I’m so ready to go home.
Being in a place 1500 miles from home, in a very different culture with very different etiquette, as well as different foods, different drinks, different… everything… I can manage, but it takes an incredible amount out of me.
I had a very successful first day, but all day yesterday I struggled to pay even the slightest bit of attention to what was going on. My brain was fried. My body was wired. And I had very little to offer, compared to what I wanted to do.
I’ll try again today, but I’m not hopeful.
On the surface, of course, I look fine. Just like everyone else. While inside, I’m collapsing. Just disintegrating. Unable to do much of anything — especially work on my writing and relax. My proverbial gas tank is extremely low — and I’m burning “fuel” that’s full of gunk and residue from the countless times I’ve filled up and drained my resources.
And I hate this. I hate how I become. I hate how I can cover it up so well, so nobody else sees it. I hate how everybody just assumes that I’m great, that I can rebound, that I can keep going, like nothing’s wrong (because to them, nothing IS wrong). I hate how functional I look, because it’s wildly disproportionate to the truth. A convenient fallacy that costs me dearly, even as it puts me ever deeper into situations that drain me — because I camouflage so damn’ well.
Yes, I can do this. I can mask, I can camouflage, I can go along with the prevailing customs of this place, but it’s incredibly difficult for me, and in the end, I can’t really be myself, can’t really access all my abilities and talents, can’t really represent myself adequately. I have not been my whole self, after only 24 hours here. And after 48… yeah, forget it. I’m just this dessicated shadow of who and what I am.
Wrung out. Strung out. Fried.
I want to go home.
And in another 12 hours, that’s exactly where I’ll be headed.
Just another 7 hours of work-related activity — masking, camouflaging, getting along — then I’m outa here.