Hey Everyone!
Sorry for this delayed post. Its been a long time coming.
Honestly, I am not really sure where to start on this one. I haven’t posted since the hospital debauchal…and that’s been a few good weeks. I have been through a lot in that time. For those who don’t know, I got put on medication when I left the hospital. When I was about three days into the medication, I had a nervous breakdown/panic attack. It was quite possibly one of the scariest things I have ever experienced. I felt isolated, sudden really hot, was hyperventilating, having small hallucinations…the whole works. I quickly went to Kim’s room and told her what was going on, but nothing really could be fixed. We started to watch harry potter but I couldn’t focus and instead sought solace from my dad’s voice. I called him and he began the process of helping to calm me down. After our phone call I suddenly realized how far away I was from home and just started sobbing (mind you, I have never gotten this emotional here). Kim ended up going to bed when I said I was fine, and instead I just ended up crying for a really long time. One of those ugly cries, you know? I took a shower hoping it would help, but honestly nothing was really helping me. I ended up talking to people online like Steve Bauder, Ethan, and eventually I calmed down. I thought the worst was past me. I hung out with my friends and just stayed in their presence to calm me down. I passed out and woke up the next morning for my 7:30 am Play Analysis Class. Kim slept in and skipped, so it was just Maggie and I. We got there, and I was fine at first, but then started having a similar breakdown, if not worse. I felt as if the world was ending and I was going to be crushed by it. I won’t give the details on to exactly what my mind was twisting (all of my thoughts were not rational…) I worked my way through class resisting the urge to run outside and get sick because I felt so unsettled by what was happening in my brain. I began to stare at things around me trying to allow them to ground me to reality, to what reminded me of my logical state. It was hard, and I consistently failed. Tried to stare at a girls hair, a notebook, Maggie’s doodles next tome, it got consistently harder until I just started scribbling down my thoughts instead of notes. They were random and scattered, linked mainly towards spirituality and being unsettled. We finally left class and I practically ran back. Maggie noticed something was wrong,
I went to my room and tried to sing. It didn’t help. I pulled out my bible and read a few passages. It didn’t help. I emailed Ethan (which I later had him delete immediately) and that definitely didn’t help. I forced myself to go to Maggies and I tried to nap with her. I couldn’t sleep. It then occurred to me that perhaps these breakdowns were side effects to my medicine. As it turns out on the third paragraph of side effects it said, “convulsions and psychotic reactions such as restlessness, agitation, anxiety, depression, and confusion.” Bingo. I called my mom and a CIEE representative to meet me for coffee. I brought the packet with me to show to her. Luckily, she happened to be a psych major so some of this craziness made sense to her. We talked for awhile and we established that since I have never experienced depression before, it was clearly a side effect. It had also slipped my mind that I am sensitive to medication (this summer I had a bad reaction to vicodin). We decided that I should stop taking the medication and instead go to the doctor and get another prescription with less side effects. I received a phone call from our program director and we set up a meeting with the psychologist on staff to further the evaluation.
I met with her, and after confirming what I had thought before, we went through steps for me to take in order to get through the next few days. Unfortunately, the medicine had to work its way out of my body still. Therefore, I still would be experiencing side effects. She also helped calm my fears about not being “normal”. I felt as if I was losing part of myself. I don’t really know how to describe it. I was scared. I wanted my mom to hold me and my dad to talk to me in soothing tones and to not have to deal with this inside a completely new country. Sometimes you need more than your friends, you know? I desperately wanted Ethan to be there, holding my hand telling me it was going to be alright. God, it was hard. Still is.
I had a good meeting with her, I went to the doctor later that day, got new medication., and sought out support from my friends and from Christina (the CIEE rep). I would text her whenever I felt depression and anxiety come on, and she would remind me that it was only temporary and that it would pass. And yes, I am still normal. I was going through the motions. Forcing myself to interact with people and get outside of my head. I had a black hole that was constantly trying to pull me back in. I had to fight against it. I got momentarily distracted by Maggie and her birthday (we celebrated and went to a fancy Italian restaurant- I got a really strange drink called the Wasabi Slut Monkey hahahahah….it was her 21st.).i had moments of clarity and relaxation paired with anxiety and small breakdowns. I continually was fighting. It was annoying. My parents, Sam, my siblings, and Ethan became my outlets and I cannot thank them enough for dealing with how psychotic I was. In particular my parents. I am by far the luckiest girl in the world to be a part of their family. I would, without a doubt, die for them. Ethan was there for me to vent to, to listen, to stare, to offer support in any way he could. I have never regretted our decision to stay together. He’s amazing.
It took me a few days to go back on the other medication. I was sacred of more side effects and wanted to just forget the medication altogether. But I wasn’t feeling 100 percent better, so after consulting my doctor (my sister) I decided to go for the plunge. I was starting to feel more normal so I figured I should try it. I did finally get better with the stomach, but I am steal dealing with the after effects of the meds. I know it seems ridiculous, but it seemed to trigger a lot of hidden thoughts, anxieties, and insecurities about my trip here, my distance from home, and thoughts of the people I missed. I would walk around daydreaming about them, having vivid dreams (not such a rare thing for me, unfortunately), calling them constantly, it was rough.
Just this week I had that point in the trip where I just wanted to go home. I laid down on my friends lap and just cried and let it all out. It is “damn” hard here (reference for my mom J). Its been getting hotter (if that’s possible) so we are getting heat headaches, my room has had no water for over a week, and I am still dealing with mental side effects. I talked to my dad about coming home early (my finals end on December 7th, I fly out the 18th) and luckily, it was, and still is a viable possibility. It would only cost 60 US dollars (unheard of, I know). He said he would have no problem with it and would love to take care of me at home. However, I was hesistant to change my ticket. Even after I had been told by the psychologist and the program director to go ahead and do it, I wanted to see if I could stick it out. I’m only here once, right? No one said it was going to be easy. I am living proof of that. Long story short, I still have my original departure flight. I have a few more days to change it if I want to, but I am doing my best to work through it. There is something nice about everyone leaving together as a group. Knowing we worked through it as a community. That’s a rare thing to be a part of. Some people search for that. I have it here, without even trying.
The funny thing is, you will have a terrible day here, yeah, and you realize you have nothing to do but sit around in each other’s beds and watch videos of bassett hounds on youtube and look at Maggie’s computer folder entitled “Cats” which is full of the funniest cat photos I have ever seen…but then you realize when will I ever do this again? When will these photos ever be this funny? During our last dance class I was haunted by my thoughts of Charles’ dance class at Muhlenberg. For those who don’t know, Charles Anderson taught a dance class at Muhlenberg called African Dance and Culture. I was obsessed with it. Here in a dance class, actually in Africa, is just crazy, How did I get here? I am dancing in a circle with Ghanaians, laughing, sweating my skin off, touching people’s butts, jumping in the air, feeling as if I am a part of something greater, something more sacred. A community. I step in people’s sweat, I see the imprint of our bodies on the floor that are left when we stand. I see the bare feet of all the dancers and the loud, reckless singing of the students around me. Hell, I see international students dancing with Ghanaians like they ARE Ghanaian. How far have we come? Very far. How much have I changed? Very much. How much do I appreciate things? There is no way to measure.
Someone told me that Africa is not for the faint-hearted, or the weak. I disagree. I am faint-hearted, I am weak, malleable, susceptible, terrified of what’s to come, and scared of missing out on life around me. I hate the heat, I hate being dirty, and I miss turkey sandwiches and starbucks coffee. I am weak, but Africa has made me strong. Ghana.
I couldn’t write this entry for awhile because I was too emotionally drained and unstable. I promised to be honest with y’all, and I know it might be uncomfortable. But so is life. We have finished classes as of three days ago. Now we are entering revision week (basically study week). Finals for us start on Wednesday. We have had re-entry orientation….the end is coming. Time never stops moving…even when my fan breaks. Doom.
But, even though I have reached a place where I can actually type these things out, I am still a slight mess. I would appreciate prayers, positive energy, anything you can send my way. Because even though the days keep moving here, it doesn’t make them any easier.
