I'm home. I'm the safest I've been in seven weeks. I'm sleeping in my own bed. I've kissed my husband. I've hugged my son. My life is supposed to be normal again. I'm supposed to be myself again. All this should lead to clarity, peace of mind, relaxation and more than anything, finding my voice. Now that I'm home the inability I struggled with--the lack of words, the vocabulary I needed to describe what I felt and saw that I could never seem to find--this was supposed to reappear. I was supposed to be able to write and share this. I'm safe, after all. This is where it was all supposed to come together. To date, none of this is happening. Words still escape me. I've got nothing. Nada. Nothing. I'm blank. I'm not sure I have ever been this frustrated with myself for the same reason for this long of a time.
Picture this. You're a chef. You love to make risotto. You've made it over and over throughout your career. You know exactly how to make it. People say it's good risotto. You're in your kitchen with all of your chef tools and the ingredients to make risotto and you suddenly can't remember how to make it anymore. You know the recipe is somewhere in your mind. You struggle to bring it to the surface and it stays buried. Nothing you do can make you remember.
You're a violinist. You take your violin and place it under your chin. You've done this a million times. You bring your bow up and freeze. You've forgotten how to play.
You're a surgeon. You've performed open heart surgery hundreds of times throughout your career. You know exactly what to do. You stand in front of your patient, all of your surgical tools right next to you and your skills escape you. You no longer remember what to do.
You're an artist. You go to paint and suddenly the oils, brushes, and canvas in front of you mean nothing. You can't conjure up anything. You feel artistically mute.
Coming home was supposed to mean I would find my words again. I would rediscover my vocabulary and everything that was in me for seven weeks was supposed to pour out. It's not. I don't understand this. It is the most profoundly frustrating experience I can remember having. It feels unreal. I don't feel like myself.
I'm staring at puzzle pieces. They're all in front of me. Nothing is missing except my ability to put them together. The missing piece is what? My ability to form words that give justice to what I saw. What does this mean? Linguistic amnesia makes me feel stupid and useless. This too shall pass? Someone please tell me it will.
Amy,
ReplyDeleteYou are in a transition that is life changing. You have gone to the other side of the world, & seen suffering on a scale that is unimaginable. You are probably in a state of shock, or PTSD.
You are compassionate, you care about people, especially the people in Japan. To leave them, come home to a "normal" life is stressful to say the very least.
There is guilt involved "why am I able to go to a warm, safe home, be clean, comfortable, eat real food...". This is normal!
Of course you can't find your words until you adjust to being home. Nothing will be "okay" right off. Give yourself time to stare at the sky, take long walks, reflect or hey, get a beautiful kitten & name it "Cat" after your dream. :)
I know your words will be back & with confidence! All who read this know they will! :)
I miss you very much, it's been too long since we saw each other my friend. But, when we do again, I know you will embrace me w/ a hug, a "Darling!" & more wisdom inside of you from this journey we call life.
Lots of Love to you, Dave & Alex.
Beth
Perhaps you have heard the saying by some author, paraphrased, "If you go some place for a week, you can write a book. If you go for a month, you can write an essay. If you live there a year, you have nothing to say when you come home." I have seen that to be so true. I think you compressed about a year's worth of events into a couple months.
ReplyDeleteMy cousin did a semester abroad in the Middle East and her parents picked her up at the airport, eager to hear all the details. She didn't say a word the entire three hour trip home. What to say? How to say it?
Even though you are familiar with Japanese culture, trauma culture is way different. You could probably go to Joplin Missouri right now and feel more at home than you do in Boston.
This too shall pass, but it is a weird and funny space to be in.
Beth Landis
Hello Beth,
ReplyDeleteIt's a most interesting place to find myself in, flip-flopping between feeling "fine" and waking up early in the morning because of another vivid dream. Yes, this too shall pass. In the mean time, thank you for staying with me albeit from a distance. Your support means the world to me.
I just realize you're both Beths!! Allybeth, darling. This one is for you. We must get together soon. We live so close and yet are so far. Let me get back from Japan in July and then I will give you all the time you want. Greetings to Barrett and my dearest Tess.
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