An Honest, Even If Ugly, Update

[I wrote this blog on New Year's Day.]

Before you read this blog, I want to warn you that it is more personal than any of the other blogs I have written. This blog also strays from the upbeat topics that I have typically written about during my time here in Malawi. If you aren’t interested in reading a reflection and description of some of the personal challenges I’ve been facing, please feel free to skip this blog.

Though I would prefer to avoid any potential pity posed by writing about the serious struggles I’m facing, I feel that it would be a lie to anyone who reads my blog to continue posting about things like trips to the bore hole, or encounters with snakes, or any of the other intriguing experiences of living in Africa without first acknowledging the severe difficulties that have become entangled in every moment of my time here. This blog will acknowledge those difficulties. Also, this blog will hopefully open me up to continue writing about my experiences here, difficulties and all. In truth, part of the reason I have not written any blogs in the past two months is because I haven’t known how to write about the various things I’m doing here without including the negative things I’ve been feeling here.

While most of my blogs probably don’t indicate it, I’ve really been struggling here. For the past five months, I’ve been immersed in a continuous struggle that has only become more challenging as the months have gone by. The struggle began with the mere adjustment to a new place, to being away from home, my family, and my friends. As I look back, that part of the struggle was a cake-walk compared with where I am now. The next part of my struggle stemmed from the difficulty I have had in developing relationships with people here. I couldn’t seem to connect or relate with my co-workers, and the behavior script set by the staff here discouraged any type of personal interaction between students and teachers; for example, chatting between students and teachers was explicitly identified as “dangerous,” and we were directed to maintain “social distance” at all times. This was not the place for someone who not only thrives on, but survives on personal relationships with people. The challenge then continued with my volunteer community, which has continually struggled with not only establishing a common mission, purpose, and vision for our presence here, but has more intensely struggled with establishing a common respect for the individuals who make up this community. We have struggled to get along, to say the least, and have failed to support one another, to say some more. From there, my struggle has only gotten more complicated, more personal, and more debilitating.

When I made the decision to move myself to the other side of the world for two years, I expected that where I was going, I would find things that fed me, nurtured me, excited me, and sustained me. Instead, I’ve only found things that drain me, frustrate me, and hurt me. I also expected to find a purpose for my presence here. I expected to find the value of a university educated, American, 22-year old coming to serve one of the economically poor populations on the planet. Instead, I have failed to find a purpose and value of my presence. Furthermore, I haven’t even found a meaningful way to serve the people I meet here. Since I’ve barely even had any meaningful interaction with people here, how in the world could I be serving them? With this lack of purpose, absence of value, and failure to serve, I’ve felt virtually worthless here, beginning shortly after my two month mark here, at which point I finally got my feet on the ground. Since then, I’ve only felt more and more useless and more and more disappointed in myself. After all, I am a very capable person, so why shouldn’t I be able to identify some purpose to my presence here? Why shouldn’t I be able to see the value of me being here? Why can’t I find ways to offer myself to others? Why am I not fed, nurtured, excited, or sustained by anything I’m involved with here? Why am I so discontent with everything?

These disappointing questions have only led me to get more and more down on myself. Without the academic success I’ve enjoyed my entire life, and without the numerous meaningful clubs, organizations, and groups I’ve been a part of over the years, I’ve become more insecure about myself than I have ever been in my life. This insecurity has led me to doubt almost everything I have believed to be true about myself and has caused me to become more selfish and jealous than I’ve ever been in my life. It has gotten to such a point that I now become angry with the two best friends I have here when they spend time together or do something together. I’m jealous of their relationship, and I feel as if I’m in competition to be close with them. The fact that I’m jealous only leads me to further disappointment in myself. And that disappointment in myself has led me to easily become frustrated with those around me, especially my community members. All of these things are uncharacteristic of who I’ve always thought I am, and I’m now finding myself question whether I really am who I thought I was. This leads to even more disappointment in myself, that I can’t continue being the person I want to be, the person I believe me to be. I’ve gotten so frustrated with the fact that I’m not succeeding here, that I’m not even getting by, that I’m struggling to even merely be me. With all of these things, my mood has been dark and down, at best. My attitude has been beyond negative. And my actions have been void of the energy, love, joy, and spirit that make me feel alive. I’ve been broken. I felt dead.

There are probably more details I could describe about the intense mental, emotional, and relational mess I’ve been in. But I think, by this point, I’ve made the picture clear.

About two weeks ago, a week or so before Christmas, I hit an absolute low, or at least, the lowest I’ve ever felt. Thankfully, my friend Molly was here and able to help lift me up. She also allowed me to honestly acknowledge the struggle I’m facing. She sat, and listened, and allowed me to bring to surface the mess I’m in; she enabled me to get this mess out from inside of me. I do believe it is because of her, and because of the guiding words of a few dear friends, that I’m able to write about these things here. Again, I would prefer not to broadcast this internal struggle for the whole world to read; I don’t like the pity it calls forth, and I don’t like the burden it places on others. I also don’t like admitting that I’m flawed, that something isn’t okay with me. I’d rather not let the world know that I feel messed up emotionally and mentally. I’d also rather not let the world see that maybe I don’t only feel messed up, but that maybe I really am messed up. However, I am pretty sure that I’m not the only person in the world to have gone through something like this; I’m not the only person to have felt these things. I’m also pretty sure that what makes a situation like this go from bad to horrible is when the person in the situation holds everything inside, and doesn’t seek help. So maybe, just maybe, by sharing this part of my story, I will enable someone else to feel free to talk about what they’re feeling, even if it’s ugly, and even if they don’t want anybody else to see it. In my experience…in this experience…things only get worse when you hold onto it all by your self.

Two days ago, I hit another rock bottom. I was jealous and angry at my two best friends for doing something together, for being happy while doing it, and for doing it without me. The blatant selfishness of those feelings drove me even deeper into disgust of myself. However, I’m quite sure that if it weren’t for one of those best friends, I would have already self-destructed in depression. The fight is not over for me, and this morning, as Molly and I continued to discuss what I’m going through, we began to consider whether I’d be better able to fight this fight back home; or maybe more accurately, we began to consider whether staying here will only continue suffocating me. The thought of going home without living through this experience scares me. I have no doubt that doing so would only increase my feelings of disappointment, lack of confidence, and feelings of jealousy, guilt, and failure. But if staying here continues to kill my spirit the way it has for these past five months, I need to take that option. I can’t stay here and continue to suffocate. Right now, the option of going home is on the table for me. But I’m not taking that option yet.

Today was a new day; it’s a new month; a new year. And, perhaps providentially, I woke up early this morning, and I could not fall back asleep. My soul was too unsettled to slumber. By God’s Grace, I looked outside my window to see a sky hinting of magic. Tired and worn down, I decided I needed sleep more than a pretty sky. Fifteen minutes passed, and my mind, body, and soul still sat unsettled. I decided to get up. Maybe a peaceful sunrise would be a good start to this new year. I put on some pants and laced up my shoes, grabbed my camera, and walked out the door. When I reached a clearing that allowed my eyes to absorb the scene above me, I found myself staring at a sky stirring with vibrant pinks, fiery oranges, and bottomless blues. I have n-e-v-e-r witnessed a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g as BEAUTIFUL as what my eyes found above me; it W-A-S beauty.

I believe I have hit a point of brokenness where I have nowhere but up to go. The only question lies in my openness to allow God’s love for me fill my heart and set me back to flight. My hope is to do that here, in Malawi, so that I can come home to the US in a year and a half telling a story of a death resurrected to a new and brilliant life, very much like the dark night last night burst into a brilliant day this morning. However, I won’t let this situation crush me. Yes; this is a new year and a new start. And with the start of this new academic year here at Chaminade, there is great potential for me to get up off the ground and set my wings to flight. But, if I find myself still starving for life in a month or so, I can’t stay. I will have to go home, and I will have to find a way to let God heal me, restore me, and bring me back to life there. That is not my hope, but if I must, I must.

For you, who have taken the time to read this, and who have shared your care and compassion with me, THANK YOU; as my housemate Kat said to me today, there is no way for someone to get out of a situation like this without the help of another human being—there is no substitute for the support of another. By reading this, you have given me support. All I ask more of you is for your prayers. I’ve been surrounded and consumed by a lot of darkness lately; any petitions for light to come into my life might just be transformational for me. I also ask that if you ever feel feelings like some of the ones I have described above, please find someone you can talk to freely about them; there is no substitute for the support of another.

Thank you for supporting me.

Love,
Andy