It’s always been hard for me to voice what’s really bothering me. I’ve never been good at expressing unprocessed emotions, frustrations, fears and anger. I have been equally unsuccessful in dealing with uncertainties, although what’s ironic is that these uncertainties often arise from my refusing to openly say what’s really on my mind and what exactly it is that makes me feel uncertain, uncomfortable, insecure at any given moment. I’m shielded in a way. There’s things that I simply cannot bring myself to talk about. Sometimes I cannot even write them out – this whole blog, or most part of it is a collection of cryptic messages, riddles that no one besides me can decipher. Why is it so hard for me to simply say, like I would be stating a fact that “ “This is white.”, “This is black.”, “This bothers me.”, “”This is what I’m afraid of.”, “This is what I need.”, “This is what I’d like to know...”. Do I actually think that by voicing such thoughts of discomfort and fear is going to kill me? Like words would cut my throat before they even reach my mouth? Is it really that big of a deal to let someone other than myself know that I’m uncomfortable, in pain, hopeful, wistful, in need of something, afraid of something else.

Is the fear of being rejected or misunderstood so great? Or is it simply because I do not think that my own feelings or needs are good enough or important enough to be voiced? Either way, these are some deeply rooted issues, and as much as I hate issues and would rather ignore than deal with them, I have to admit that they bother me on ongoing basis and inevitably result in my growing bitterness, resentment, frustration, which when bottled up for over a period of time, ends up exploding in a most graceless and emotionally messy way.

I am not sure when and how it happened that I simply stopped letting others know about what i feel and how i feel about whatever it is that may be important to me. When did i start to believe that showing need or emotion is a sign of weakness? Perhaps if I dig a little deeper, I will find a specific cause – some past event that has brought this on, but so far I’ve learned that analyzing past issues only gives me an understanding of the cause itself and does not necessarily help me deal with consequences. The consequence is that what once used to be a justifiable fear of rejection has grown into a habit of not talking and bottling up. And being more concerned about keeping certain appearances. That showing emotion, need, dependency, voicing fears, frustrations are signs of weakness, inadequacy, incompetency and that it will inevitably end up hurting and disappointing me. And that as long as I keep all of it nicely hidden, I will not run to risk of appearing weak or being hurt, even if the pain of unvoiced emotions is much greater than actual rejection. Since then I’ve been very successful in hiding all that stuff, in convincing not only others but myself as well that I’m fine, that I don’t need anything, even at times when I really, desperately need help, compassion, understanding. And just like it was with food, I sometimes deny all love, compassion and understanding to myself, thinking that I do not deserve it. I have become very successful giving an appearance of being fine. Since then I have developed great tolerance for pain and discomfort. I have eliminated my needs to the very basic. I’ve learned to live without expectations from others. I have become extremely self-sufficient and independent. Obsessively, to the point of neurosis independent only to realize not that long ago that this obsession with being self-sufficient and independent is driven by nothing else but the past fear of being rejected. Even when there are no longer any grounds for this fear.

What bothers me now is that even after knowing and understanding all of the above, I still choose to deal with these issues in the same habitual way, of keeping quiet, pretending to be fine and dealing with them on my own. What bothers me now is that I still choose to put myself in blatantly ambivalent and uncomfortable situations whereas for the most part these situations can be avoided if I choose to as much as hint that there is something wrong. What bothers me now is that I still seem to be more concerned about keeping certain appearances, like being strong, self-sufficient, cool, reserved, polite, nice, undemanding than actually being honest with myself and everyone else. Even if I don’t even care whether I’m strong, self-sufficient, cool or reserved. And what bothers me most is that I rather label all my uncertainties with “questions you don’t ask” and shove them away instead of having the courage to ask them and live and deal with answers. Especially when I know that pain is not what I’m afraid of anymore.

reposting

There are questions you do not ask….
Because you no longer want to know the answers. You don’t need them, just like the questions themselves, they’re pointless…So you push these questions far back to the corner of your mind, keeping them quiet and still, locked.

And there are questions you do not ask no matter how badly you want to know the answers. You try to ignore them, hoping that these questions will outlive themselves and disappear completely from your event horizon…
It’s not important,
It does not matter- you keep saying to yourself… cause you know that deep down you already know the answers to even the unborn questions and the only thing you can do is accept them each in its own time.

And you live day by day in self inflicted bliss of denial and ignorance, choosing it as your only mode to exist, knowing that the only thing you can ask and hope for is that you wake up the next morning…

* I no longer question. I merely accept. And I’m no longer afraid of pain- you don’t question pain just like you don’t question your own happiness…

I’m no longer afraid of getting hurt- and by having realized this I seem to have somehow eliminated all the possible pain I may have to endure at whatever point in the future.

i already miss Richmond.
i haven't even left yet...
i woke up this morning with a tight knot in my stomach and a pang of panic as if i was already gone, feeling disoriented, lost, alone and nostalgic. i still have what seems another eternity of four months left... and i already miss Richmond.

Spring on Monument Avenue

Snippets

A man and two women sitting outside at Betty's. Drinking wine. Smoking. Laughing. Engaged in a light and leisurely conversation. They seem to be enjoying themselves. The man gets up and leaves, soon to come back carrying a white cardboard box, our of which chocolate cake comes out. They start eating the cake, continuing the conversation and as i watch them, i can't help thinking how cool it is to have someone to bring you chocolate cake, while you're hanging out on a Saturday afternoon thinking that life could not get any better.

***
Once i woke up in the studio apartment of a guy i used to spend considerable amount of time with, to find out that he wasn't in bed. This rarely happens, since i'm usually the one who's always first to wake. He was in the shower, the door between the room and the hallway shut. He had closed it intentionally for the noise not to wake me up. i found this little detail very touching and endearing. Later the same morning i made french toast and scrambled eggs for him, and left his place with a smile on my face.

***
I have a whimsical, almost wistful desire to have someone bring me breakfast as i'm waking up. Or make breakfast for someone other than myself, even all that it involves is making coffee and pouring milk into a bowl of cereal. But i almost always end up with men who generally do not eat breakfast. Bummer.

I have so far learned to tell the difference between a regular and diet drink. But to learn to tell apart Coke from Pepsi is yet another skill to be mastered...

On accomplishments

I used to wonder whether accomplishment is about the actual achievement of some kind of end-result or the feeling that arises when you know you’ve done something productive, positive, no matter how small. I used to further wonder whether this end-result had to be something tangible, valuable or material or was abstract and just as relative as anything else.

I don’t really like the word accomplishment – it’s too finite for me, too definitive, too focused on this end-result, whereas I do things for the sake of the process and would rather not think of its outcome.

I’ve never had a clear view of what I’d like to do with myself, things I’d like to have, or have accomplished. True, since I was little I liked to speculate about what I could be or do, more considering those options with wishy-washy wistfulness than any kind of seriousness of intent. With the exception of becoming a doctor - I was pretty determined on that one for a while until my mother talked me out of and for which I’m forever grateful to her. Since then I've dreamed about becoming a biologist, psycologist, a writer, but I could have just as well been dreaming about being an airline hostess, train conductor or astronomer.

If you asked me some five-seven years ago where I thought I would be at this point of my life, I would hardly have a clue, and Richmond would certainly not be one of the places I would start guessing.

The problem with me has never been about being or not being able to do things that I want to do – the problem has always been in not wanting to do anything at all, and being depressed, bitter and disillusioned to even get motivated enough to do something. And if that was not the case, it was insufficient amount of faith in myself that wouldn’t let me as much as even try. And besides most of my late teen and early adult life was spent worrying and taking care of things of more basic and imminent nature, like supporting myself, helping my mother, making sure that at least she didn’t have to worry about me. Granted considerable part of that time was spent feeling completely hopeless and apathetic and helpless to try and change anything. Another part was spent in an unsuccessful and failed relationship that was a complete desaster, unless you consider choosing no relationship over a bad one as accomplishment in itself.

Today when I think about accomplishments, I can hardly name a few that appear important, significant. The fact that I was good in school and good at the very few things that I actually did end up trying hardly accounts for anything. Yes, I did manage to miraculously graduate from school with straight As, despite my less than exemplary attendance, my active attempts to drop out at the beginning of each semester, and simply not going to class the whole senior year. And yes, I’ve always been successful in finding jobs that I more or less liked and was appreciated enough to feel “accomplished” about them (one of my bosses actually called me the best legal assistant he had had, since the existence of the firm – how awesome is that?). I’ve been described as “talented, promising, bright” - but when it comes to accomplishments, I really don't have much to brag about. I have not written a book, made a movie, become famous. I haven’t built homes or opened a business. I don’t have exciting experiences of exotic countries and foreign cultures other than what I’ve found here and the ones that were sort of “given” to me by birth. I really haven’t done anything much at all, except for moving from States back home and back to the States again every two-three years or so ever since I was fifteen.

And yet, when I think about what matters to me, and what I feel “accomplished” about, a few things come to mind. Being able to pull myself out of my previous hopeless and helpless state was an accomplishment. Overcoming depression, bitterness and apathy was another one. Saying no to a relationship that was bad and harmful for me and realizing why exactly it was bad and what about it was so harmful for me was an accomplishment. Staying alive and not breaking down after a strenuous, emotionally demanding breakup was an accomplishment. Choosing my sanity over chaos was accomplishment. Giving up my illusions, delusions, utopias and dystopias and learning to live and cope with the reality as it is was certainly an accomplishment. Overcoming an eating disorder was one of the greatest thing I have ever done, knowing that I did it on my own makes it even better. Being able to overcome part of my fears and starting to make weak, but at least some kind of attempts to do things that I want to do is an accomplishment. Learning to appreciate life as it is and being happy with the mere thought of being alive is an accomplishment. Having been in a new relationship for almost a whole year without going crazy about any of my past relationship issues is definitely an accomplishment. Learning to dream again is probably the greatest one of them all.

I may have not accomplished much, but I’m still young enough to afford to think that the greatest part of my life is still ahead of me. I may or may not write a book, make a movie, save the world or millions of dollars. But at least I have overcome one of my greatest fears – the fear of living – and that, definitely is an accomplishment.

Where does a Human Rights and Social Movements major find work without prior experience?

Mental checklists

of things that i absolutely have to do
(even though i keep ignoring and postponing them as long as i possibly can, trying to pretend that one can be an adult and be just as fine without...)

• Get a divorce (seriously!!!)
• Learn to drive and get a license (and dont even ask me to elaborate on this one...)
• Get a credit card (sounds easier than it actually is)
• Get a degree!!!

and things that i'd like to do at one point or another, with no particular order

• Make a bead curtain
• Take a photography class just for the sake of it
• Write a research paper on causes and origins of poverty
• See the fat bastard one more time
  
• Make a documentary about Armenia
• Teach my own class at Yerevan State University of Linguistics the way i wish the classes were taught to me
• Write a book - "Perfect Vacuum" that currently lingers as an unfinished blog project. Maybe even turn it into an artsy, surreal, david lynch like film that nobody would watch.
  
• Speaking of David Lynch - i'd like to meet him and try to talk him into visiting the lovely town of Kapan, that is in the South of Armenia- a town that would be dead was it not for an old Soviet mine that is currently run by the British (?) - is it still them, digging out there? A place with really desperate people and freaky things happening that everybody knows but no one talks about-Twin Peaks without the excitement. To imagine what great source of inspiration this would be for David Lynch to make a whole new miniseries that would be so much better than the Twin Peaks...
• Make an apple pie and learn to say "pie" in a deep Southern accent that i find so cute and am still unable to master.
• Get a job in Planning Commission of the City of Richmond, the likelihood of this being very slim - that is if i decide to settle down here after i'm tired of my yet unstarted career of foreign aid work and am ready to trade it for community development, which is another way of naming miscellaneous projects that do not fit neither under urban planning nor under social work, but sound nice and cute enough to be considered.
  
• Have a kid, and if it happens to be a girl, name her Inessa, after my Bosnian roommate who i lived with back in Charlottesville
  
• Get another degree, in counceling, and work with people with eating disorders.
• When i'm old, and i mean really old, become an armchair astronomer and try to figure out the secrets of the universe...
  

Recently I was asked if I ever wanted to go back home to Armenia. Or rather, the question was put before me this way: “You don’t want to go back to your country, do you?” The question itself struck me as ridiculous, if not insulting, and despite the fact that lately I have been wondering whether I actually will be going back home anytime soon and knowing that I’m in a much healthier place now, that I’m away from everything that used to frustrate and aggravate me about my own country, my immediate respond to the question was “Why? Of course I want to go back. I love it there…” In respond to which I got a look of disbelief and something resembling pity – the way you look at slightly disturbed people, like they don’t know any better…

It makes me slightly uncomfortable to think that I might be looked upon as a refugee, who was lucky enough to escape a post-communist, underdeveloped third world country and has found shelter in this land of freedom, wealth and prosperity. As much as I know that this is not the case, I am aware that very often that’s exactly how I am perceived. As much as I try to persuade them (as well as myself) otherwise, I am not sure if I will be able to list at least one rational and legitimate reason for my being here, other than this "wealth, freedom and prosperity". I’m here after all, aren’t i? This time neither as a student, nor an “alien relative”, my permanent residency status obtained in series of rather unfortunate than lucky events. In a way I feel like I’m being hypocritical. I could have chosen not to come back at all, or if I had to, follow all the steps to obtain a student vise before I was granted a residency status. Yet I made the choice, and even if I know that it wasn’t the promise of a “better life” that brought me here, I don’t think I will be able to explain to myself, let alone anybody else, why I chose to come back. Does personal paranoia of being trapped and landlocked in one place for too long stand as a valid reason? Do past unresolved issues and memories appear legitimate? Does it appear plausible that one day I would probably be just as happy to leave the States, once again, for some other, completely unfamiliar and unexplored place? This pretty much ends all my arguments… So where do I go now?

The truth is, I’m split between the two countries. And it goes beyond liking them both, for one reason or another. Or disliking them, for that matter. They say when you spend considerable amount of time away from your own country, you will no longer be able to go back and feel at home in your own home. You change somewhere between exploring a new, different culture and reconsidering your own. It's inevitable, especially when the process starts when you're relatively young and flexible (I was fifteen, when I first got here). At the same time, as easy as it was for me to adapt to this new country (and I do not think that it’s possible to get more assimilated than I am right now, unless I was born here), I will never be able to feel fully at home here either, knowing that as open as I am, I will always be foreign, to one degree or another.

Being split between two completely different cultures, this partial assimilation to the new, acquired culture and dissimilation from your own gives you a unique, dual vision of both worlds, and a somewhat split and at times surreal sense of reality. It is both fascinating and overwhelming at the same time. It takes away the ability to take any social, cultural or political phenomenon for granted, or as some kind of an absolute. It makes you constantly question, compare reconsider, and makes you a bigger skeptic than you'd actually want to be. They say that’s how you grow beyond cultural borders and broaden your outlook, but perhaps that’s just being spread thin and scattered, with a feeling of being constantly uprooted…

It’s true that a part of me is glad to be away from Yerevan. As much as I love it, I know that it’s better that I’m away right now. It’s not starvation, oppression and economic hardship that I’m trying to escape, but whatever the reason is, I should consider myself fortunate, if for nothing else, at least for having a choice to be here on my own volition. Something that many others don’t and will not have. But at the same time, I have this nagging feeling that by being away from home, I am missing something important and valuable and losing the grip of the reality there. As if soon enough I won’t be able to claim it as my own ( and more on this later…)
It actually disturbs me more than being considered a first generation refugee-immigrant who was lucky enough to escape whatever it was she was trying to escape.

Twelve Random Musings

that i'm too lazy to turn into full blogs, but i've never been good at blogging anyway, so what the hell...

• i drink coke when i'm bored - and by coke i mean every carbonated soft drink that's out there. I do not drink it very often, the reason i mention this is cause i'm drinking coke (Mountain Dew) right now, which means i'm bored out of my mind - it's Friday, and i really do not want to do any more work.
  

• Morning is my most favorite part of the day. I like the promise and possibilities it holds, even if the day ends up being as undistinguished and uneventful as any other ordinary day. Still, i find the promise of early morning almost intoxicating, when even the most unlikely event still has a probability of happening.

• Breakfast is my most favorite and perhaps important meal of the day, and i always wake up looking forward to it. Even if it ends up being orange juice and a plain bagel. It hasn't been that long since i started appreciating the joy of something as simple as breakfast, having spent the most part of my “adult” life in self-induced semi-starvation and neglecting such basic needs as food.

• In no particular order: I like apples, peanut butter (and peanuts), bran muffins, cinnamon, crepes, dark chocolate (very dark chocolate, like 85% dark chocolate) and coffee - good coffee, only good coffee, and always freash, preferably brewed and not filtered, the coffee that i make, although occasionally I’ll opt out for starbucks, which leads to…

• I’m a starbucks junky – not because I’m all that crazy about their different kinds of coffees with names that are a foreign language – it's more about the feeling of gratification and self-pampering that every one of their cardboard togo cups holds. i also like the idea of coffee shop culture - long afternoons spent outside some coffee shop (most likely the nearest starbucks) with a good book or a notebook, random encounters and bonding over a cup of coffee between complete strangers... I like the sense of familiarity of seeing the people who frequent that one particular store that i go to and the realization that i'm one of the regulars, especially when i get a free refill or a whole muffin for that matter. This leads to...

• Coffee shops are one of the best places to watch people. People watching is one of the most amusing activities - the better you get at it, the better the stories that you make up to match every face you see, the better the chances in predicting their behavior at any random social situation. I draw comfort from the fact that as random and bizarree human character is, there are certain patterns that can be foreseen, certain behavioural codes, unwritten rules that you intuitively know - and how much in common we all have. Bars are another good place to people watch, although a completely different world with its own, completely different rules - it's amazing to realize that i've learned more about life and people during a year of barhopping when i was in Yerevan, than in the previous five years taken together.
  

• I love cities – or rather the idea of a city, any city. More specifically, downtown. Something about tall buildings and streams of roaring traffic and crowd that makes me feel small, anonymous, almost invisible. I love the feeling of being small next to something so vast and big, I like feeling the weight of those building on my shoulders, i feel safe and hidden in the crowd. i like the noise, smells, sounds - the pace of the city. i wish i worked downtown, since at present moment I ‘m fascinated with downtown Richmond. Funny thing is, although people keep telling me that i will really like Boston, i never had a desire to see it. And still dont. But I'll be moving there in a few months, so we'll see... Cities I’d like to check out in the near and maybe not so near future while I’m in the States - Baltimore, Philadelphia, Charleston, Nawlins at some point, and maybe San Francisco. At some point SF was the top of my list, but lately I'm more drawn to working class, crime-ridden, decaying neighborhoods, which leads to…

• I have a strange and dark fascination with urban decay – as much as i'd like to elaborate on this one, i can't quite explain what it is about things old and rustic that i find attractive, genuine and real...

• Sometimes during my evening walks (and I walk all over the place), when the lights in the windows start coming out, I like looking at the houses and trying picture the people who live there, wondering what their life, or a random moment of their day is like – what they do when they wake up in the morning, how they spend their evenings after they've finished dinner and settled quietly for the night – musings that give me an almost whistful, nostalgic longing, although I know that I’m longing for something I have never had…

• I also like to picture myself in most random and improbable situations and places, trying to imagine different lives that i could have had - trying them on like one would try an outfit... knowing that this one life that i have is way too short for me to experience everything that i wish i could...
  

• Other places that I’d like to see and maybe live in at some point of my life or another: Istanbul (I can’t believe I didn’t go there when I was so close and had a chance); Beirut (for me the symbol of Orient); Tehran, Prague, Budapest and maybe Samarqand… or take that random holiday to Spain and while i'm at it, stop at Lisbon and Morocco on my way...

• I’m still trying to decipher the true and full meaning of decadence…

Last night, for the first time in a while, I was falling asleep without any unresolved and disturbing issues pressing on my mind, and as tired as I was, I felt peaceful, happy, somewhat accomplished... I am not sure whether it was the nice weather, the run we went for earlier, great dinner of steak and roasted potatoes, or the overall quiet and relaxing evening, but I felt happy and grateful and was soon fast asleep, as I thought about the coming day and realized that I’m actually looking forward to it.

It's all about possibilities...
I'm a sucker for possibilities. I have left countries, marriage, changed places, turned my life upside down in the name of these possibilities. Without them life turns pale, mundane, it's safe, secure, perhaps even comforting in some ways, but it's limited, predictable...

I always said that any given choice that's limited in its options is not a choice at all, but rather a forced decision. I need to know that at any given situation there will always be more than a limited number of choices. I need a life of possibilities that go beyond a career, income, security. Possibilities that allow me to be at any place at any given time, even if my decisions are driven by whims and do not necessarily follow logic. Even if after making any given choice, however random and whimsical, i'll be eliminating all the rest of the options, at least i will know that my i was making a free choice, instead of being forced to choose between black or white.

I'm restless again. Impatient. Part of me wants time to pass quickly, since i cannot wait to find out what's going to happen next. And yet another part of me is stalling, wishing that i had more time, a little more time, although i know that even if i had all the time in the world, it wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough...

And i'm running again. Running in hope to find answers, to chase away frustration and uncertainties, running for distraction, when it becomes too unbearable to sit still for another minute, to think for another minute. when it becomes impossible to wait, and wait and wait, losing count in hours, days... to suddenly realize in panic that another month is over... and wishing i had more time...

Once i was told that as long as I knew whether i was running away from or towards to, i would be fine. And once again, i have no clue, and i have too little time to try and figure that one out. so i run, and run in hopes to tire myself out, because at least then i can give myself some rest - something that i'm starting to lose - I'm becoming restless...

ambivalence

Perhaps it's only a moment and this time will pass.
all i can really do is wait and let things balance out themselves.

Perhaps it is perfectly ok to be languid and idle and not want to do anything for a while.

After all, inspiration can not be forced. can't wish for a change for the sake of change. can't force myself into decisions i'm still not ready to make. it will all happen in its own time. all the fret and worries simply taint what otherwise could be calm and spotless happiness. and undisturbed peace.

i could be happy. if only i let it be. and cherish this moment for what it really is.
no more and no less.
a moment to be still and quiet. and grateful.

after all it's only a moment. and it will pass, like everything else.

I keep telling myself that all I want is some sense of normality and a little peace of mind. But I stop right there without further questioning of what this normality entails. What exactly does it mean, normality, to me- this one, seemingly simple, and yet the most relative, subjective and changeable concept of all? Where do I draw the line, my own personal line, between what’s normal and acceptable and what’s not? How do I make my own definitions of uniform ordinariness? And why, why is it that this sense of normality is so important to me now?

Once I used to find comfort in a newfound realization of how similar we, as humans, are. And how much there is that we share in common. Made it easier for me to accept and understand myself and relate to someone outside of my skin; gave me compassion and tolerance towards others for merely being human... And being connected to every other human and not alone in our behavior patters, thoughts and emotions. It made me happy – just thinking about it. Somewhat relieved of unnecessary pressure of trying to be different, special in some way. Even remotely distinguished by something other than being just another human being...

But then, i can't help but question whether this is a cryptic way of justifying my complete lack of ambition or any kind of aspiration for not wanting something that would make me more distinguished than the person next to me. And whether this lack of desire is as humble as it may appear at first glance or simply a sign of laziness, as if by accepting my averagness I’m giving up the effort to be something more, something better – at least a better version of myself, if not distinguished.... but then, again, i ask whether there is even half as much comfort in this sense of distinguishness as there is in the ordinariness of someone who's humble in his own humanity…

What I want is simple. Ordinary. Uncomplicated. Real. Tangible. And not abstract. I need a sense of security, stability, a sense of being protected… some kind of confidence of being able to deal with whatever future may hold for me. A need for companionship, of knowing that I’m not alone, and not in some generalized abstract sense, but in the most immediate sense of having someone physically present with you and interacting with you on the most immediate physical levels. Having the comfort of knowing that that presence is lasting, will be lasting. Wanting a place that you can call your own, a place that will give you the protection you need and partially the sense of security. A need for a home… your own home- these are all simple and ordinary things, yet very concrete things to want and need… it’s natural for someone to want to have it, is it not? It’s normal, human… basic - is it not?

If it is so, then why is it that a certain part of me feels guilty, somewhat guilty, that by wanting and choosing those things I’m forgetting and leaving out something that might be just as important? Perhaps not as common and ordinary, but as equally important?

*** interlude

i'm depressed beyond all acceptable limits. I'm also bored, tired and unmotivated as i haven't been in quite a long time. It's quite sad to realize that what once used to inspire and motivate me has ceased to create as much as a tiny spark of interest. These days there's hardly one single thing that can hold my attention, let alone interest, for longer than five minutes. The daily routine is overbearing in its monotony. Work is dull and without challenges- and it keeps reminding me day after day how trivial everything is- and most of all- how trivial i am with everything that i once believed in.

i find myself hour after hour inside four walls of a very small room- yet there really isn't anywhere else that i can go. Except to work. and then back. to the same confined space- my temporary dwellings. and i fail to find a way out. i fail to find challenges to inspire me to keep going a day at a time- an hour at a time. and without challenges i wither- thus the depression- the thought of impending stagnation- and so discomforting it feels.

The fact that i'm here for only temporarily doesn't make it any better... Makes my stay appear as a long and meaningless wait. Until it's time to move on. To yet another stage. Temporary again. And that's what's most unsettling of all - the uncertainty, the lack of anything finite. Definite. After all, as it turns out, i do need definitions- i need definitions for the peace of mind and the sake of that sense of normality that now i need more than anything else. i need those definitions so that i can reconcile myself with my surroundings and accept them as something known, familiar, welcomed.

i dont have any of it now.
neither the acceptance, nor the certainties, nor the familiarity of a place that could feel like home. or almost like home.

i'm quietly going insane.
and home is years away from now...

[...]