Closed Hand Full of Friends

Turn on the song I fell in love with today and then read on:

For awhile I expected it. I waited patiently for that moment to come and grasp my heart and pull me slowly under until I couldn't breathe anymore. I waited when I first arrived. I waited after returning from my first trip. I waited until Christmas. Nothing swallowed me whole. A few tears here and there, and then smiles and happiness.

I arrived home from Christmas and was sure this was going to be the end. Never had I ever gone so long without experiencing the longing, the desire, and the mess of confusion in my head.

Today it happened, finally.

Nothing special about this day in particular, but as I dealt with small scoops of  problems,  topped by teeny tasks,  the final cherry of hormones was dropped on top of this ice cream sundae of a day, and I reached a breaking point.

Emotions have descriptions. They have sentences attached to them. When someone asks what is wrong you can explain what you are feeling, and your face shows it.

This emotion doesn't have a single synonym. Nor an antonym that fits appropriately. So when I start feeling it, and can't really explain it, I do exactly what you aren't supposed to. I hide inside it. I don't talk about it, or fight it. I delve into it until I reach my breaking point.

And today I needed to, and I did, break. After sobbing for about 2 hours in between intervals of burpees, push up jacks, power squats and high jumps, I finally managed to stop the tears and thoughtfully reflect on the uncertainty of this emotion.

Homesickness. It is never the same, it is never what I expect, but I certainly should know how to deal with it by now. So I pause to write in my notebook:

"I am sitting on my bedroom floor mid workout sobbing for no reason. I cannot put a explanation to this emotion and it is scary. To top it off I just ran out of tissues and it's pouring rain outside. I will NOT be this girl. Not again. Pull yourself together. For the first time of life in Montenegro I just need something more than it is offering me. I feel friendless in a world full of friends. I want to tell someone what I'm actually feeling, but I can't admit it because I'm too scared shitless of ending up back where I was. I am freaking out because I know I can never be the perfect woman I want to be. I wear a constant reminder that I am perfectly imperfect. So why do those imperfections hurt so much? Why can't I just be happy with and embrace them?"

After I write, I sit and focus on my breathing and calm myself.  I turned off my screen, and sat down with my lonely planet book to research my upcoming trip. I pumped the happy tunes and thought about my gratitude for moments like this.  I was feeling a little to comfortable and convinced I would never want to leave.