How do you say, "this isn't how it's supposed to be" in Spanish?

As I type this I'm simultaneously wiping tears from my cheeks. However, I have allowed one or two to slip by, and they're now soaking the collar of my t-shirt, making the dark blue appear even darker in places.

My stomach is a pit of knots, each one offering no condolences for the plethora of emotions I'm dealing with.

I debating on whether or not I should even post this because it seems out of character (speaking of the girl I was three weeks ago, not the the one I fear I have become). And a part of me shudders at throwing my words into cyberspace, warts and all.

But another part of me knows it must be done. That those of who are praying for me need to realize the battle you're a part of, and those who aren't praying, well maybe you will. But please know that blog is not a way for me to gain your sympathy or sorrows, who knows, maybe it's not for you at all.

I came here to work. For God, for the Dominican people, for the church, and yes, even for me. Those who are accustomed to serving know all two well how easily the vapor of "feeling good" can attach itself to you. It's similar to what I imagine a drug addict must feel as he snorts a line of cocaine. We all have fixes that must be administered to. Depending on the drug of choice, we receive titles such as crack head, alcoholic, or humanitarian.

Please hear me when I say this, I came here on more than a high. As I kissed Daniel farewell at the airport I knew this decision, this mission, and everything it would contain came from a source much deeper than my personal desires or needs. Was I excited? Yes. Nervous? Very. Humbled? Not yet. But now, three weeks after departing the United States, I'm beginning to wonder if the roller coaster will ever come to a stop? The top of the hills are wonderful, it seems like you can see the whole word from where you're perched, but the ride down is terrifying. What happens if you never stop? If instead of coasting up the next hill, and the one ofter that, the car you're ridding in gains too much momentum and you slam into the ground, instantly obliterating yourself and anyone who happens to be riding alongside you. You would never feel the pain of the crash because it would be over too quickly, but the terror of those final few seconds would be enough.

I know that's overly melodramatic but I'm leaving it. No use deleting a perfectly good metaphor.