This probably isn’t a big deal for anyone else, but it is to me! One year ago, almost to the day, was the hardest time of my life. I had ended my long term relationship to join the Peace Corps. I was already approved and assigned a position; it was happening — but on March 22nd, I received a letter saying that my approval to join the Peace Corps was rescinded because I was on a mental health medication and the dosage had changed too recently (it had gone down 50mg, which is actually a good thing). I still remember being in random backwoods Virginia with my bff Jen when I received that email. We had just found the weakest wifi signal, got the email and I promptly started sobbing. The Peace Corps had been my dream since I was a little girl — I mean, I left everything for that opportunity: my souldog, my relationship, my beautiful apartment, and just know that something else significant was happening, but I won’t mention that here. I mean, everything. It had all been such a certainty, and then was pulled right now from under me, and I felt like I was left with nothing.
Jen held me and stroked my head and I’ll never forget the advice she told me. She said “This really, really, really fucking sucks and I’m not going to try to tell you that it doesn’t. We’re going to cry and scream and be angry, and that’s okay. It’s warranted. But eventually, when the hurt goes away, you’re going to appeal this and give them everything you’ve got.” I can’t say I was happy to hear that (anything but “just kidding! you got in!” would have been a disappointment), but it gave me space to feel everything that came up. I was devastated. Underneath, I felt so alone. Secretly, I questioned every decision I ever made — but Jen told me that, even though we didn’t understand it at that moment, one day it would all make sense. That was how God worked.
So, I did exactly that. I drank a lot of wine in a lot of bathtubs. I dug myself into a pit for a little while, and went on a solo road trip across the east coast. I mourned. I yelled. I cried more tears than I thought humanly possible. I missed my dog every siiiiingle day (and still do. Love yah, buddy). I visited all my old friends (and a big thank you all to housing me and for supporting me when I couldn’t even support myself). Then, one day, I woke up and decided it was time to appeal the PC’s decision. The Peace Corps nurse, who I really believe was on my side, warned me that it likely wouldn’t be overturned due to the hard and fast nature of the medical ruling, but I decided no more crying. Only action. I really thought I was going to fix the universe and restore fate’s natural course, lol.
Now, one thing you have to understand about me is that when I decide to do something, I do it — especially when i’m in a semi-desperate situation. Thank god I had health insurance because you bet your ass I went to every psychologist, psychiatrist and therapist who could fit me into the schedule. Most professionals won’t provide a rec without a minimum number of sessions, so think about that: 6 new mental health professionals x 4 sessions each, that’s 24 hours of talking about the same damn depressing subject and hoping that they would give me a recommendation (they all did). I completed DANA & M3 Testing to display my competency. I had new and personalized letters of recommendation from old employers, from clients, from my yoga teachers, from character witnesses, old roommates and landlords. I included a copy of every certification I’ve ever earned, especially those concerning TEFL, job preparedness and mental health. I included 6 different articles I’ve written about mental health and travel and philanthropy — all three which are passions of mine. Then, I wrote a letter which pleaded my case and clearly laid out my qualifications. Here’s a small snippet…
“It is easy for me to talk about how stable I am from the comfort of my apartment, with all the creature comforts I could ever want. It is true, I do not know what the Peace Corps experience is like first-hand, but I have experienced other uncertain situations and have come out from them as a happy and well-adjusted person. As I’ve mentioned before, I support myself entirely through my freelance marketing/writing business that I conceptualized, funded, and made flourish. I’m sure as many of you know, when you work from yourself, there are no certainties. You never know if your client will come through on their payment (and if they don’t, how you will be able to afford rent the next month)? If you don’t get your work done, there’s no one else to do it for you. Working for yourself requires a person to be incredibly self-sufficient and dedicated, through the good times and the truly bad times. You can never lose hope, or else you lose everything. Not only have I never lost hope, I have been seriously successful in my efforts — I have been able to earn a living, while being my own manager, and my Bipolar diagnosis has never been an imposition in these endeavors.”
It was definitely overkill/relied way too heavily on pathos, but having to defend your mental health from people who are trying to tell you that you JUST CAN’T is a special type of hell that too many people have to go through every day. I just wanted to help people, you know? I only wanted to make this world a dumb, stupid, better place, and I didn’t want money for it, I just wanted the Peace Corps’ help — I couldn’t believe I had to work so hard just to separate my personal potential from the stigma of Bipolar Disorder. Ughh, it was awful (again, thank you to everyone who took time out of their lives to help me during this process — thank you, thank you, thank you). All of this took nearly a month to compile, and when it was as complete as it could ever be, I sent it off to the US Government and just… waited. That’s all there was. In typical Peace Corps fashion, they said they’d let me know in 1-2 months. They eventually reminded me how unlikely it was that it’d be accepted, but shit, that’s all I had left to go on. So I waited.
But then, the universe conspired to show me my alternate course. I was having lunch with a friend and I was bemoaning the Peace Corps and why it was so great. I liked being on the front lines with people, in a location with no frills and little consumerism, living a life that was relatively money-less. I wanted to work every day from my heart, not my wallet — I knew that was where my true happiness lied. She said “Have you ever heard about WorkAway?” to which I said, of course, “No!” but then I went home and googled it… and then didn’t stop googling for 15 hours straight. I didn’t even sleep that night, I was so astonished that it was all right here, for the taking. Literally, right there! For those who don’t know, WorkAway is a website where hosts around the world offer room/board to travelers in exchange for doing local volunteer work. It was the same type of work I’d be doing in the Peace Corps. I could do it on my own terms, and travel to the places that I wanted to go. I wouldn’t have to conform to the Peace Corps stupid rules, or prove to them that I wasn’t crazy. I could freelance (I couldn’t in the Peace Corps) and practice yoga (they say its no problem in the Peace Corps, but the safety concerns for women at the volunteer sites state otherwise). I probably sent out 50 emails that night because it seemed too good to be true. I needed to know, would they actually respond and be legit?
Well, okay, fast-forward because they were legit. and almost all of them responded in earnest interest. I was on cloud-fucking-nine. In just a few days I had a whole year’s worth of travel plans and volunteer opportunities lined up in all of the remote corners of the world that I had been dying to visit. First Latin America, then South America, then Europe, then who knows? For the first time in forever, I felt happy. I actually forgot what that was like, for a while. The universe had just pulled through for me so hard, I literally started believing in God. I realized days went by, and I hadn’t thought about the peace corps once. Now, it even seems silly to me that I had given so much of my identity to an institution that saw me as no more than a number of a roster.
Anyways, a few days later, I receive an email from The Peace Corps. My heart stopped as I read it. They had accepted my appeal and ushered me through Medical Clearance. I was due to leave for St. Lucia in two weeks. I’m sure that I was supposed to feel happy — I did feel happy, I swear, but it was no longer a crisis situation for me. I was going to be able to complete my soul’s work. I was going to be okay either way. even though for so long it was hard to understand why I was even alive. But I had asked the universe for the answers, and it gave it to me hard and fast — and in pretty good time too, all things considered. Once I let go, it all came to me. But then I had a decision to make: the peace corps or… the plans I had made after the peace corps?
I’ll wrap this up soon, but the same day the universe gave me another message that was loud and clear — hours after receiving that email, I was offered a seriously cool job, in Malibu of all ridiculous places. The day this new job ended would be the exact day that I had a plane ticket to fly to Tulum, Mexico. Sure, I’d have to pay to change my flight to be out of LAX, but signs don’t speak much louder than that. The peace corps had caused me so much pain and self-doubt… but what was down the other road? Who freaking knew!!!! and that was the beauty of it. So I sent the Peace Corps a very long email about the decision I made and why I made it, how much I valued this opportunity and how I hoped my spot went to another person undergoing the grueling process of mental health clearance. Within 5 minutes, I received an automatic email that my application had been permanently deleted. It was only 1 robotic sentence long. I don’t know what I was expecting, I knew they weren’t going to apologize or give me kudos or anything, but it made me feel so small. I was immediately affirmed that I made the right choice. I went to Malibu, had one of the craziest professional development experiences of my life, and that was that!
(Also, after a few months of my lifestyle, I felt so stable that I wondered if I needed my meds anymore — you know, my beloved Lamictal, the medicine that put me through the loop with pc in the first place. I paid out of pocket for a year’s worth for traveling, because I didn’t want to have to worry about it abroad. I stopped just to see what it was like. Wouldn’t you know, I’ve now been medication-free for almost 9 months, and I haven’t ever felt like I needed it, not once. I have been experiencing bipolar symptoms since I was 12, have taken medication since I was 14… and now, I don’t take anything! Not that getting off meds should be anyone’s goal, because they are so very essential so many people, but it was nice to know that the struggle wasn’t going to be forever. It’s like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. Neither the peg or the hole are wrong, but it just… doesn’t work. But square peg in a square hole? Bliss and ease.
So here I sit in Colombia, watching my amazing lover create his music while I sit and writing my stories, remembering that a year ago — to the day! — I was so sad, and so depressed, and so certain that there was no point to the shitty things that happen to us. That’s what our dumb brains and lying egos tell us, but it’s just not true. When the shitty things happen, and they always do, just hold on. Like my friend told me, really feel that pain so when it all works out in the end, you know that you’ve squeezed out every lesson and learning opportunity possible, and you’ll be a better person for it. It’ll all get better. I promise. Just wait and see!
