Magnitude 5.8

The anticipated date of September the third is wrecking havoc on my mental state--greatly increasing the emotional magnitude behind each event. My guess is this has been building all year. To this day, I remain continually haunted by the negative media attention Peace Corps continues to receive, this story from the Sunday Washington Post was delivered directly to my home. In addition, early today I became privy to some very exciting news--honoring my late friend.

I want to celebrate the life and memory of T.C.M. Everyone should know of his joy and love for life and others. He would have wanted a legacy, in turn I crave that for him too.

This being said... the news regarding T.C.M. left me further confused, feeling more lost than ever before.

I paused. I tried to breathe. I couldn't process. There was an earthquake in my head.

I started to wonder if a big part of my inability to get past this event... is a direct cause of an organization that has done their "level best" in the words of my old students, to keep the sole survivor at bay.

T.C.M. can have the glory. He deserves the glory; this can not be emphasized enough. The reality though is he is gone. The situation is absolutely horrid, and I hate hate hate having to accept it. Overcoming grave loss during your twenties is not easy. Even worse is knowing your friend will have nothing beyond his twenties. This immediately puts the importance of living life to the fullest into perspective.

I do not consider myself desperate for attention. Though in Peace Corps, the loudest is heard. I was actually a volunteer in Lesotho too. Again, I do not want, nor do I need--or deserve, the fame T.C.M. is worthy of.

What I want is respect. I want to be kept in-the-know. I want acknowledgement of my existence. These are things I am entitled too as I am left fighting this fight alone.

My friend was taken. My service ended prematurely. The friendships made with locals dissolved. My relationship with volunteers are strained, strained by distance, distance and time--the time remaining in our service, the service all of them have been allowed to stay and finish.

I struggle daily with the lack of closure, immense guilt, effects of trauma, a broken heart, and complete isolation. I'm isolated from a place I fell hard for. I'm isolated from the Peace Corps community. I'm isolated from a friend base that lacks the ability to comprehend this tragedy. This very morning I was surrounded by my family, and yet... I felt sickeningly alone.

Volunteers, sharing a common understanding, will spend the dreaded date together; they have the ability to comfort one another. I am envious of the access they have to each other. Together, they will finish out the work T.C.M. and I started... in what we pictured as a 27 month life-altering adventure. I will be at home--lonely--in an environment moved far beyond the death of my dear friend. 

But I suppose that's only my half-full attitude... or a result of the fact...

"We live in a world where we rarely speak out and when someone does, often nobody is there to listen." (Jaycee Dugard)