I have been quiet this session, it has been a difficult one, not for the reasons you may think, or maybe for all the reasons you might suspect depending on how close you are to decoding my soul.
Wanting to be someone’s friend and actually being capable of performing AS a friend are very different things. As I have friend whom have disappeared, close friends, some whom I’d consider my best friends in the world, who now are lost to the invisible winds of facebook, blowing through my valley of blockedness (Auto correct wanted to changed this to blessedness, although a very ironic angle to consider I just don’t have the time today so I chose to keep it the same, find the riddle later). When I become blocked I use to be very hurt, upset, we were best friends! The older I get (and maybe just more worn down/out) I realize if you are willing to block me, then read my blogs, perhaps you never really knew me at all. If you would rather I be miserable and fake a friendship with you instead of tell the truth the way I see it, you never really were my friend to begin with, I was just blinded by …. love? hope? The dreadful longingness to belong and matter to someone? I don’t quite know what, but whatever it is, I’ve now become so well acquainted with loneliness in a house full of colliding atoms I don’t even pretend anymore and my relationships are cut off much faster, and much less energy wasted on a inevitable ‘it wasn’t meant to be’. I love so deeply, so strongly that I would rather you hate me for telling all the truth, then lead you astray with my polite nods. I live in a world where I assume everyone is working as hard as I am to be better, do better, and create more, I sometimes forget the complacency that surrounds us. Shame that all that energy is wasted (you too could be doing amazing things if you got out of your own way, yes you that keeps reading even though I’m blocked on facebook). Instead of being offended at ‘what I did’ (which is like trying to have an intelligent conversation about moderation with a ER patient that just ate the entire pan of pot brownies), it will do no good to waste my energy contemplating incoherence. I am me, exactly the way I sell it, and every single one reading who knows me in person could tell you, this is exactly what you get. I refuse to any longer cut my hair so people stop asking me if I’m in some religious sect (sorry we like long hair, get over it), and I will not use any energy but to be thankful that the people who took everything about me as a personal attack have saved me a step and removed me from their lives. Nothing I do is a personal attack, if you think it is you certainly never met ME, and you certainly aren’t working on yourself.
As I sit here, in a full blown adrenal crisis, with a house full, and when I say full, only those who witness first hand what 715pm looks like here would understand. I’m listening to our new fridge (just another little crisis that popped up, dead fridge with 5 kids is a story for another day) spawn demons from its underbelly (the ice maker seamed like a good idea at the time), and listen to a little Ukrainian orphan scream in a mix of Russian and any other remotely close language over video chat with her room mate who she can’t stand, but couldn’t wait to go meet with at the trampoline park. Life as an orphan is confusing, life as a mom is worse.
“CONDITIONER! IN ENGLISH!” she screams. My husband so exhausted he’s already fallen asleep on the couch, been dragged to bed in hopes of spending a minute with me, although I escaped to my blog to empty all the voices from my head before I go work another thankless 12 hour shift in the profession that certainly didn’t call me. I have been away from home for several months now, trying feverishly to raise money to get the home study started. $8,000 in Maine is about what it costs for your agency, Immigration paperwork, and umbrella agency deposit. Instead of accomplishing this goal, I’ve burned myself out to the point of sickness, burned brides, and bought a new fridge and spilled the rest into making our van continue to limp along. She might be home for 8 more days, but I know once I send her back next saturday the decisions have to be made if I have the energy to start saving again for another $3,000.00 summer visit and subsequently continue to try to raise any of this home study money to officially ‘get started’. The thought of doing this makes me want to run away and never come back, the thought of her being sold to men on a market makes me want to be sick. What can I do? I have never felt so helpless.
Bonding with an orphan is slow. Its not linear, and its not obvious. The work comes out in little bits, in unexpected place. Our big goal of winter hosting was literally learning to brush her own (very very long) hair by herself. I didn’t realize at almost 15 she had never been taught, never provided the instructions or products needed to accomplish this task. Three weeks in and she’s nearly there (and bragging to her friend). She’s using English, she’s taking no thank you bites of dinner (she still tries to feed to the dog but i’m wise to her now, hence the gate video courtesy of Ollie). We have made huge strides, she started asking for things, eating when she’s hungry, saying no when the little kids annoy her, and let us finally order school uniforms (because yes, you are worth it). We gave her the first Christmas she’s ever had as an individual and not a number. How can I send her away because I didn’t raise the money while she works so hard to stay here? How can I keep her knowing I might never be able to?
Hosting is slow. The days are long and the sessions fly. It is complicated, foreign, confusing, and lovely. It gave me a community, even if I have to mute them sometimes. What maybe people don’t understand is Ted and I spend literally all day fixing problems that would bring most people to their knees, sometimes I just don’t have any more energy to solve someone else’s. When I am working harder to problem solve the problems in your life than you are working to fix them, you officially are stripping away the only energy that is holding my soul in this body. I’m not antisocial, I’m not hateful, I’m just literally creating an entire generation of people with no support from any semblance of a local community. Almost all my friends are virtual, checked out, blocked me, or are so busy leading their own complicated lives we might be able to take a vacation together to catch up in another 20 years. If even Ted ran away screaming I would have to be happy for him that he got away. This isn’t easy, It isn’t personal, and I don’t really want to make small talk unless you’re interested in coming along for the ride. I’m tired, I’m broken, and I’m not sure what my next steps are supposed to be. This process has taught me who my friends really are, and more importantly how to not get attached, because pretty much no one is in it for the long haul. #isitpersonalyet
I’m running out of time for that miracle, so I hope it at least stops snowing before I end up blue-papered.