Today the rain came, although it was more like a flashflood coming from my eyes. It did not die out, even with me taking my medicine. I walked into my orphanage this morning, and talked to one of the women about Anita, the girl that is an orphaned orphan, and she was so cold hearted as she told me that this girl has a mother and father. She did not care. Her eyes were stone cold, her voice deep and dark. I walked out of her office and the tears just began to rain. It did not even begin as a trickle, I felt the flood behind my eyes and I went to the bathroom. I stood there, weeping. I could not keep this rain from pouring from my eyes. The tears flooded down my face, dropping to the cold, dirty floor. I tried to control my sobs, but my heart just ached.
I have been defeated. Ultimately, and utterly defeated. I see no point in any aspect of life. I am useless, I am worn out, and my body, mind and soul are craving for me to just give in and give up. Camillo came and picked me up, but he was not alone as he said he would be. The tears came even harder as we drove to Dominga Boca, and he offered me no consolation. I choked them back as I entered this other orphanage, and there was Anita. We embraced for a long time, and I begged her to be good and not to hit the others or say bad things. I just held this little girl in my arms, trying to be strong and not cry. I had to find the other bathroom, because the rain was coming again. I stared in the mirror and watched this down pour of tears, overflowing from my red eyes and down my cheeks. I dabbed my face with toilet paper, and tried to get it together. When I came out, this five year old girl, Suli, was there, and she just hugged me. She asked me if I had been crying, and I said yes, it had been a bad day. She took my hand and pulled me to another room, and just hugged me. I stroked her hair, and I could not resist the tears. I told her to look at me, and she had tears in her eyes too. So here I was, in this orphanage, being embraced by a five year old, who cried along with me. I don’t think I have had a more moving experience in my life. This gesture was so innocent and sweet, and this poor, neglected child took my pain upon her, and embraced it. We held each other, and let the tears flow until another girl came in offering cheesecake. We wiped our tears, and that was that.
I feel trapped in a world of lies. Camillo never follows through on anything. All of my emotions seeped through my eyes today, and I did not try to hide them from him or the other Americans. None of them had words of consolation. No, it was a five year old orphan who embraced me, and consoled me. Camillo acted as if nothing happened.
Teaching English went relatively well, although Camillo took my book the other day to copy it for me, and he has yet to give it back. Fortunately, Brittany gave me a book of verb tenses that I used today and will use again tomorrow. I would be utterly lost without it. The fire in my heart exploded today, in anger, in remorse, in grievance, in every emotion. All of this emotion sucked me clearly dry. I have not been this dry in years. Dry as a desert in the middle east, dry as a raison, dry as the cracks on the bottom of your feet when you wear sandals for too long.
I am finding myself all alone. I have no friend to confide in. I do not know how to express myself not in anger. I ended up sending a very spiteful email to dad. I just want him to come here, to come see this other world, the blackness to his primly pressed white. I want him to know the burden of the view of poverty, the ache in your heart to give your all to an orphan, the strength it takes to teach in another language. He will not come, I know my father. I am not worthy of his time, and he, he is becoming dead to me. Money and business and all of these things are prevalent throughout the world, I know.
So I am considering killing myself. I hate life itself. I hate it all, and all that it entails. Life is such a bitter joke. This is not a suicidal lunatic writing of these things, this time, it is the voice of reason. What good am I dead? What good am I alive? I want to run away, I want to jump in front of a car, I want to go far, far, far away. I want to die, I want to live. I want things to just be different, and I just can’t accept the fact that this is life. So what then?
I’ve got to do something dramatic, but I have tried to think of anything worthy of making a good enough statement. Nothing comes to my mind, just a blank thought process and a headache. My entire being is exhausted. I am exhausted of thinking, of trying to aimlessly change the world, of trying to find anyone who can point me in some direction. Mother Theresa, Gandhi, all of these great pioneers of peace and love must have just drawn the right cards. There is an obstacle in every direction I turn. There is no pathway around any of these obstacles, I am trapped in some puzzle, and either I am really a blinded idiot, or I am just going to have to find the right person to pull me over.
My stressor is, I am on a time constraint. I don’t have all of my life here. I only have three months to do something radical to motivate people to be better. But even I am ugly in my heart and soul. I have no appreciation. Which really is not true either, I just want more than he’s willing to give: his time. So no, I don’t appreciate the money. Why would you appreciate money when it’s time that you want? It is like asking for a sandcastle and being given a pearl.
Yes, I’ve had my moments of jubilee at the beach and dancing in clubs… but this is reality striking me across the face. Ah, reality. Reality is a fucking bitch.
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