Blood and Pattaya

I have always wanted to work in social services.  Ever since I was a kid, I can remember wanting to be a ‘helper’.  Like Lucy on Charlie Brown with her Psychiatrist booth, I figured I would be good at it from the beginning.
And that’s how at 20 I found myself behind a woman almost twice my age, washing the blood off her back and legs that had been left there by a John unwilling to accept the limitations of her services.  He had carved words into her and thrown her from his car.  I bolted to her when she arrived back at the shelter and she held up her hands.  ” no! I’m positive (for HIV and HepC). Not you Kim. You’re too young to touch it.”
I had assured her I had my gloves. She of course didn’t want to answer questions at the hospital so I cleaned her up.  And behind her while I gently wiped the ragged shallow cuts, tears spilled down my cheek knowing the next day I would see her leave back out there.
Real poverty, real addiction,  it’s messy and stark and heartbreaking.  But I am fairly practical and I’m not much of a cryer.  Over the years I became less so.  I am still a helper in my heart though, it’s why I took up social work. I’ve worked at shelters and as a child supporter with children’s aid. I’ve worked in harm reduction for pregnant addicts, volunteered at soup kitchens and with exploited women’s groups.  I’m no expert by any means but I would never consider myself niave or sheltered.  
This week I went to meet Dh in Thailand.  And our magical HLTA has deviated from any idyllic plan in my head.  From spending the first night in a Japanese airport instead of the room with Dh, to where I sit now, still a little jet lagged up at 4 while Dh sleeps next to me and I listen outside while girls take the price someone put on their bodies and close the doors from the night behind them.  Scrolling pictures on Facebook of vacations in resorts in Jamaica and Mexico, jealous of it all while I’m here, in Thailand.
In the plan I thought we would try the cities first. I like cities and it seemed like a good start.  But after 2 nights in Bangkok and while our expensive resort hotel was nice, I felt like I was drowning in the city and we couldn’t afford to continue to stay there, it had just been a special treat for my birthday. 
We had envisioned heading to Chaing Mai from there but Dh couldn’t do more big city.  We hit a road block trying to pick a new location, paralyzed by choices.  So we booked a night in Pattaya by the water and figured we’d book more from there where we could breath.  We knew it was a party town, we figured one night might be a fun way to relax.
In a bathroom on the way to the bus from Bangkok a toddler played on the floor while mom was otherwise engaged in a stall.  He ran up to me and I wiped his little face and sat near him while he ran back and forth. When his mom came out I gave her my face cloth and gum and left. I refused to stand down from meeting the gaze of the man who came out after her.
Every broken sheet metal lean to with a family living inside, every person asleep on the street, my heart ached as the bus from Bangkok drove me passed those and out to the sandstone mansions, away towards the beaches.
When we arrived in Pattaya the tuktuk took us passed the water and I had some hope. And it kept going.  To the walking street where our online booking had found us a hotel directly nestled in the heart of the red light district.  In a city known for brothels we had somehow found ourselves in the dirtiest of a dirty street.
I thought I could do the drinks and excitement and ignore the hurt.  I thought I could sit at one of the street bars and have a giggile maybe and just turn it off but I couldn’t.   I couldn’t.  
I couldn’t.
I generally wouldn’t write while still here in the place I am, but I needed my heart to say what it’s spent 4 days saying.
I can’t.
We moved hotels.  We spent more and stayed in a hotel that we could walk to without Dh being grabbed. 
I thought I could see past it but it turns out I’m an easily broken niave white girl and I can’t be here while people are bought and sold all around me and the children sit in booths and play in streets and watch.
Tomorrow we leave for an island.  I’m hoping we find a happy place because my short time with Dh is disappearing and there’s been far more tears than there needed be.  But so much of me hates myself for being that person hiding from this with blinders on to find my beach in the sun instead.
I spent this morning thinking about the blood and how even though I couldn’t stop her from going back out there, I made a life of being that person who wipes the blood off and washes the lice out and takes the license plate number. 
I’ve cried and thrown tantrums that none of this part of Thailand, none of this messy and this poverty and sex tourism and brokenness was in my plan.  I’ve been angry at each ‘wasted’ day as we’ve bounced to places I never had intended to be. I had 17 nights with Dh in 6 months of deployment and I’m watching them tick away here while my heart won’t relax.
I selfishly wanted a vacation, not this.
This isn’t the paradise I left for.
But I guess it needed to be seen.  Like Someone held it up to me and said ‘I want you to really see before you hide.’
I’ve seen and I don’t know what that means yet.  But I’ve seen. 
Forgive me for continuing to look for my beach. I’ll still be trying to forgive myself if I ever find it.

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