Cathartic Realizations

I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching as of late. This is something I do a lot, but I finally feel like I’m getting somewhere – that I’m getting some answers – that things are beginning to click.

I’ve been participating in a research study about TCKs and their college experience and it has shed so much light for me. Answering the questions brings things I’ve been trying to hide from and stuff away and forget to the forefront. I had a great time at college before my parents left the Azores. Even though I didn’t interact with international students and I stuffed my abroad experiences away because my peers couldn’t relate or understand, I still was able to develop and maintain friendships.

After my parents left the Azores, life became a blur for me. I had no home anymore. I didn’t know who I was or what I was supposed to do. I couldn’t go home. I was stuck in a country that I only considered a place to come to during the summer time. My experiences in the states consisted of traveling and little bits of TV here and there. I didn’t know what was popular. I didn’t know what was normal. I became incredibly alienated and anxiety and fear took over me.

Nobody knew that I was struggling with adjustment issues. Why would they? I had been in the states for two solid years going to school, happy as a lark (to an extent). My anger issues started arising as soon as I got to school because I had to deny big chunks of who I was.

The following are answers to some research questions I’ve been asked. My answers have been one of the most painful, yet cathartic realizations I’ve had in six years.

Explain the situation leading up to you leaving school for a while and eventually transferring. What spurred that decision? Why did you decide to leave? How did you make that decision? What did your friends, family, professors and/or advisers think? Were they supportive? Did you experience feelings of restlessness leading up to that decision? Even after leaving school and then re-enrolling, did you experience restlessness? What made you decide to return?

This was a very difficult time for me and something I’m still trying to overcome to this day. My parents left the Azores the summer before my junior year. It wasn’t until I went to visit them at Christmas time that things started to sink in for me. Germany, where my parents now live, was not my home. I didn’t have a home. I didn’t know where I was from. Every other summer and/or Christmas I would go home and then we would come back to the states to spend time together. I still had a place to go back to that was familiar and safe.

After the Christmas break, I started having a lot of anger issues. By the end of the semester, I ended up having a complete meltdown. Neither I, nor my parents understood what was going on. They switched my plane ticket to come “home” to Germany sooner than I was supposed to. They took me to see a doctor on the military base who diagnosed me with PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder) since it seemed these anger issues and mood swings arose the week before menses. I was put on a mild antidepressant to help alleviate the symptoms. During the summer, my boyfriend broke up with me after being together for two years and I started having an incredibly difficult time functioning in school. I slept all the time. I missed classes. I asked my doctor to switch my medication because I couldn’t function in school. This is when I switched my major to a double major in music and psychology.

The winter semester of 2006 is quite a blur to me. I started having anxiety attacks all the time. I was switching medicines every couple of months. I was in and out of the ER 10 times alone that year. I didn’t know what was wrong with me and my family was so far away. My peers began to be frightened of me and started claiming I was demon possessed. My advisor and professors I looked up to came down on me with tough love. They stated that it only took a couple of minutes to pray and read my bible. They claimed if I had enough faith, then I would be healed. That didn’t help to feel safe or to feel I had support. I started to feel that there was something very wrong with me. My peers began to withdraw from me and I began to withdraw from them. I finished out the semester with good grades, although I have no idea how. I took the summer off and went to visit my new boyfriend’s family (now my husband) up in Ohio. I tried to begin the fall semester, but I was so embarrassed and still not functioning well that I ended up withdrawing in October 2006. I had obtained a part time job at a bank and decided to work full time while I tried to get things figured out. I attempted to start school again in January 2007, but withdrew after only a couple of days. I didn’t feel like I fit in at all anymore. .

My husband and I got married July 2007 and, again, I had planned to return to school because it was important to me to finish my education. I decided since my family was so far away, it would be better to move to Ohio to be close to his family. We moved up to Ohio in January 2008. I actually enrolled in Regent University’s psychology program online, but I wanted to be around people. So, I didn’t even stay for a total of two weeks before withdrawing. I was working as a teller and my trainer was talking about Hiram’s Weekend College. I remember two of my good friends from high school going to Hiram College, so I looked into it.

What do you think it was about your parents leaving the Azores that triggered such a deep emotional response?

It was my home. It was a place of safety and a place I identified as part of me. I was able to go home my first two years of college. I flew back home for Christmas and at the beginning of the summer time because school always let out earlier for me than it did for my parents. I all of a sudden didn’t feel safe and I didn’t know where I belonged. It was a scary experience.

Do you know if any of the personnel that worked with you through your depression have any experience dealing with Third Culture Kids?

None of them had any experience. I was diagnosed with a lot of different things from PTSD to having cluster headaches to being Bipolar NOS to having Major Depression to having a Mood Disorder NOS. Nobody took into account the way I grew up. I remember working with one counselor who claimed the way I grew up wasn’t reality. That really messed with my head, to say the least! Needless to say, I don’t seek out many professionals to help me anymore. I’ve had a lot more success researching on my own even though it’s probably taken longer. The doctor I am working with now is married to a German lady and is the first one to tell me that part of my issues stem from the way that I grew up.

Do you think the way that your professors (and/or friends) treated you with "tough love" was helpful or hurtful to you in your situation? Did anyone tell you there wasn't anything wrong with you or that you were just struggling with adjustment/transition?

It was absolutely hurtful. I felt lost and confused and by not having anyone that seemed to want to care really pushed me into isolation. Nobody told me anything of the sort. Nobody had a clue that I was struggling with adjustment/transition. I didn’t even realize it.

So, here I am six years later after all this mess happened. Finally able to face what actually happened to me. Finally able to look back and realize the majority of the poems I write about consist of loneliness, hurt, sadness, alienation…all the things I’ve been feeling and experiencing since this traumatic event.

Now I begin to wonder…do I have a Mood Disorder? Do I have PMDD? Will all the pain and anger I've been carrying around magically disappear or will it continue to haunt me? Or have I just been waiting for someone to tell me that there is nothing wrong with me…I just had a difficult time adjusting? I think I still do have PMDD because I had a difficult time with that in high school, but it became much worse after this stressful event. At this point, I don’t know. I guess only time will tell.

Searching

I look in the mirror and I see this bubbly girl smiling back at me. But I don’t recognize her.

Because on the inside…I don’t feel bubbly. I feel lost and confused. I feel angry.

Some days I wake up, excited to see what the day has in store. Other days I wonder what the point is. I grumble all the way into work trying to psych myself up. Trying to make myself believe that something is going to worth it….eventually.

Very little excites me. Or if it does, it doesn’t capture my attention for very long before I’m bored and uninterested. I enjoy making crafts and when a spark of creativity happens to appear in my mind, I enjoy crafting a mini masterpiece. Other times, I look and search for ideas and nothing sparks my interest or I feel defeated thinking, it’s already been done who cares if I make another one.

I’ve been participating in a TCK research study and I’m learning a lot about myself. Stuff that makes me wonder how I didn’t see or realize these things before. My depression and anger came about when my parents left the Azores. It just got worse from there. And the last several years have been trying to regain myself….regain the life that I lost due to having a mental break down.

I hate being weak. I hate being insecure. I hate all these feelings I’m feeling.

I’m angry right now and I have no idea why. I could try and guess, but nothing is coming to the forefront. And then I wonder, am I going to be like this the rest of my life? Just merely trying to exist and hoping the next day will be better than today?

Sometimes I feel like I’m getting it. Like I’m striving towards forgiveness and gratefulness. Striving towards peace and fulfillment. And then days like today creep upon me and it seems like it’s out of the blue.

I feel like I have no life and no family. No community. No real connections with anyone. When I stop trying to maintain what little I have, it all disappears. Sigh. It all becomes so draining.

10-Year Grieving Process

I never cried when it seemed appropriate. I didn’t cry when I left Bahrain. I didn’t cry when I left the Azores. In fact, I was relieved because I had a very bad couple of experiences on my way back to the island for the last time. Maybe it was a way to help me through the process. If I was mad that would cover up the sadness. That’s often how my depression shows its face – through anger.

I’ve only been to a handful of funerals in my time and I don’t know how to grieve. I think that’s one reason why I have such emotional outburst during PMDD. It has to come out sometime and I’ve been harboring a lot of pain, a lot of emotion for quite a long time.

I have been trying to survive for so long. I have been trying to stay afloat and not drown in the seemingly endless amounts of emotions that overtake me month after month. Now that I’m not in survival mode anymore, I’m beginning to find out who I am again…or rather, who I am now. Our past will always be a part of us, but I don’t want to stay stagnant in the same place forever. I don’t want to sit wishing upon wishes that my life could be the way it used to be because by doing that I’m missing out on so much that is going on right now.

I’m grateful for the experiences and the life I’ve had. I’m so blessed to have grown up overseas and met the awesome people I have. I have so much more to look forward to.

I’m not slow and I’m not dumb, but it has taken me 10 years to recognize that I had a difficult time acclimating back to the United States, my passport county. It has taken me a long time to realize that I have been lonely and upset because I lost people that I considered close to me. I’ve grown distant. I’ve shut myself off. I use to be a very touchy-feely person. Always giving hugs and cuddling with my roommates. We need that from each other. We need each other. People need people. My faith has been tested big time, but I’m still growing. I’m still adapting. I’m still learning. I’m still sensitive. I’m just a heck of a lot more knowledgeable now and not groping for answers in the dark. This awareness won’t necessarily enable others to “get it”, but that’s ok. I’m beginning to have confidence in me. I’m beginning to heal. I’m beginning to live my life the way I was intended to.

I will still have bad days, I guarantee it. I will still have days that I cry and it may seem like for no reason…but deep down I’ll understand that it’s probably for multiple reasons.

I’m grateful for my tears because my body needs a release. I’m grateful for my pain because it’s validation that the life I lived was real…that I am real….that I feel and exist. I’m grateful for my experiences because they are making me into the person that I am. I'm grateful for the grieving process, no matter how long it takes....and it takes everyone a different amount of time and down a different path.

I feel like I'm finally ready to begin living my life.

Seven With a Line Through It...

I write my sevens with a line through the middle of it. Like so…

I never once thought about why I do that or that anything was wrong with it until I became a bank teller.

When I was a bank teller in TN, a lot of older people liked for their registers to be balanced. As I was kindly doing so for an older lady, she abruptly stopped me when she saw the way I had written my seven. “What is that?” she snarled. I was confused and it could be heard in my reply.

“It’s the number seven, ma’am.”

“No it’s not. Why are you writing it like that??”

“Because I lived overseas and that’s the way I learned to write it”

“Well, you’re in America now and that’s not proper.”

I’m sure you can imagine how her answer made my blood boil. Why isn’t it proper? Because most Americans don’t write their sevens that way? At the time I wasn’t sure why I was so upset, but I couldn’t show it for several reasons. 1. I was conducting business and in customer service, the customer is always right. 2. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was so upset.

So, here I am, six years later thinking about that incident. Why was I so upset?

Because I was expected to be one way and that’s not fair. Because I look American, I speak English like Americans, but other than those traits I have experiences that contribute to my being that have made my story unique. As a child, I picked up things my classmates and friends did from their own culture and incorporated it into my own life without even realizing it. It wasn’t until this lady pointed out so brutally that I was wrong for writing my number the way I did. It’s so simple. Why not just change and write it without the line through it? Because that’s not who I am.

I made a terrible mistake, unbeknownst to me at the time, when I moved back the states. I so desperately wanted to be a part of the American culture and wanted to fit in. So, naturally I tried to become like the fellow Americans around me. However, my expectations were sorely disappointed.

Growing up, specifically in the Azores, people came in and out of my life on a consist basis. Every year and a half to two years people were going as often as they were coming. I loved meeting new friends and that excitement overshadowed the loss of saying goodbye to old friends. Living this way constituted the need to welcome people into your group. To be open. To be social and to quickly get to know each other because you didn’t have much time together. This was my norm.

Due to this being the norm, I expected people to welcome me with open arms when I went to college, but that wasn’t the case. The majority of them came from big church groups together. Or if they didn’t come from the same state, they had gone to church camp for years upon years and knew each other or at least people knew who their parents were in the church.

Ok, no big deal. Church people are loving and accepting, right? Just because they have the label “Christian” didn’t make them loving and accepting. They were teenagers set free to explore the world on their own without mom and dad hovering over them. All the girls looked the same to me. Wearing heels and tons of makeup…even to their 8 a.m. classes. I rolled out of bed with my PJ's on with barely enough time to brush my hair and run to the dining room to grab some food.

People took an interest in me when it benefited them. At my first college, we all had to participate in a global experience before we could graduate. I loved the concept! Obviously, I didn’t need to since I was practically an international student. (I even had to pack up my stuff and put it in the dungeon with the rest of the international kids’ stuff when I went home for the summer. ) Classmates were suddenly coming out of the woodwork to ask me questions for their paper about how international students view the world. I was an easy target. “You lived overseas, right Megan?” So, you’re practically an international student. I was so excited that people began to realize who I was and where I came from, but it was very short lived. They were only interested long enough to complete their paper. And that only occurred in my freshman year. By the time I was in my sophomore and junior years, people had forgotten where I came from and I contributed to that lack of information.

I became very good at focusing on other people. I became very good at learning other people’s stories and who they were – what they were all about. While doing this, I slowly began to forget who I was and my own story.

So, yesterday, I started to write the date the way Europeans do. Date first, followed by month, and lastly the year. I haven’t done that since I was in the fourth or fifth grade. I’ve also started to have dreams. Dreams about my past. Pieces of a puzzle that I thought I had forgotten. I understand not everyone or most people don’t talk about cultural things. They just exist in it, but this is who I am. I write my sevens with a line through it and I’m not wrong for doing that.