This I believe... Dependency

I had never considered myself a dependent individual. In high school, I was the one that tried vainly to prove that ‘love’ was just a series of neural firings, a perfect chemistry of adrenaline, endorphins and serotonin. I fancied myself some hybrid of Nietzsche’s ubermensch; one that has her own values, independent of others, and affects and dominates others’ lives that have only ‘herd’ instinct. I didn’t separate myself completely from everyone else, and did possess underlying compassion, but I was determined to live my life devoid of emotional dependency.

Maybe it was this that made Russia look so appealing. It was the ultimate challenge, the ultimate adventure. It was a culture so raw and unmoving, and it echoed of Raskolnikov from Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, one of my personal favorite ubermensch antiheroes.

I was thrown into this cold, dark land without any friends. I flew alone, landed alone and had to learn the language on my own. My program consisted of strangers who, I regret to say, I didn’t create many lasting bonds with. I spent nearly every moment outside of class alone, exploring the city with a vigor that was unrivaled by anything I had ever attempted before. Although I was living the dream, conquering the ultimate challenge I had launched myself into… my journal entries reeked of a stagnant loneliness. For all I was learning, for all those I fooled with a brave face, I came to realize that no man is an island, and no woman for that matter.

It was when I became sick that I realized that I could no longer live completely independent of others. The exact moment was when I lay emaciated on the white sheeted bed and took to staring out the bar-laden windows to the foggy street outside. My right arm was connected to an IV. My left was turning blue to the botched search for a vein large enough to support the needle. I was around 40 kilograms in weight, shell-shocked from two surgeries without anesthesia and warned my kidneys were going to fail if they didn’t evacuate me from Russia. I lay in absolute solitude with the exception of nurses that came in to recheck my vitals once every 3 hours. As the room spun in and out of focus and I grew delirious with pain, the realization of not having family or friends and of being truly alone reverberated inside my feverish head. This was what I had always wanted. I was the ubermensch. I was going to die.

My small Nokia phone vibrated showing a jumble of numbers unfamiliar to me. When I heard my mother’s voice I was overwhelmed with the love I had tried so hard to disprove. I couldn’t croak out ‘mommy’ without reeling with the intense longing of home, the longing for my family and friends and the familiar. “You’re coming home sweetie.”

I came home from Russia physically broken-- but emotionally I was whole, completed by those that cared for me, those I depended on.