Half the Man I Used to Be
It's gotten to the point where I can't even recognize myself. I don't know who this snarling, frenzied beast is, but he certainly isn't the "eminently flexible, preternaturally calm" person to which I usually lay claim. And he is definitely far from the warm, approachable, inspirational "Mr. Russell" of my prior teaching stint in California. That guy would hardly recognize the impostor of the same name trying to teach English in Palestine.
Much as I am baffled by such a profound change in character, I am even more amazed at how rapidly it happened. I have faint and fleeting recollections of the man I was when I got here in January, but they seem like hallucinations now. I tell myself that I couldn't have been so effervescent, not if all I see and feel now is real. No road could possibly connect the two, no explanation of the shift could even approach cogency. I'm either in a dream or an impossible paradox. Can't say as I have a preference, either.
Predictably, I want to follow my wont and blame myself. To call that a desire is to put it lightly, for every fiber in my being wants to go this dark and lonely rout. At least if it's about me - if I'm the problem - then I've got some semblance of control, some "way out" well in hand. If it's me, then I can do something besides wail, and toil, and cry out to my God to bring me peace: something soft enough to cushion my fall from grace and firm enough to stand upon when I've sufficiently recovered. If it's me, I'm fine.
The trouble is I haven't yet been able to convince myself of even that much. Quite frankly, that's the most distressing thing of all.