Sometimes I get a bit angry when I’m hungry. I call it hangry. And I genuinely can’t help it. Even if I don’t show it because I’m in a situation where it would be unacceptable to be all short tempered just because it’s a few hours since I’ve eaten, the emotion is still there, bubbling away in my rumbling stomach.
You can control your actions and your words, but not the feelings, the emotion beneath them right? You can’t MAKE yourself feel happy or in love or upset, these things just wash over you from deep inside.
I guess you can try by taking certain actions or saying certain words, but generally the way you feel is a matter of circumstance, an effect of your situation or surroundings.
So that makes me think, underneath the surface, the brave faces, the welcoming smiles, how do the people in the camp actually FEEL? How are their hearts, their souls doing on an emotional level? How is their morale, mood as they fall asleep each night, what’s the last sensation that runs through their body as they close their eyes? Desperation? Loneliness? Fear? Or hope? Determination? Optimism?
In England, if you witnessed a terrible incident, a car crash for example, or a brutal murder before your eyes, you could / probably would have some kind of psychiatric treatment. Everyone would be fussing over that brain of yours, making sure it was supported in the emotion it was going through. After a death of someone close, an upheaval or any distressing life event, people would step in for that emotional assistance and assurance.
But what if everyone you know, everyone around you had experienced such trauma, to the extent that there was no one you could talk to or share with, because everyone else had gone through it too, if not worse.
Even if you haven’t witnessed or experienced something dreadful, sometimes we struggle with emotions anyway. Depression and anxiety are increasingly common in the UK and the ‘west’.
But little thought is given to the emotional state of these traumatised refugees.
Imagine this was your dad or your brother, living like this.
When have you ever seen your dad cry? Or that many grown men cry for that matter.
It’s when you do see that, that’s when you know things are bad…