Sometimes I feel like this country is a giant piece of sandpaper which is gradually rubbing me down to the bone. On those days, every thing, a students snide remark, a co-teachers rude comment, the old lady that knocks you down in the street, hits harder. I walk around feeling like my nerves are on fire, like my skin is rubbed so raw that I can't understand why I'm not bleeding. I'm surprised when I look in the mirror and see that on the outside...I still look fine.
I'm lucky here in many ways. I have friends to turn to, relative privacy in my home, outlets through writing and usually, solace in teaching. However, there are moments, days, weeks, where I just feel a screaming swelling inside of me, slowly filling me up until I'm scared that if the noise ever gets out, I'll deafen everyone around me. It's scary sometimes to walk around with this much rage, this much anger. I'm worried that one day I'll pop.
One more month until I'm home. I hope I can take the wait.