Dear potential future PCV,

To tell you the truth, you're the reason I started this blog. I wanted to give you an idea of what you should expect if you were thinking of applying, decided to apply or getting ready to go.

For the most part, I think I've been pretty honest —though, granted, there are stories en cantidad that I haven't shared. And I've definitely made light of, downplayed, at times even skipped over how hard this whole thing really is. I'm sorry about that. Maybe it's because in training they* told us that perhaps it would be best if the good days were for the blog; the bad days for your journal. Maybe it's because I felt like a wimp because, I mean, come on, I'm in the Peace Corps, I should be tougher, right? Or maybe it's because I just didn't want to bum you out. Whatever the reason, I've flaked out on giving you an honest account of life as a PCV. Sorry. But I'll give it to you now.

The past few months have been pretty rough on me.Things happened that I couldn't control or stop, and little by little I felt like I was being buried beneath a pile of dirty clothes. Though the socks were small, they were stinky, and each one laid on top of me made it harder and harder to breathe.

As a result, I've been moody, cynical, anti-social and sullen. Every few seconds, I have been on the verge of tears, making me put in only what was necessary and then going to my room to shut out the world and sleeping or reading too much so as to keep my mind off of my despondency.

At first, I brushed it off as the Peace Corps Blues. "Everybody goes through it," I thought. "It'll pass." But it didn't, and the lack of an upward swing only brought me lower.

I tried talking to people about it, but it just made me feel worse. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. Why I couldn't pull myself out of it. I'd never been like this before, and it frustrated me.

And then there was a paro — a transportation strike — that left me immobilized in Piura, 5 hours from my site, without a cell phone* and no way to contact my counterparts or host family.
For three days I had to figure out what to do with myself without the distraction of work. And I was really, REALLY sick of myself.

So, I talked to my mom about six times. Skyped with my dad, sister, grandpa and some good friends from back home. I went to the movies. Ate out with other stuck volunteers. Read Anne Lamott. Cried. Took long showers. Listened to music. Prayed. Slept.

And by some miracle, it worked: I became human again.

What, exactly, caused the sudden restoration of my sanity, I don't know. The unfortunate events still happened. The smelly socks were still on top of me. I guess I'd just found an air hole, and all I needed was a moment to stop and catch my breath.

At any rate, when we were finally freed, I couldn't wait to get back to site, see my host family, see my teens. I was practically bouncing in the already bouncy bus seat.

Keep in mind, Potential PCV, I'm not telling you this little anecdote to freak you out or deter you from applying. You probably know that Peace Corps isn't easy. But what I didn't know was how hard it could be.

And granted, I'm only one person. It's impossible to blanket or compare volunteers, when every situation is different. Other volunteers have it easier or are better at taking the blows. Others, much, much worse. Mine is just one story.

But the point of all of this, the reason I'm even telling you in the first place, is because even though it was a really sucky time in my service, I still think it was worth it to stay.

I mean, I'm not promoting masochism. Peace Corps isn't for everybody. Sometimes it IS best to leave. But in my case, it wasn't. And even at my lowest, I knew that.

And besides, just think of the emotional buffness I'm going to get from holding myself up these two years.

*Beloved trainers and officials of the Peace Corps.