Another day in Guayaquil with its chaos. Shelly and I took our bus the wrong direction today, and ended up in the ghetto of this city. She stressed me out, to the point that it took two cigarettes, half a klonopin, and a breakfast stop to even ready myself to go to my own orphanage. I stopped and walked behind the building of where I work. I've been here for a month now, and not until today have I noticed the sweet, flowing river that runs behind the building. Do the girls even know what exists behind their small prison? It's glory in the midst of hell. I leaned over the rail, hoping for some consolidation. I looked down only to see the pollution of the dark water. It only reminded me of the pollution that runs through my own veins.
I gathered myself and went into work. The men were starting to stare at me: the gringa. I had dressed relatively nice today for Dominga Boca... that went to hell with the stressful bus ride and Shelly's bitching about the stain on her beloved capris.
It took three knocks before anyone answered the door. I walked through the portal into another realm of chaos. The girls were being given immunizations. Some showing off their braveness with their white cotton balls held to their skin, and their tough faces. Others sat, heaving, with tears running down their faces with fear. When it came their turn, the other, larger girls dragged them in. I watched as needles were jammed into their flailing arms. I tried to console them, but my Spanish nor my mind was well enough to do so efficiently. I wanted to scream, to cry. Then they looked at me, and told me I needed a shot as well. I tried to get them to explain why. I did not understand. They just insisted, so I gave in. I figured if I die, I die.
Turns out, it was an immunization against Yellow Fever. It must be an epidemic here. I have heard nothing about it in the states. I texted Camillo and asked about it, and he called and said it was okay. I was given a small certificate to put with my passport. Yellow fever, huh? I'm glad I'm the only one from the United States group here that has even heard word of this.
I just didn't have it in me today. I didn't have anything in me today except this necessity to cry and go running. I did neither. It is difficult to go running, my shoes are insufficient and the only place I know of safe enough for me to run alone would cost $6 to get there and back. I am going tomorrow. I need it. I need to clear my mind. I need to wear off this adrenaline. I am getting fat from my obsession with the hamburgers here. I have been asked if I'm pregnant.
My life is so far from anything that God would want it to reflect, and yet I feel like in some way he is using this experience. But God also uses women with hard testimonies to change others.
Raul is my brother and my best friend here. His family is my own. But I cannot stay. I want to stay; I want to go. But not back to the states.I want to keep going. South, west, or east... just please not Northeast!
How do I get myself into these silly positions? And I talk as if I have so much pride... my beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes. I talk like this not because I think I am a freaking Cindy Crawford but because this is how I am treated here. I am gracious, for I've needed a boost in my self esteem. I know when I return home, I will just crackle to pieces over each little flaw. God forbid, an extra ten pounds! Better than ten pounds under, right?
Today I just had this intense desire to talk to somebody, and there was no one. I talked to a friend, and I just sounded like some ignorant bitch on her mission to save the world. I tried to explain to Raul my situation, but even in Spanish, I cannot entirely express myself. Once again, I am all alone.
With all these medicines-- the klonopins, celexa, cataflam DD, sinutab-- I just forget. And that is why my motivation is not where it should be. I've got to stop taking all of this bull shit, but I cannot, because the days I do not, it is as if a million knives stab into my heart and my mind explodes with thought upon thought... making up for lost time, I suppose. Once again, no one to talk to. All alone, in a third world country. I work alone. I practically live alone, as I rarely have comrades on my escapades. It is me, and my experience. Perhaps that is why I am happy. I am discovering myself... and everything I discover is dissolved with my memory.
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