I think it's safe to say now, that when I first came back, I think I was depressed. Not immediately. Immediately upon return from missing everyone and everything I'd missed so much, of course I was happy. I think I was also unaware. My return was a little naive, - or rather I was, when I returned. Minneapolis was home, and everything that that entailed to me was meant to make me feel complete again.
And to my surprise it didn't.
I'm not typically a person to throw around words like "depressed", but the more I think back on it, it fits. I felt like I was in the wrong body; in the wrong life. Nothing about my situation felt like it could possibly be reality. After having this surreal (in a positive way) experience for six months and feeling all that time like a little piece of me was missing, - Minneapolis, friends, family and church - I felt so misplaced where I was supposed to feel right again.
It felt like picking up in the middle of a conversation; I knew where it
started, I missed some of the middle, but now it didn't make any sense.
It was disorienting. They talk about return-culture-shock. It wasn't that. I couldn't
have been happier to be back in my home country, even as much as I
enjoyed any of the four countries I spent time in.
It was as though my life carried on without me in it. And as much as everyone "missed me", after about a day, it felt like it never happened. That felt like an assault to me, - that's not to say that was anyone's fault - but you can't imagine the weight of talking about the experience. After the initial steps off the plane, I've had a probable grand total of 5 solid, sincerely-sought opportunities to really talk about my trip.
I say it's safe now because even though it's still a day to day struggle of recollecting that those were my real life experiences, I'm starting to feel like I am where I'm supposed to be.
