I've hit a bout of Writer's Block, and what better way to cure it than to write? The Aral Sea has gotten the last 9 hours of my attention, and I think the rest will wait.
I think that working where I do has made me different from the rest of the world. At least the developed world. I know the people of Uganda have had to endure as much, if not more than my patients, but in this world, I think I've seen things that will always separate me from others. Other than my coworkers and the families we care for, no one else knows what that place is like. Some days I want to bow down with gratitude for the joys that I know and see. Other days I get slapped in the face with the bitter sting of tragedy without silver linings. Sometimes, it's not even a slap. Sometimes it's just a constant burden heavier than stone that I have to smile through for 13 hours. I do not have the right, ever, to be unhappy or ungrateful because I have not had to endure most of what I have witnessed. I have never had pain with every breath I have taken. I have never had to watch a loved one slowly die. I have never had to make decisions between pain or a faster death for a loved one. I have never known the fear that these people have, but I know it exists, and just that knowledge makes me different.
This semester is the first time I remember being genuinely unhappy. I've definitely hurt after many tragedies. But I was always distractable then. I could still laugh after some time, and even genuinely smile with my whole body again. And I have been discontent before, most definitely. But these past few months have been tough, even though nothing extraordinarily tragic has affected me personally. Even so, the smiles are a little more fake than I want to admit, and the distractions don't seem to take. I think fear has set in, and has turned me into someone I don't like. I pity myself these days, and I never allowed that before. I fear failure, or even just mediocrity. I fear leaving a job that I know and that I'm good at for an unknown place. Even so, I fear what will happen when I get to the hospital, and I fear not knowing how to react. I fear that I will never be able to replace the family that is Aflac, and I fear them replacing me. I fear that the enormity of what I am feeling is only a fraction of what my families fear, and I fear knowing that it can get so much worse.
My fear has taken over recently, and I need to let go of it. It has turned me into someone I don't know or like, and I'm ready for that person to leave. I'm ready to have my warmth and optimism back. I'm ready to not feel burdened by caring for others. I'm ready to be happy to just exist, and allow that to be enough to strengthen me.
I like to pretend that I'm above participating in popular culture, but I'm definitely not. I went to see The Hunger Games with Ted and Kati (who both deserve mad props for dealing with me more than anyone else recently). It was about what I expected, and utterly depressing, but there was one quote from the movie that was not in the book. I was shocked to hear such truth from such a silly movie, and from a villain, no less. "Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear." That has been burned into my brain ever since I heard it, and I'm grateful for the reminder. I might have forgotten about hope. Hopelessness is ugly, and I want no part of it. If Aflac has taught me nothing else, it has taught me to have unceasing hope in even the grimmest of places.
Tonight, I'm just thankful for life. I am blessed beyond belief. I am able to breathe and laugh and smile and I need to remember that that is more than enough.
If you pray, please pray for my families. Too many of them are in the midst of seemingly hopeless situations.
