soaking in a bath tub, I sat in a cold awkward disheveled office of a woman whose first language wasn't English ( all that I am implying is there was a communication issue) and was made to feel that there was no hope. That my future was bleak because I would never be able "to cope with such trauma without professional help". It was a devastatingly huge set back for me. I wanted to cry but I punched a snow bank that ended up being a sheet of ice and not powder, instead.
Thankfully, my family was fully aware of my past and was horrified, like me, of the language this particular counselor choose. My father decided he would take matters into his own hands ( yes, I am 'daddy's little girl'). We tried to get doctor recommendations from close friends and family hoping that whomever I saw would be more sensitive to my individual needs. Also, someone that would take all things into consideration - particularly, how badly I wanted this opportunity. Unfortunately, nothing worked out and by April I decided I needed to go back to the PPO and try again. Along came Dr. Silverstein (for anyone seeking counseling in the Boston/ Cambridge area I HIGHLY recommend her) and my hopes were reignited. After three sessions she gave me an amazing review and I felt a little closer to the finish line.
I fought so hard to make it through this part. It forced me to readdress some lingering issues that I admit were things I wanted to put behind me in joining the Peace Corps. A lot of folks will assume that someone who willingly leaves their family and friends for two years, to a place that's not easily accessible, is trying to run away from something. Those folks are the same ones whom also share a dark history. And you know what? They're right, I did want to be removed from certain people and places that I feel will only keep me stuck in old, unhealthy habits. There is no shame in trying to move forward and beyond a painful experience. But there is a right and a wrong way to do so; and at first I was walking a path that was somewhere in between. What I realized is that the experiences which are so painful we'd rather forget them, are the ones that characterize who we are as people. More importantly, this same fact implies nothing about your character. It does not mean you are broken, damaged, unlovable or that you have something to hide. All that it means is you were altered by that experience and if you do deal with it appropriately- you will begin to heal. The healing process is a life long one and there will be set backs. I leave you with a quote from the novel Bitter In The Mouth by Monique Truong that spoke to me while I fought to get cleared:
I grew up on the south shore of Long Island, New York in a town with a strong community. Proud Babylonians, we are. I was lucky enough to have two older brothers ahead of me in school, making me proud to be a Rodgers. "You know my big brothers, right? Yea, they play football, they're corner backs- ya know - the most athletic position on the team?". I excelled in my own areas as well, but I bragged about my big brothers to what I imagine was an annoying extent. Whatever. My close girlfriends and I have always agreed that above all else, growing up in Babylon gave us a real sense of identity. I realize now that our experience was not the same for everyone. That we came from stable homes and our greatest worries were about our clothes or what parties to go to. That if we did screw up, or get caught, the punishment would not be as harsh because we weren't 'problematic' for teachers and administration alike. Teachers liked, respected and favored us, and because of this we had a leg up when it came to getting into colleges. Teacher recommendations? No problem. Community Service hours? Duh.
This bubble was burst pretty quickly upon arriving at Providence College. For the first time I was faced with actual conflict. The people I had once put so much trust and value in were beginning to feel foreign to me. My sense of identity was lost. I made friends with people who would distract me from the awful things I thought about myself. Even though I am not too far removed from my four years at Providence College, about 2.5 years, I couldn't be further from there. Sometimes I look back and am amazed at the fact that I managed to graduate on time, with a 3.2 considering what I was going through at the time. College was not a party for me, to say the least. I probably would have been in the Peace Corps earlier, but at the time I needed to focus on more pressing issues. I won't be so cliche as to say 'everything happens for a reason', but things certainly unfolded in a way that allowed me to be fully prepared for my upcoming challenge.
As mentioned in my last post, it took quite a while to become medically cleared due to my own idiocy. That's partly true but more than anything else it was procrastination. Early in the application process it's asked whether or not you have sought mental health counseling. I answered yes. I could have answered no, because it never went through insurance (meaning it was not on my medical record). When my medical packet arrived it included a 6 page form to be filled out by my last counsellor. At this point it had been about a year and a half since I had last seen her. And as I said, I was already in a very different place emotionally. Due to Providence College policy, on campus counselors are restricted from seeing non-students, even alumni. (A poor practice in my opinion). Essentially, she was unable to speak on behalf of my current status.
The moment I saw her review my heart sank, I thought it was over. When I spoke to my medical assistant she informed me that this wasn't the end; that they would most likely ask that I get an updated review so that I may be fully cleared. I jumped on it and made an appointment through my PPO. For anyone who has been in counseling or tried it out (more so you folks), you know full well that some doctors just don't work for you. Their approach and practice is not one that helps. My original experience with counseling was not so, which is why it greatly benefitted me. The next time around, in the dead of winter (and we all remember how awful the snow was in New England) when all I wanted was to be at home soaking in a bath tub, I sat in a cold awkward disheveled office of a woman whose first language wasn't English ( all that I am implying is there was a communication issue) and was made to feel that there was no hope. That my future was bleak because I would never be able "to cope with such trauma without professional help". It was a devastatingly huge set back for me. I wanted to cry but I punched a snow bank that ended up being a sheet of ice and not powder, instead.
Thankfully, my family was fully aware of my past and was horrified, like me, of the language this particular counselor choose. My father decided he would take matters into his own hands ( yes, I am 'daddy's little girl'). We tried to get doctor recommendations from close friends and family hoping that whomever I saw would be more sensitive to my individual needs. Also, someone that would take all things into consideration - particularly, how badly I wanted this opportunity. Unfortunately, nothing worked out and by April I decided I needed to go back to the PPO and try again. Along came Dr. Silverstein (for anyone seeking counseling in the Boston/ Cambridge area I HIGHLY recommend her) and my hopes were reignited. After three sessions she gave me an amazing review and I felt a little closer to the finish line.
I fought so hard to make it through this part. It forced me to readdress some lingering issues that I admit were things I wanted to put behind me in joining the Peace Corps. A lot of folks will assume that someone who willingly leaves their family and friends for two years, to a place that's not easily accessible, is trying to run away from something. Those folks are the same ones whom also share a dark history. And you know what? They're right, I did want to be removed from certain people and places that I feel will only keep me stuck in old, unhealthy habits. There is no shame in trying to move forward and beyond a painful experience. But there is a right and a wrong way to do so; and at first I was walking a path that was somewhere in between. What I realized is that the experiences which are so painful we'd rather forget them, are the ones that characterize who we are as people. More importantly, this same fact implies nothing about your character. It does not mean you are broken, damaged, unlovable or that you have something to hide. All that it means is you were altered by that experience and if you do deal with it appropriately- you will begin to heal. The healing process is a life long one and there will be set backs. I leave you with a quote from the novel Bitter In The Mouth by Monique Truong that spoke to me while I fought to get cleared:
Disappoint. When I saw the word written, I thought of it first and foremost as the combining or the collapsing together of the words 'disappear' and 'point', as in how something in us ceased to exist the moment someone let us down. Small children understood this better than adults, this irreparable diminution of the self that occurred at each instance. Large and small, of someone forgetting a promise, arriving late, losing interest, leaving too soon, and otherwise making us feel like a fool. That was why children, in the face of disappointments, large and small, were so quick to cry and scream, often throwing their bodies to the ground as if their tiny limbs were on fire. That was a good instinct. We, the adults or the survivors of our youth, traded in instinct for a societal norm. We stayed calm. We swallowed hurt. We forgave the infraction. We ignored that our skin was on fire. We became our own fools. Sometimes, when we were very successful, we forgot entirely the memory of the disappointment. The loss that resulted, of course, could not be undone. What was done was done. We just could no longer remember how we ended up with so much less of our selves. Why we expected nothing, why we deserved so little, and why we brought strangers into our lives to fill the void. |
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