I found my house.
The perfect house for me to open my own orphanage or girls home. It has historical value, is big, white, and Southern-style, go figure. I ate lunch with Michelle at this house, the house of some very nice missionaries here. The house was built in the 1800's and is the last one remaining from that era. This family bought it in 1932, and it is absolutely gorgeous. It has green tile floors and a large front porch and yard. The trees that grow beside it stretch up into the sky and offer shade in the afternoon. It is simple, yet elegant, in the midst of the city that has thrust itself upward around it. That is what is also magnificent about THIS house: the location. It is in the middle of the central part of the city. I have dreams for this house. When I left, I felt like I could skip. A lawyer had come to discuss selling the house to the hotel in front of it. I looked at the woman missionary and said, "don't sell this house."
To everything glorious there is a downfall and this house is literally sinking in. The floor, that is. I walked as fast as I could to the first pay phone I could find and called Dad. I have to buy this house. I can do something with this house. Where do you find money, at age 20, to buy such a treasure? And once the treasure is obtained, what am I capable of doing with it?
I have been skipping work. I didn't go yesterday, and I didn't go today. I can only think, but I cannot feel. I am numb, but I am now afraid to feel. These damn pills... I even fear the day that I run out. What will I do then? And yet, even despite numbness, emotions are beginning to come through. That is what I am dealing with. I am thinking, constantly pensive. What do I do? It's this obnoxious continuous circle of what and why... What am I going to do here until October? Why am I even staying here until then? It only puts me behind in my education. But what do I go to Auburn for and why? When I can try to fundraise the money, buy this house, fundraise for more money, and get some missionaries or volunteers to help fix the floor, and open a place for girls to come. A place for structure. It's all a dream, and I do not even know where this dream has come from. I think I need to find my place in my own life, but I am thriving off these possibilities. All these crazy orphanages, and I have been brainstorming about what can be improved and the differences between them-- what is effective and ineffective. When all the while I could just aim to do it myself. It would be hard as hell. I am capable.
My passion is people. My passion is children. My heart is for the children of Latin America. The impoverished, the hungry, the thirsty, the lost. I too have been lost, and had no where to go. I could have my house, and it could be a place for people to come and rest. There are so many possibilities, and with THIS house, the possibilities are even greater. It is big, and there is plenty that could be done to restore it. Maybe I am not even the one to be head of this house. There is a possibility this house is meant for someone else. Some stranger out there, in the world, praying for guidance and a place to go to do what is led.
I often feel unworthy. Michelle told me I need to be more consistent with my work, build stronger relationships, and so on. She just doesn't understand my position. My stance with myself, emotionally and mentally or the difficulty of doing anything entirely sufficient at my orphanage. I am not on a mission. I am here not just to serve, but to discover myself as well. Yes, I can make better use of my time.
I feel frustrated that the other American's don't even bother to call and let me know what they are doing. I am isolated so much of the time. Raul is a good friend, and we talk a lot. Even so, I cannot express all my feelings to him.
Another thing that is odd is this thought of death that does not leave. Despite the medicines, I want to just end it all. I am tired. I am tired of feeling useless, unfaithful, unworthy, and hypocritical. I say one thing, and I do another. I am too easily swayed. I could kill myself so easily here. I can go to the pharmacy and buy a plethora of valium. Take a few, relax... then take them all. Lay down, and sleep peacefully... until I wake up in heaven or hell.
Waste my life? That's what keeps me going. I thrive off of failure. It makes me do so many things, things that are not from within me, and I quit. I give up. I, Donna Pursell, am a quitter. I am unsuccessful. I am failing at this volunteering experience. I have failed as a girlfriend, a daughter, a friend. I am selfish and stupid and out of control. All I do is talk of myself. Possibly that is my problem. I am obsessed with myself, because I am stuck with myself, and I hate who I've become.
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