So this is really personal, but next Friday, I have an appointment at 1 30 with a psychiatrist. This isn’t a position that I want to be in, but it is unfortunately very necessary, and I’m incredible grateful to the Peace Corps for arranging it.

I haven’t really slept in over a month. I’m not an early to bed person to begin with, but since mid-August, I’ve been seeing far more of 4 30 AM then usual. Like, 4 nights out of 7.

My Mom says, “Oh you’re such a Severns.”
My Dad says, “Stop thinking so much.”

I really, really wish I could stop thinking. The brain just will not shut off. It won’t even slow down. I can come home from a long day of walking 2 miles to and from town, with a good 5 hours at the farm in the scorching September sun, and return physically exhausted. Just ready to collapse, and relieved that I will be too tired to do anything but pass out directly.

Wrong. The clock strikes 11….1…..2:15 AM, and I am wide awake, my brain screeching at warp speed and taking cerebral corners like a NASCAR champ. MYTHOUGHTSARELITERALLYALLCAPSINITALICS

And at deafening decibels. ITSLIKEMYBRAINISSCREAMINGCANYOUHEARMENOWWWWWWW?

And the thoughts are not pleasant.

In broad daylight, I’m mostly pretty content with my life as it currently stands. My trials and tribulations are typical, no different then any Peace Corps Volunteer anywhere in the world.
And then I turn off the light, and “Anxiety” can’t even begin to cover it.
This is some serious shit. Its not fly by night insomnia.

I spend 5,6,8 hours feeling like I have no business in Jamaica, that I should ET, that I’ll never make friends, that I am the worst volunteer in the world, my life and any thing I do will never amount to anything, and also, also, I’m getting fat. (Not be all “Regina-George-i-need-to-lose-three-pounds” about it, but its a stress factor.)
Everyone has thoughts like that from time to time. But when you spend every night in such intimate proximity to them, it’s hard not to internalize them. Its very negatively affecting my waking life. I feel as though I’m just going through the motions-barely- like a very tan zombie.
I cry at the drop of a hat, not just a little bit, but horrible body-rocking sobs, for much longer then usual.
This whole experience is sort of like being soaked in some horrible caustic and toxic substance, except instead of turning into a superhero and saving the world, I’m just slowly dissolving into a puddle of misery.

It’s easy to say, “Oh, well, you have nothing to worry about, everyone feels that way sometimes.” Yes, sometimes. Not all the time, and my anxiety has some very real contributing factors.

The loneliness is very, very real. It’s incredibly hard to not have any close friends at site. I “chat” with people all the time, the same conversation with the same people everyday. I don’t have Jamaican friends at site that I can talk to on anything other then the most superficial level. Its hard to overstate just how hard that is. Yes, I can call my PC friends, but they are far away most of the time. I can’t just pop in to see what’s up, you know?

Also, Jamaica is the forgotten corner of America’s front yard that no-one wants to weed whack. In an hour, I can be in Miami. This means that it’s very easy to travel to and from the States. Some people have been home already. More are going home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Lots of volunteers have had family and friends come and visit recently.
I have NO IDEA when and if I’m going home in the next two years. No idea. No fucking clue. So I don’t get to plan where I’m going to eat and which bars I’m going to hit up with which friends. I don’t get to see snow anytime soon, or experience a season other then “hot, humid, and probably going to rain at 2pm for an hour.” People make noise about wanting to see me, but since all my friends, like myself, have about $20 to their name, I’m not counting on it. My family is in the midst of some major changes and uncertainties, so it’s not as if I can blame them for not booking their tickets the minute I opened my placement letter.

But to have home so close, and to not know when I get to see any semblance of it is like trying to reach something on a top shelf. You’re standing on your tip toes, hopping up and down, and it’s still JUST OUT OF REACH.

And I mean, I’m in Peace Corps Jamaica. There’s a little more pressure to perform, to get results. More of them, and sooner, then other posts. I don’t know how realistic that is, I am terrified that I will get nothing done. Nothing. Nothing worth while at all.

And PEACE CORPS. There’s this perception that PC makes you more independent. That is….wrong. Peace Corps pretty much robs you of your independence. You are in control of very, very little. Your effectiveness is subjected to the commitment of your counterparts, your time is not your own. No one runs on your schedule. Even when they are supposed to, invariably your HCN’s will be late. Taxis run when they want to. You can only eat what’s available. You are scrutinized every second of the day, and every action and word weighs 20 times more then it ever did back home.

Here, we are more connected to the rest of the world with our cell phones and portable modems. Its a double edged sword because while you can keep in touch better, you are also constantly reminded of the fact that no one’s life has paused, only to resume playing again when you COS (close out service). Your friends and family are getting married and dying and having babies and going out and generally having a grand-old time with out you. All that stuff you’re missing is right there for you to see. And again, it’s only a short plane flight away.

So after a month of this mental torture, I finally asked the nurses if we could maybe prescribe me some horse tranquilizers. Or heroin. Or SOMETHING. I feel a little ridiculous that it’s taken me this long to ask for help. After all, as a Peer Support Counsellor, I’d have told anyone who asked my advice on the same problem to CALL THE GODDAMN NURSES ALREADY,JEEZE. There’s no stigma, no one will get medically separated. And yet…its really hard to admit you can’t deal with a problem like this on your own with logic and deep breathing exercises.
But you can’t help yourself all the time, and taking a pill is much, much easier then having someone sneak up and brain me with a two-by-four every night