Medicine Woman

It occurred to me tonight, as I lay on the couch beside my husband, watching Avatar of all movies, that my personal tastes, emotions, and favorites are not as bizarre as I sometimes think of them.
My fascination with Reiki, my interest in yoga, my knowledge of and firmness in belief of natural supplements and treatments rather than this modern day dependence upon body-and-soul weakening psychotropic pills, is simply unusual in this day. The general public's resistance to nature, instinct and faith is not a fault within me. It is simply an obstacle for me to overcome.
I once, particularly as I began my military career, thought of myself as a medicine woman. Now, I realize why. I have the gifts, talents and insights to heal, even if it is in a rather non-traditional sense. I can't cure AIDS, cancer or the flu, but I trust my instincts and my body enough to know what the right thing to say is, and what someone else is looking for from me.
If only I chose to develop these instincts and not run from them, I may get the opportunity to do some real good in this world.
Maybe I will.

Promise

Tonight, Mr Nice Guy took me up to a beautiful spot on the side of a mountain, overlooking an unusually foggy (but still lit up and beautiful) view of my hometown, and asked me to marry him.
If you hadn't guessed, I said yes.
It's still sinking in, I know, but I'm so in love with him.
Things are hard with this treatment stuff, and, today in particular, I've felt like I was going backwards instead of forwards. I felt anger, anxiety, fear, frustration and confusion all at once. I don't know what will happen to me. I don't know if I'll get a whole lot better than this. All I know is that, either way, there is someone in this world who has said he wants me to be his family, wife and the mother of his children. After having such an incredibly difficult time with my own (biological) family, the realization that someone CHOSE ME for their family, for their legitimate, legal, nobody-can-question-this FAMILY, is incredibly powerful.
I'm scared and worried, but I know that this man is the one I was supposed to find.
I love Danger.
I will ALWAYS love Danger.
I will always have some regrets where he is concerned- and, honestly, there is nothing else in the world I have true regrets over.
I have come to understand, though, over these past few days, that, as much as I have always loved Danger, as much as he was my absolute ideal, he was not the person I was supposed to wind up with. Danger was a very, very good man. I love the lessons he taught me. The place he was at, the ability he had to accept everything.... It was something that I couldn't handle. Things that he accepted were often things I could not. I see now that these were reasons I didn't open up to this man the way I've opened up to Mr Nice Guy. It just wasn't who Danger was to take things too seriously or stress about them. He wasn't hyper-sensitive and didn't over-think things like I do. That made me feel inadequate. HE never made me feel inadequate, he loved me. I didn't even understand that's what I was feeling at that point. I couldn't get myself to trust him because I honestly believed he was too good to be true, and that I couldn't be good enough or strong enough for someone like that. I felt TOO MUCH to belong to someone so tough.
I'm sure he would have disagreed, had I had the insight to be able to explain this all to him before his death. I didn't, though, and, no matter how much I love him, I don't know that him understanding that would have healed the wounds that caused those feelings to begin with. I will always love Danger, and I miss him madly, but he's happy that I'm happy. I know this in my heart. I truly believe he helped lead me to find this man, and I'm still more grateful to him for his presence in my life after the end of his own. I am lucky to have experienced a man like him. I am lucky to be able to look up to the sky and know someone like that loved me- and still does.
Rest In Peace, Babe. Your girl is safe. I love you.

The Regulars

The last few weeks, aside from the drama, have been like a bad rerun of a poorly-written sitcom on loop. I get hungry less than usual, find myself appalled by food choices that used to be more than adequate for my usually-not-picky taste buds, and, when I finally do find food I can stomach, eating half my normal portion is nothing short of an accomplishment. Sleep is difficult to find at night, but my tired self drags through the following day at half-speed, assuming I managed to get sleep at all. Now, this ridiculous numbness is nagging at me- no true interest, pleasure or joy at anything. Sex drive is in the negative, and everyone is either irritating or merely peripheral- EVERYONE. And it's all at once, not little bits or types of people. Either I'm numb or irate, hungry or tired, but never seeming to be able to capture any level of satisfaction. Going to (hopefully) get hair & eyebrows done tomorrow, hoping that a reminder of gender might wake up anything even mildly happy inside me.

Family?

I must be sounding like a broken record lately- a very self-depreciating, depressed, angry record.
What is with that?
I finally poured everything out to my father that I've been so upset about, particularly his guilt-tripping. His response was to ask me if it would help me if he moved away.... *sigh* I don't want to lose any more family, but, seriously, I'm not ready to be the mother of a 58 year old man. I just want him to stop feeling sorry for himself all the time and take some action.
Of all the madness and pain yesterday, one of the (positive) highlights was being able to talk to Mr Nice Guy a little more in depth about the idea of marriage... We've talked about it before, of course, but we both really are sure that marriage is what we want. I'm not going to pretend our relationship is perfect- there's no such thing- but the struggles we have are ones we can manage. We both are very goal-oriented and, unfortunately, neither of us feels right putting ourselves first. Work, family, errands, bills, everything- we've been putting everything before ourselves and our relationship lately. We get so caught up in completing the million and sixty three things we have on our to-do lists that we don't really spend any fun time together. We don't go out- and now, with my anxiety getting so bad, it seems unlikely we'll be doing a lot of that for a while- and we have only hung out with one other couple (once) here in town in the five months (as of Thanksgiving) that we've been together.
We both see this, and we are both actively trying to change those habits. He has asked a few questions about engagement rings and proposals, though refuses to discuss specifics with me. I'm sure it's a bit premature, but I've started looking at ideas and quasi-planning our wedding.... Silly, right? I couldn't be more grateful to have found this man, and am very proud of my relationship, and, well, it might be silly, but this makes me happy.

My Final Email

The BS about the house is done- my boyfriend is taking a squad of guys over to put everything we own in garbage bags and into a storage facility until we can sort through it all. The roommate announced today he will be changing the locks Saturday, despite the fact we paid rent this month. He says that rent was for last month.... Don't even get me started on that.
My father informed me the other night that I hurt the feelings of the man that made me feel unsafe in my own "home"- the man who yelled and threatened me in a drunken rage hardly over a week ago. I spent three hours drowning in an anxiety attack that night.
....but I hurt his feelings?!
Apparently, my email in response to his "I'm sorry, but YOU..." "apology" was hurtful and unnecessary.
My father took the side of this man... and stood by watching all of this....
He tells me he's only being nice to keep himself in a place to live, but I gave him leads to other places more than six months ago, and originally found this place for him over a YEAR ago... He tells me he hates living there because of this guy, but sides with him against his daughter- the one who sent him $500 a month for the majority of my two year tour in Korea.....
How am I supposed to handle this?
I've already lost my mother, and I've tried to ignore and/or brush off the "I'm so broke" guilt trips from the man who clears at least what I do every month, and now this.... I really thought I'd been a good daughter. He said I had. If I didn't do anything wrong, though, if I was a good daughter, why am I constantly being guilted about money I can't afford to give him? And why would he take the side of this man against me? I can't do anything else to help him, especially now. I am going to outpatient therapy every weekday. I am so broken emotionally it's incredible... How am I expected to find this man yet another place to live, help him with his bills and his depression right now?
I am so grateful for Mr Nice Guy in all of this... He tries to get me to get past the guilt, but I still haven't been able to, not about anything that's happened. He's been my protector, lover and best friend through all of this. He is the man I've waited for my entire life, and I intend to marry him... I just don't know if I'll have any family left speaking to me by the time I do.

In any case, I said all that to post this, the horrific email (possible triggers/PTSD):
I'm not going to argue point by point so you can just argue some more. All I'm going to say is that I should NEVER EVER feel threatened or unsafe in my own house, and I REFUSE to pay rent to someone who made me feel that way. I spent three hours having an anxiety attack because you decided to come home drunk and angry and threaten to throw me, my boyfriend and my dog out of the house- AGAIN! I forgave you the last two times, Craig. I've forgiven you too much. I don't pretend to understand what you have against me or women or whoever the F you're so angry at, but I have survived two rapes, six years of abuse at the hands of my own mother and three abusive relationships. I am in outpatient therapy at the behavioral health clinic because of the PTSD I fight every single day because of loud, aggressive, abusive people and if there's anything I have learned from the abuse I've taken in the past, it's that I do not have to stay in a situation where I feel threatened. You can't make your actions go away with a half-assed apology that BLAMES ME for YOUR BEHAVIOR. I'm sure you don't want my advice by this point, but I highly recommend you get sober and seek therapy for whatever you've been through that makes you feel like you can treat other human beings- especially women- this way. I wish I'd understood what struck me so wrong about you when I refused your advances so many months ago, because I never would have moved in. Matt and I will be out before the end of the month, and Sugar will be away from you much sooner.

Buried Alive

I've been writing more specifically about my PTSD and recovery over here at Phoenix Fly Right for those who are interested. I'm hoping that blog might be able to help other folks going through similar situations.
Today was my second full day in outpatient therapy... And it's scary and painful and uncomfortable and sometimes so horrible and frightening I want to leave. It's not like I pour my soul out in front of all these people- we all actually don't talk about our individual stuff as much as you might expect- but it's like every emotion is starting to slowly ooze out, but this time I am looking at that wound under a microscope, as I watch all this stuff that's supposed to be inside me come seeping out. I have to face every little detail of every last bit. It's so scary.
Today, we moved rooms several times, and it made me so uncomfortable and so anxious... This place doesn't feel like home or even like I'm any safer than usual, really. It just feels like exactly what it is: this place where I go every day, that's not quite as miserable or cold as work, but it's not quite a place where I want to pour out my soul to all these strangers around me, either. I haven't mentioned rape once in the three days- well, two and a half- that I've been there. I'm scared to tell these military boys that I've survived two rapes. Rape in the Army is a word women use to get someone in trouble. That's the prevailing attitude towards it. I don't know how to talk to these people about what I think about or feel. It's so hard for me to even give them basic parts of my day to day experience. I try so hard, though. I just want to get better. I want to not feel guilty anymore- not about the rapes, about my miscarriage, about Danger dying, about all of these things piled up inside me.
How do you just let that kind of stuff go?
I found out today that the tubal ligation (read: surgery to get my tubes tied) that I underwent at eighteen years old due to some heavy influencing on my mother's part could very likely be reversible, and without any far-reaching crazy experimental surgeries even. I talked to the nurse at the clinic today, and she was very upset when I told her how hard a time I'd gotten when I saw a military doctor about it. He'd wanted me to undergo all these extensive tests and, even if he liked the results of those, he wouldn't even do an exploratory surgery without the records of the surgery. The hospital told me they don't have the records anymore. I gave up. I didn't have the energy to try to get another referral to see another military doctor, especially believing that this was standard. The nurse told me today that he was very wrong for this, and that all they need is 8 mm of undamaged tube to reconnect it. When I mentioned this all to my dad, he said something I didn't know: he had seen pictures of it all post-op, and the surgeon left as much as possible intact for this very reason. He said there was far more than enough for them to reconnect it.
So, I am going to follow the nurse's advice and try to get a referral to a non-military OB-GYN and proceed to get the exploratory surgery and, with any luck, a full reversal of my ligation done. There is hope that the last shred of physical evidence of my mother's abuse might be healed, finally. I might be able to have a child without in vitro fertilization or other fertility treatments... I might be able to have my own baby, without a petri dish being involved in the process....
It really feels like a miracle.
Mr Nice Guy is thrilled at this prospect, and actually quite angry at the doctor who blew me off. We've talked about children- him more than you might assume- and it's very exciting to both of us to have this chance. I might have a real family, the way most people do... It might not be impossible...

Ella Phant

I woke up with an elephant sized ball of anxiety in my chest.
I'm such a mess today, and it keeps getting worse.
It's not even ten yet and I've already cried twice.
This isn't who I want to be, or where I want to be.

I nearly ran someone over last night, when I went to pick Mr Nice Guy up from work. I was driving down a road that wasn't blocked off, but was full of runners. I slowed down to a crawl (10 mph in a 25 or 30 zone) and I had my driver's side window open, like I usually do. Some guy in Pt's ran up to my window, close enough his head was nearly in my window, and screamed at me to slow the H down... It startled and scared me so badly, the one hand I had on the wheel nearly jerked in his direction. I haven't completely come down from that since. Mr Nice Guy bought me Chinese food and spoiled me rotten last night, putting up with me watching my favorite show for several hours, and not complaining in the least. It felt good, but I didn't like that he keeps having to take care of me. This morning, I pushed him away when he tried to get too close- my anxiety just keeps going up, and I pushed him away because I'm so scared and so on edge today. I'm a wreck. It makes it so much worse that I really feel like I've hurt him, that I'm not taking care of him and that my entire relationship with him has been put on his shoulders. I'm falling apart at the seams today, and can't seem to get it together. I don't want this mess to be me. I look like I've aged a decade in the last six months.
I'll be twenty six in January. I already feel like I'm in my forties, I'm just so tired.

Bad Habits and Heartbreak

It's become shockingly, vividly clear to me as of late that Mr Nice Guy is, in reality, the first person I've ever truly been in love with.
I have always looked at people like they were stupid when they asked me how I knew I loved someone I was dating. I did love them, all of them. It's the nature of my heart to love- but I never knew it could be like this.
How could I?
To trust someone completely is something I never knew I hadn't experienced. I always thought that the way my relationships were is the way all relationships were and would be- I gave up things to be with that person, and sometimes that meant not telling them everything I'd hoped I'd be able to tell someone I loved. Now, though, it's like dawn finally came after a particularly long winter night.
There is nothing I can't tell him.
I've told him things I didn't even want to think about- because I needed someone to share that knowledge before I could face it as fact.
I'm sure there's some people who may not like the idea that I wasn't really in love before this. Honestly, it doesn't change the way I look at my past or those people I loved. I still love them, and always will, and, in the end, it's really the same thing it would have been if I had been in love with them- they weren't the one I needed to find. There are certain people who I think may have been that person, given different circumstances, and a select few who I genuinely believe helped to put me on the path to finding Mr Nice Guy. One in particular because he was the single most painful relationship I've been in, and certain others who, simply made me realize that there were men out there that would love me and treat me like an equal and a lady, and it wouldn't mean giving up everything to have that. In some ways, there are people I wish had been "that person", and I suppose grieving is a natural part of moving forward. I have lost in order to come to this point. I had to give up some people and some habits that would have held me back from being the person I need to be right now. It would be nice if I never had to, but, really, I don't think life works that way.
I have been through hell and back, and my relationships weren't always the best part of my life, though sometimes they were. I can't honestly say, though, that there is a single step I regret taking, although there are still very, very many questions I wish I'd had answered- and honestly.
A lot of my confusion surrounds Danger. The Lord knows I love that man. The problem was, I never got close enough to see all of the man I loved. I can't say who's at fault for that, or if it was nothing more than circumstance. I believe with all my heart that he loved me on some level, and I believe that he wanted me to be happy. I'm not quite as positive about all his intentions or plans, but I believe that, whatever else may have happened, that he was a good man with a good heart.
I just wish I knew more.
I will always love Danger, among others. It's time for me to grieve the loss of those good people I have loved, though, and realize that it's only through truly grieving that I allow myself to move forward.
Mr Nice Guy and I have discussed marriage and babies. I refuse to find myself surrounded by a family, only to realize that there is bitterness or disappointment in my heart. This life isn't how I dreamt it would be, but it is mine, and it may be the only one I have. I can't spend every moment steeped in regret.

Moment Of Clarity

I understand why I didn't meet Mr. Nice Guy before.
I can't explain where this came from, exactly, but I'll try. I wondered if he would still love me this way when I was more the person I want to become. I knew he'd laugh at me for even considering this, but I realized I really am not that terribly far away from who I truly feel I am in my heart.
It made perfect sense.
How could he love the rowdy girl who spent four plus nights a week at the country bar, and was determined to get attached to a special forces unit, but still be able to love me when I stopped needing to go out all the time, start doing yoga, trying to heal and planning for a life after the army? He may accept even the rowdiest side of me, but he fell in love with who I really am, not who I needed to be in that moment.
Of course he can love who I really am.
He already does.

Fore!

Mr Nice Guy and I have been together four months today.
I continue to be more grateful for his presence in my life every single day.
He has more patience and understanding and compassion than anyone I have ever known.
Mother Theresa would have loved him.
I snap at him sometimes, but he doesn't push me away or let my frustration get to him. He is so good to me, and so sweet, and so loving, I just don't know how love can be this easy. He makes me laugh constantly (even and especially when I don't want to, the stubborn lil bugger) and hasn't yet made me feel alone or unloved, not even for a second. If I'm having a bad day and want to feel loved, I don't need to ask. All I have to do is reach out my hand, and his will take mine, and hold it for as long as I need him to.
I love him so much.

Work, well, is work. I'm simply putting up a shield because I need, badly, to believe that these people don't matter right now. I don't want this place to be my life anymore, so I am putting up walls. They can't change me, they can't hurt me. I just need to be an individual again. I am expendable to them, so they no longer matter to me. I am just going to focus on my writing and whatever happens in this place is simply periferal.

What I want to work on most right now is a written piece outlining who I am- just me, without all this Army crap involved. This is what I need to know, what I need tattooed on my mind on days I must trudge through all of this madness- who I am, who I want to be, who I will be. I need me.

Just Pray

Mr Nice Guy is out playing Army this week, being a medic to all of the guys out in the field with him.
It's unusual for him to be somewhere he is allowed to have his cell phone but doesn't get reception, but this week, that is the case. He left early yesterday morning (Monday) and is expected back sometime at the end of the week.
He has, for all intensive purposes, moved in with me at this point. Now, please remember, that I don't claim to be perfect, let alone a perfect Baha'i, and, for the record, no, this is not something accepted by my Faith or the community of my faith. This has been a choice I made.
In any case, Sunday night, for the second time since we've been together, we prayed together. The first time, he asked me to pray with him, and I mostly just held his hand and felt pride, fear and love in listening to what he had to say to God. This time, I asked him to pray with me. I am nothing short of stunned how difficult it was for me to ask him this. I've never prayed with anyone before, not like this, and the level of vulnerability is stunning.
This time, neither of us kept silent. Despite our difference of religion- he is a Christian and I am a Baha'i- we fluidly moved from one voice to the other's, from the worries on one heart, to both or the others. He knows me so well, much of what was on my heart, he said, rather than I. To some degree, I think he was surprised at the things I both thanked and asked God for- I am much better at saying what is on my mind when I think about it first, and when I am truly in the moment, with no worry of repercussion or hope of particular response. I was surprised at how articulate I became in that moment, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
There are many types of intimacy, it seems, though so often that word now carries connotations of sexual action. Even within sexual intimacy, I think, there are many levels of intimacy. Sex is not a simple matter, made up of only one possibility or school of thought. Having this incredible level of emotional, mental and spiritual intimacy within my relationship is incredibly new, and incredibly comforting to me. I have always envied the marriages of highly spiritual or religious friends. I was always impressed with the fluidity they share with their spouse- they seem, more than other couples, to be one, rather than two people sharing the same space. I am beginning to understand the reason for that.
I have had people, friends, former boyfriends, my ex-husband, even the occasional family member who really opened up to me. There have been people in my life I truly felt like I knew. The vast majority of those people are no longer in my life, a good many of them because of choices they made that I couldn't have imagined them making. It dissolved my ability to trust people that I thought I knew. Mr Nice Guy, though, is not the same... From talking to him about personal things, to opening up about details of past hurts, to watching walls I never knew were there come crashing down with him... And, now, this is someone I can share things with that I've only been comfortable talking to God about before... I can talk to God as I always have, but with someone I really, really care about...
I just don't think it can possibly get too much more intimate than that.
I am very much in love with Mr Nice Guy. I am beyond thrilled to have such a wonderful man in my life. He is the type of person I always thought was simply too good for me. He's not the type I found myself angry at or jealous of because of the quality of who he is; that type of person was just simply that kind that I had no chance of being or being with, there were no questions or doubts about this to me. And yet here I am.
While I am struggling with the various and progressing symptoms of PTSD right now, and, though the violent, vivid and all too often new nightmares have become a regular thing, I no longer feel like I'm fighting this battle by myself or for myself. I have always had this India Arie-like image in my mind of the woman I want to be. More than ever, I want to become this person.
I don't want to become this person just for myself, though, I want to become this person because Mr Nice Guy deserves someone like that in his life. His children deserve someone like that to be their mother. Eventually, I expect, I will likely find myself believing that I deserve to be someone like that. I would be lying if I said I felt like I deserve anything of the sort, though. I still feel too much like a burden, too much like I can't help the people I want to or do the things I wish I could or feel I should.
I am trying to write more- though it doesn't always appear here- and trying to listen to more positive music. I am trying to absorb the attitudes I wish to adapt as my own. I am focusing on learning how to be this happy, healthy, intelligent person that, so much of the time, I simply don't feel like I am.
I am trying to take care of myself and improve myself.
That is so much more difficult than that one little sentence makes it out to be.

The System Is Broken

I have been trying to get in to see a shrink for over three months. I finally got a phone call, and have one appointment at the end of this month, and another the end of next month. My leadership seems to think I'm just a waste of their time, resources and positions, and are treating me accordingly. Anger has become so prominent it seems always just below the surface my entire work day, and worse when I must deal with these "leaders". I am tired, I am angry, and I continue to feel more broken every day. I am scared of my temper, I am scared of facing this stress and all the stress with my family and roommate on top of it. I am scared that I will find myself losing control the next time I am told to do something that will have a negative impact on me or the next time I'm forced to listen to my boss take credit for something I did entirely on my own, when he and his counterpart were completely unreachable and/or unresponsive, and then listen to him talk about having gone home early the same day I was doing so much alone and without being able to reach him. I am tired. I am treated like I have done something wrong and must be cut from the group, and I am already struggling so much. Mr Nice Guy is the most stable part of my life and I could not be more grateful for the man who continues to hold my hand through it all, and be there for me every time I cry.
I try to focus on the positive- Mr Nice Guy and our dog, Sugar- but find myself overwhelmed and miserable as I struggle just to get my own business taken care of.

Love & Marriage

Mr Nice Guy is, if you hadn't understood this from previous posts, the one.
It's been over three months now, and I continue to build faith, trust and love in and for our relationship every single day. There is not one single day that he doesn't surprise me in a positive way. He's strong, intelligent, handsome, and has the patience of a god.
That last bit, by the way, is how one of my close friends explained to me why he'd lasted so long.
My father has taken to calling him 'son', my roommate/big brother of sorts thinks this guy is the best thing since sliced bread, and, well, I think pretty highly of him, too.
I have, as much as I hate to say it, disconnected myself from the local Baha'i community as of late.
Mr Nice Guy and I are talking about attending a Unitarian Universalist service, as he is Christian, and I am Baha'i. I need a community of faith, but I haven't found my comfort with the local Baha'i community, and it is not a group that Mr Nice Guy is able to relax with, either.
I want a marriage that is built on faith- shared faith. We don't have to believe in all of the same things, but, since we can pray together, I would like to be able to make a community of faith something we can both be a part of, rather than something we do as individuals. I want my family to have a spiritual bond, and for our faith to be something we can discuss openly and freely, and not feel divided about as my family did.
Mr Nice Guy and I are very happy together still, though I get the feeling that his family still hasn't quite gotten used to me. I think they're all amazing people, but I am, to say the least, not likely to ever 'fit in' to this family. That doesn't mean I adore them any less, but it is hard to wonder how long it may take them to feel about me the way I do about them. Then again, their family is already formed, it's theirs to protect and defend, theirs to allow people to join or not to. That's not something I've ever experienced, though I wish I had. I want so badly to have that close-knit relationship with a family, but there's simply no way to heal myself, my sister, my dad and my mother and then try to heal the family unit as a whole. That's not something I'm capable of, sadly. Little Sister and I are only just learning to interact with one another without allowing the habits, attitudes and tempraments of our parents to play a dividing role between us. Dad loves us both, but, regardless of fault, this family has a large canyon running through it, and my sister and I are likely going to be the only ones who are ever going to be able to even try to approach it without drowning or dragging someone else down to drown. It hurts.
Mr Nice Guy has one older sister who isn't terribly different than my younger sister, except that she was raised to love her family. His parents have been divorced for a few years now, though I'm not positive Mr Nice Guy has ever completely adapted to that. He has a hard time understanding how his mother could leave once the kids were raised and she'd gotten her degree. I can understand his hurt, but negative emotions aren't the most easily shared in his family, it seems. Both he and his dad have the most quiet, loving personalities, and both of them, it's easy to see, have a hard time not getting walked on. They both also have incredibly strong work ethics. Matt is slowly coming out of his shell, and, I think, I may be helping him in that department. He seems less and less afraid to allow other people to see his funny side that was so rarely open for viewing before recently. More and more, though, he will joke around with my dad and our rooommate (big brother again), and the occasional server at a restaraunt and the like. I'm so proud of him, and so amazed that someone so wonderful could love me.
After abuse and rape, disrespect, being treated poorly and used, divorced, after all the things I've been through, this man still sees something left in me worth his love.
I don't understand it, but I don't want anyone else.
I still talk to Madman- well, we text- from time to time. He's about to deploy. It bugs me, sometimes, that I can still understand what it was I saw in him. That bugs me, but by the same token, I understand why he is the person who was, from where I stood "at my level". It says water seeks it's own level, and, well, he's what I thought that level was. I was comfortable with the pain, the disrespect, the lack of understanding... Of course I was, it's what I know.
That doesn't mean I have to stay at that level.
I'm glad I got away from him. I'm surprised, honestly, that I didn't go back to him. He's told me he's there if I ever want him back... So many ex boyfriends have told me that... But I don't want to go back to that. I didn't mind having to spell out for him what I needed, but going through that, and being told that what I needed 'wasn't him' and, essentially, tough luck... That's just not something I'm okay with. I don't want to hurt like that anymore.
Mr Nice Guy is almost too good to me. He's the sweetest, most loving man I've ever known. He holds me when I cry, he's there for me even if he has no idea what to do- but being there is all I ever needed, anyway. He's given me the security that no man of chaos ever could. I don't know if he'll stay in or get out, I don't know if I'll be an Army wife forever, or how any of this will play out... But, even if I'm poor and clipping coupons to pay for dinner, he's the person I know will make me laugh as he sits next to me, helping me clip coupons. He's the man I want my children to be like.
I've found the one.
I am so grateful.

Dark words

I watched one of those scared straight tv shows tonight. After it was over, I thought to myself that it was too bad they didnt have a similar program for other bad choices people make when they are young, to present them with all the very real possibilities. I remember a doctor asking me when I was getting ready to get my tubes tied, cut and burnt what if I changed my mind later. I didn't want that option, I told her. I didn't want to pass on my problems to my children. Nobody suggested that these "problems" might go away, or might not be what they appeared. Everyone was satisfied with an eighteen year old little girl saying, despite wishing she had managed to give birth to and keep a daughter that was a product of rape, that she didn't want to be able to change her mind. This still blows me away, more with every year that passes.
I got thinking about what I would tell my mother if she ever really wanted the whole truth... It's not very nice. I would tell her that she came by her drinking problem rightfully- but at least her father admitted to having one, even if he never accepted help. She could benefit from taking his example. I would tell her my worst fear in life is becoming her, and I spend every day trying to avoid being anything like her, that I have spent every un-drugged moment of my adult life striving to be as little like her as possible. I don't want to cheat on men who treat me as good as they are humanly capable of. I don't want to drag my children through different mens homes, or separate them from a father who loves them. I don't want to fly into drunken rages, or need to find excuse after excuse because I'm not strong enough to face the reality that my own choices brought me to the place and situation at hand. I don't want to spend the rest of my life a bitter victim, rather than a happy survivor. I pray that nurture is stronger than nature, because my children will inherit some of her genetics. I don't want to see my children make themselves a victim, I want to see them become strong, independent and free thinking individuals who make every choice they are presented with knowing that they are also accepting all the unknowns and consequences that come with that choice. I am scared for my children. All I really want is for them to be better people than I have been.

Growing pains and hiccups

To start with, the title for tonight's post was partially inspired by realizing how hard it is to type on my phone with, you guessed it, the hiccups.
Things with Mr Nice Guy are still wonderful, though the separation time we are facing due to the school he's in is about as frustrating as, well, a case of the hiccups that just won't go away. I am more grateful for him everyday.... Okay, more to follow, hiccups are too much right now.

Same

It's very hard to realize that the man that's been so incredibly much better than all the others so far, is, well, still a dude.
Mr Nice Guy is in a class right now.
I know it runs late.
But, two nights in a row, getting blown off for other students in his class... the same people he sees all day long... especially when I wouldn't even really get to see him for but maybe an hour anyway, well, this hurts.
He didn't even remember to text me when he got out tonight. Well after midnight I finally got the 'oops I forgot' text message, and nothing, really but that he'll see me in the morning.
We've only been together two months.
And we're back to that point where I'm nostalgic for the days I couldn't keep him away if I'd wanted to.
And so it begins, through the eyes of me, the insanity that I am signing up for in loving this man.
I will be an Army widow long before Mr Nice Guy has gone... At this rate, possibly before he and I marry.

Rebel Rose

It feels so fraudulent living this life.
At work, as much as I can manage, I have to play the tough girl. I have to be the hard-ass, the tough one, the chick who never gives up. God help me, I try. My unit got released at noon today, but I had volunteered to do medical coverage for the afternoon event that the senior leadership wanted to put on: a safety ride for those who rode motorcycles in the battalion.
I worked until 1800- 6pm. Fortunately, I was among good people, but, after a morning of text messages from Dad's roommate debating whether the arrangement we had already made on me moving in was a good idea after all (after I had found a bedroom set for the room, no less) and me falling apart over yet another plan to help me gone awry, well, I spent a good chunk of the time between the morning and afternoon parts of my day in tears, and trying my hardest to keep the rage inside and not letting it loose on the people who, while I'm not sure they hadn't earned it, wouldn't understand where it was coming from. Oh, yeah, and today was the first day I forgot to take my anti-depressants before I left for work.
It was a hard morning.
The afternoon was long and tedious- it's been quite some time since I worked that late- though I found the silver lining in the two male Soldiers I was riding in the truck behind the motorcycles with. I think I may have found two friends in them, although, as they're both male, I must remember to avoid latching on to them on a too-personal level.
Here comes the complicated part.
I have friends I can talk to- almost all of them, admittedly, male.
Mr Nice Guy got out of class at 2000 (8pm), which is actually about normal for the class he'll be in for a few weeks, but, instead of wanting to see me and tell me about his first day (we've seen each other daily every chance we've had, and I've been through the course and did what I could to help him prepare) he decided he would have dinner with some guys from his class- who he's been around all day. Oh, and he'll be in class until 2200 (10pm) tomorrow, so he won't have time to see me then, either.
Yes, my feelings are hurt.
No, I don't think he understands that.
Honestly, I don't want him to. I want to be able to handle this hurt on my own, and not expect him to always be there to patch up the day's boo-boos. I have gotten dependent on him, and that bothers me. It bothers me even more knowing he has decided he wants to stay in the Army, and knowing that, if this works, I will be, literally, in the Army's eyes, a dependent. I will be the second-class citizen waiting at home, while he's in whatever part of the world he gets sent to, out of contact for extended and unpredictable amounts of time. And I love him enough that, for him, and knowing what I do now, I would do it, without question.
So I need to learn this now, I need to learn to depend on me, because nobody else will be there all the time to patch up my boo-boos, and it's better to learn this now, rather than when I won't hear from him for maybe months on end...
I don't want to learn this.
But, even more, I don't want to lose him.

And, so, I must learn to pull that tough-girl out even when I'm alone.
I must learn that the soft side of me, the tears, the vulnerability, the painfully complete honesty, have no place out of my control. They are for him and only him to see- not for when it's just me, or I may go seeking comfort, and that could end badly. Not ever, unless he's by my side.
This is not going to be easy.

Letting Go

I still miss Danger, but there are so many questions I have for him that he will never answer now, that I have no choice but to try to distance myself from this near-obsession I've had with him in the last year.
I took down most of the pictures I had up of us in my room, and replaced them with happier pictures...
I'm really trying to move on from this guilt and confusion, no matter how much pain it still causes me.
I feel trapped right now.
I don't know who I can trust at work anymore, and the symptoms of PTSD just keep getting worse.
How does it just keep getting worse?!
I hate medications.
I asked for anti-depressants when things got bad.
I went in to talk to the doctor and get a refill, and she took one look at me and asked if I was sleeping at all.
I had gotten 4 hours the night before, which has become about average.
She put me on meds for nightmares and sleep.
I got tired of the way my female-ness was screwing up what little control I had over the symptoms, so I asked for birth control, after doing my research on different kinds.
Even with all these medications, it just keeps getting worse.
The only symptom I haven't seen too regularly is the injuries I was waking up with.
It happened for a couple weeks, then dropped off.
I don't know what are good signs and bad signs any more, I just now that I'm struggling, and feel like I'm in a downward spiral. Mr Nice Guy is the most stable part of my life. Imagine that! A relationship, the most STABLE part of MY life!!!
It's been more than two months now, and, while that seems like a small feat to most, that's more than twice as long as anyone has lasted in a relationship with me in over a year. And he doesn't want to lose me. Go figure.
Work has become a major point of stress for me. I lay in bed at night, dreading going back the next day. I don't know who I can trust there, who I can let know how bad it really is. I'm terrified of this. I know I need to do something, I know someone besides my commander needs to know, but... I can't end up screwed over again. I can't go through that here. I had too many NCO's in Korea that decided I was bad for their career and they fed me to the wolves intentionally. They got rid of me the second I asked for help.
I filled out intake paperwork for the behavioral health clinic today, but I still need to call and make an appointment. That phone call is causing me so much anxiety and it doesn't make sense.
I'm on my lunch break, crying. I haven't eaten today, and just started the birth control yesterday, and I don't know whether these tears are just part of the usual deal now or triggered by something else. I'm tired of fighting this. I just want to be living, not living in the past.
It's like I'm trying to run away from my shadow.

From The Inside Out

An average month:

I spend a week in dark clouds of anger and depression that, while it's happening, I never seem to be able to remember is hormonally induced. Before tapping out and getting myself an anti-depressant, some of these days included suicidal ideation and entire days spent in paralyzing fits of tears.

Then I'll have two, sometimes as many as four, pretty good days, where the clouds just seem to have lifted and I might just make it after all.

Then I wake up feeling like I gained twenty pounds in my sleep, and ran a marathon the day before. I'm sore, bloated, exhausted, cramping, and, well, might as well say it, bleeding. That lasts five days, none of them are generally morale-inspiring.

Then, just when I think things are about to settle down, the hormones chill long enough for me to see clearly the fits of rage, depression, fear, anxiety, nightmares, sleep avoidance because of the nightmares, lack of appetite, and, on bad days, flash backs. This lasts for the two weeks until the hormones kick up again.

I am guaranteed two good days a month. 

The rest of the month, I am drowning in a person I don't want anything to do with, let alone be.

It's taken me so long to even begin to separate PTSD from PMDD, and, well, I suppose they're not completely separate issues, anyway. The nightmares and anxiety tend to get a lot worse during my week of anger. 

I am tired of this black hole I seem to get sucked into. This person who just spent two hours crying, overwhelmed at the laundry, the dishes, the angry cramps and extra weight in my abdomen, combined with, well, life. If I didn't have to get up at 0430 tomorrow to accomplish any of what I wanted to get done before work, if I didn't have to spend a ridiculous amount of time in uniform with people I have some pretty mixed feelings on, if I hadn't promised to take out a very good friend of mine to dinner and our favorite bar tomorrow night for her birthday- and farewell, really- well, then, the laundry, dishes, errands and physical misery might just not be so overwhelming.

I have to make a very big change. I am trying my damndest to get treated for the PTSD, but, between many parts of the Army mental health system being of the policy 'if we didn't break it, we ain't fixing it' (only treating COMBAT RELATED PTSD, not that other, less important stuff like PTSD from being raped a time or two) and the fact that, well, let's face it, the Army is systematic. There's not a lot of things they accept as being therapeutic, no matter how much it helps me, or how little talk therapy does.

So, that, really, feels like a dead end. The PTSD seems to get worse by the day at times, all too often aggravated by a feeling of being trapped in these same situations with these same people who are triggering bad memories and thoughts. 

So, the PMDD. I already got myself put on anti-depressants, which have definitely helped- the crying jags are much shorter, far more controllable, and there's none of that suicidal crap floating around in my head. However, I need to do more. I can't stand the thought of birth control, but, until I have kids, suppressing ovulation is simply not something I'm doing. I want babies, and I will have them, and then they can take my ovaries out and feed them to their dog for all the trouble the things have caused. I'll take estrogen for the rest of my life, a half dozen pills a day if I must, so long as I don't have to keep going through these two weeks of darkness- or at least not this badly. 

So, for the first time since I got my tubes tied in 2004, I'm going to ask to be put on birth control.

Let the research phase begin.

Beautiful Spirit (A Million Words)

It was a good day.
Work wasn't much more than the usual, though I seem to be back to being able to handle it without freaking out on anyone.
I got a great deal of cleaning done between last night and today, with the last bit of unpacking done. I have been slacking lately, so dishes must be done, and clean laundry put away- meanwhile, due to the unpacking, the dirty laundry filled right up and the trash must be taken out again. However, my small room feels rather less small after having gotten the two large boxes out of the way- though I still have one here, collecting clothing, shoes and books for my next trip to Goodwill.
Tonight, I had some pictures of Mr Nice Guy and I printed. Today, we have been together two months- more than twice what anyone else has really stuck through since Danger passed.
So, this evening, I rearranged pictures, pulled out half a dozen picture frames I wasn't using, and, well, I have 23 pictures up throughout my room now. Some of Mr Nice Guy and/or I, some of, well... everyone.
It amazed me to look through these pictures, and attempt to sort them between three photo albums, 23 picture frames and one box.
This is part of what I posted on my facebook page about this...

It doesn't surprise me much that there are so many people that I have met in these 25 insane years. What really took me by surprise was the incredible diversity of activities and places and types of people in those pictures.

There are probably too many pictures of me and my buddies living it up in bars, particularly in Korea.

There are pictures of motorcycle rallies, and various people under hoods.

There are pictures of me sitting back, quietly talking and relaxing with close friends at the hookah bar.

There are pictures of me with various people's kids, and a circus worth of animals- to include a python and a monkey.

There are pictures of natural wonders and new friends.

There are pictures of me in training, some with people I haven't heard from in years, others whom I still speak to frequently.

There are some pretty hysterical (and frequently questionable) pictures in various bowling alleys...

There are pictures of shadows saying more than any face could.

There are pictures of me in DJ booths- one in Korea, one in Atlanta.

There are pictures of trucks sliding down sand dunes, and guns being shot.

There are pictures of children smack in the middle of moments of the most intense joy.

There are pictures of friends on their knees in the middle of downtown Daegu begging forgiveness for some long-forgotten misdeed.

There are pictures of me surrounded by Baha'i friends of three or four different nationalities, sitting on the floor of a Korean home, sipping the most amazing tea.

There are pictures of sword fighting "knights" in shining armor- and of Templar Knights.

There are pictures of only me- and the memory of the person holding the camera.

There are pictures of house parties that, by some miracle, didn't end up with anyone dead or in prison.

There are pictures of candle lit dinners, and pictures of rock stars. 

There are pictures of people who helped me push my car out of a ditch, and people who almost got me arrested, at least once.

There are pictures of people who were the only witness to a story that wouldn't be believed without one.

There are pictures, so many pictures, of people who I simply loved- and most of whom I still do.

I may not have the easiest time all the time, and I feel like I'm on a never-ending rollercoaster all to often, but I am truly blessed to have had the amount of experience and this kind of diversity in my life.

Betrayal

I don't know why these thoughts and memories are sticking with me so much right now.
I've had friends betray me, and, well, I thought I was over it.
I've heard people say there's no such thing as closure... but I just want to understand what would make people pretend to be your friends, all the while talking badly behind your back, putting you down, and never even telling you what they really think? What would make them suddenly decide to gang up on you- online, no less, the most cowardly form of attack out there- and attempt to tear you into pieces?
I thought I could trust these people, even though I didn't always care for their attitudes about some things.
Some of the pain, though, is because I lost one of my closest Baha'i friends in the process. Even though she and I are now friendly towards one another, and she swears she really wasn't a part of it... I just can't bring myself to trust her anymore.

Breaking Point

I love my father.
I used to love the Army.
I still love my boyfriend.
I don't love the horrible mental images that show up, uninvited, and uncalled for. I don't love feeling like I'm letting people down because I'm feeling like such a wreck myself that I don't do what they expect me to, need me to or want me to. I don't love getting a look of irritation from people when I know I'm about to fall apart and have to ask to split from work for a while. I don't love sitting around the office for hours with nothing to do but fight off flashbacks and unpleasant thoughts or mental images. I don't love feeling useless and worn out. I don't love feeling like a number, rather than a person. I don't love getting up before dawn every day, only to be seen as a waste of space and time. I don't love being around people who pretend they didn't see that tear roll down my cheek, and that me losing my temper on two different occasions within two weeks is not unusual. I don't love being looked at as weak because I'm a female. I don't love being told that my wounds don't matter because they didn't come from a combat zone. I don't love being looked at as flawed because I have scars that no clothes or makeup can hide, and that no surgery can fix. I don't love being in the Army anymore, and I don't love feeling like I'm a horrible Soldier for the things I experienced- and thought I'd handled- years before volunteering to go to war for my country.
I'm overwhelmed.
I'm defeated.
I'm trying to keep it together long enough to not hurt anyone, physically or career, and not lose the few benefits that haven't been slashed or taken already.
Mostly, I just want out.
This life is not good for me anymore, and I'm not good for the Army anymore.
Short of getting injured, pregnant, or in a whole lot of trouble, though, I have no option but to suck it up and try to survive my next two years in this uniform.
I don't know how I'm going to manage this.

Responsible

So, I am sponsoring the other female of my rank to go to a mock promotion board towards the end of this month, in the absence of the two (male) NCO's we have. One will be on duty, the other on the board itself. 

This NCO thing is catching.

So, responsibility seems to be the flavor of the phase right now.

Mr Nice Guy and I have made it nearly two months now- the longest to stick around (officially, anyhow) since Danger. 

I love this man in ways I can't explain.

I always thought I was wide open, that I really didn't have any walls left. He is showing me I was wrong. Slowly, I see myself let walls down with him, trusting him not to abandon me, trusting him to not take advantage of me showing my slightly-less-rebellious side. Everyone at work sees the hard-ass, the one who doesn't take anything to heart, and gives everyone a hard time at every opportunity- the Soldier who holds everyone accountable. 

Mr Nice Guy is actually having a hard time adapting to that part of my personality.

With him, I am insecure, emotional, overly-sensitive, horribly scared of losing someone I care about so much. I talk about the miscarriages, and babies, about my mother and what I want in the future, and what's bothering me from work. Slowly, I am learning to trust him not to walk away from me, or give up on me. I thanked him last night, for letting me trust him. He thanked me for not running away when it seemed too good to be true. I love him so much. He has certainly seen my bad days- I am not proud of how harsh I have been to and with him when the hormones and fear start flowing- and he has persevered. He loves me, even though he knows I'm not always the nicest person, even though I've been rude to him far more than he deserves. 

Yet I caught myself playing the Plan B game last week- the what-if game. If this doesn't work out, who would I date. I'm wrong for that. I don't want to even think this could fall apart. I love this man, he loves me, and I want this forever. 

He's surely getting more comfortable with me, and with what I want from my future, too. The more insecure I am, the more I tend to talk about the things I want from the future (marriage, kids, etc.) and, usually, that does a pretty good job of making anyone who doesn't want those things run for the hills. I realized a few days ago, that, since Mr Nice Guy and I had the conversation about what we think is the right time frame to consider marriage (not as long as the year and a half or so he was in his last relationship for, as it turns out), I haven't really felt I needed to ask him or talk to him so much about it. I am more and more secure with him. I really feel like forever is becoming more of an inevitable outcome, rather than a hopeful thing for us. Well, I had realized I didn't feel the need to talk about it all the time and I was happy about that. And then, yesterday, as we were leaving Carlsbad Caverns, I handed him a key chain with the Kokopelli  symbol on it- a symbol, to me, of my stepfather and protection, but also, to a much broader chunk of the population, a symbol of fertility. Mr Nice Guy smiled at it, then tapped me on the arm with it a couple times and says "There, you have been beaten with the symbol of fertility! Now have some babies, dammit!" 

You want to talk about surprised....

It took me quite a while to really process that, above and beyond his goofy nature, he was comfortable enough to casually talk and joke about us having children. This did wonders for my nerves. 

It seems like every single time we go somewhere public, I see a man, either with a wife or child, or sometimes just a drunk guy at the bar, and, as I bristle at that man's behavior, I inevitably realize that Mr Nice Guy would never behave the way so many of them do. He wouldn't dream of speaking down to me, or talking to a child like they're worthless or somehow inept because of their size/lack of adulthood. He would never get cut off at a bar, because he doesn't lose his cool just because there's alcohol in his system. He is a good man. And I am so proud of him.

Change

Mr Nice Guy and I had managed to be that annoying, affectionate-in-public, so-in-love-it-makes-you-want-to-puke couple for a month and a half.... Now, in the matter of a week, it seems like it just went away all of a sudden.
I don't know how to handle this, and it hurts more than I'd expected it to.
I knew we'd settle into a groove eventually, but, well, I thought we'd always be more lovey-dovey than this, and I hate it.
I tried to talk to him about it earlier, but he really sucks at that stuff sometimes.
I miss him being happy just to be able to put his arm around me, and me making a big production of sitting in the middle seat of his truck just so I'd be next to him. I miss playing twenty questions when we drove, and getting so caught up in the conversation that we forget we're playing a game. I miss him pointing out the guys he catches looking at me, and glowing proudly because of it.
I know this will pass, I know the pain of change will cease... I just hope it is soon, and I hope I can learn to be secure in our lack-of-cling, rather than hating it passionately.

Up And Out

I had a 1sg while I was in Korea- one that, at the time, I absolutely couldn't stand, mind you- who told me, when I was fed up with the clinical BS, competition and Soldier-on-Soldier hatred that went around there, "Soldier, the only way out, is up. I learned that the hard way when I was tired of the clinic, too."

Today, as I sat there, in the Aid Station, finding myself being continually undermined and disrespected by other females and males, junior Soldiers and NCO's alike, watching the males team up and treat the females like we weren't even there, much less capable of doing anything worthwhile, it hit me hard.

The only way out, is up.

These people will not stop me.

If they want to behave like this, okay.
I have more than two years left in the Army, and these people are not going to get the good fortune of having me around any longer. I have other options, and I am not staying here. I will do what I have to to be able to shut down my emotions at work, no matter who doesn't like it, and I will do my job, but I will work to get my education, get my stripes, and get out of this hell hole.
I won't deal with this crap any more.

Sanity Thy Name Is Not My Own

PTSD.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Shell Shock.
Combat Fatigue.
Post-Vietnam Syndrome.
Soldier's Heart.
War Malaise.
Battle Fatigue.
Effort Syndrome.

I don't care what you call it, it sucks, and I'm tired of it.
For those of you who aren't aware, PTSD is not just something that occurs in people who have been to war. Any traumatizing event can inflict this hell upon any one of us, against our will.
I survived two rapes. I have PTSD.
I have the nightmares, episodes of hyper-vigilance- and other episodes of hyper-anger. I have had more flashbacks than I can count, though, thankfully, by knowing the precursors and being very, very careful about the situations I choose to put myself in, I have lowered the occurrence rate of them for myself drastically. I have blacked out from anger.

If you have never lost control of your senses and your body, you have not known fear.

The nightmares have been increasing again, as of late, though, until today, I didn't think my stress level was quite at the point where they usually make an appearance. These new nightmares aren't limited to the same nasty film reel that's been such a big part of my sleep since I can remember. Some of my usual dreams are terribly graphic mental images and scenes that have been playing out in my head since before I can remember why they started in the first place. Some are revisiting the rapes, the guilt, the pregnancy and miscarriage that followed my first rape (and the loss of my virginity)... The new nightmares, though, are different. They are happening here, now. These are not memories I try to avoid contemplating in day light, these are battles that occur in this small, cramped barracks room, with people who's face/faces I do not see. There are some that involve my mother, with whom I have a long, painful history, but who I have wholly forgiven by this point in my life and after a long separation from her.

Today, I got bad news. I got bad news on top of that slightly off-kilter feeling that always drags me down a bit when I've had a rough night with memories, dreams, nightmares.... I tried to keep control, really I did. Fortunately, I didn't black out or become violent, but I sure did lose my temper- quickly- on someone who I should not have, and in a very inappropriate place, even if my sudden flash of anger had somehow been warranted.

I spoke to my supervisor, asked if we had anything going on that would preclude me from slipping a way until after lunchtime to detox my brain. With his okay, here I am, sitting in my room, wishing this battle for life, for control, for peace would just end already.

But this battle will never end.

It will never end, and I am not the only person who suffers from my PTSD.
My father suffers when I lose my temper at him when I simply cannot handle the stress.
My boyfriend suffers when I break down into tears and begin to shake uncontrollably, sometimes with no obvious trigger or reason.
My friends suffer when I am so ashamed of the way I have behaved, despite my best efforts, that, all too often, I simply do not want to face them any more.
My male friends suffer when I won't be alone in a vehicle with them, when I allow no male in my room, save a few very trusted individuals, without my door propped open.
I have knives hidden around my space, and often two or three on my person, because, somewhere in my heart, I tell myself, over and over, that if it happens again, this time I'll be ready, and this time one of us will not walk away. I will not go through this again.
I will not go to the emergency room, strip naked on a collection pad, in front of four or five people, only to be poked and prodded, wiped and rubbed, tested and medicated, questioned and judged, and I will never again be treated as a liar or a defendant.
Have you ever had a cop tell you to your face that you need to stop lying about what happened, accuse you of being racist, and demand to know why you're "putting that poor man through this"? I have. I was smart enough and strong enough to report my second rape, after regretting not having reported my first after I learned of more survivors he'd left in his destructive wake. After going through hell, after living in fear, after being humiliated even after the rape had been completed, I was called a liar and a racist.

I won't go through this again.
Except I know I will- every time I try to sleep, I will wonder if I'll have to go through it again tonight.
I'm living a battle that will never end.

Out

Mr Nice Guy and I went to see Cowboys And Aliens the other night (great flick, by the way) and some things started rolling around in my head. I can't explain what the actual trigger was, only that I'm glad it happened.
At some point the 'who am I once I leave the Army' thought popped into my head.
I've decided recently that I want to get my degree in landscape architecture. Looking at it now, it is almost funny to me that it hadn't occurred to me before I heard the ad on the radio in T-town for an educational program of such a nature. I've always been fascinated by architecture in general, especially that which uses the structure's natural environment for materials and design influences, rather than fighting the environment around it. I remember being a child and looking at pictures of houses built in the 1960's that were this way, and thinking how revolutionary something like this would be- maybe not in those words, of course, but the emotions were dead-on.
So far as this Army gig goes, though, I am increasingly unhappy.
The Aid Station I have spent so much time and effort on has been, for all intensive purposes, taken from me. The two male nco's have excluded me on every level of operation and decision making possible, and I am completely left in the dark over and over. I was informed this morning that the big color guard trip I'd so been looking forward to is now restricted to nco's only- even though I've been to more practices than anyone, and have been more determined and dedicated than anyone else, even volunteering for the events that were after duty hours. I am promotable, but simply cannot make points and my promises of corporal have still been ignored.
I'm tired of this lifestyle, tired of being walked on every time I give myself to something, and tired of seeing my efforts demolished and forgotten. Getting pregnant is next to impossible for me and, short of a bad-conduct discharge, that would be my only foreseeable way out before early 2013. I'm tired of this, and I want out.
I want to leave the Army and work on my degree and not go through this any more.

One Of Three and The Exchanging Of Keys

I've had nightmares the last two nights. It's really eating at me, especially because they were new nightmares. I have, more or less, had the same nightmares over and over throughout my memory. It honestly scares the daylights out of me that these are not the same familiar, haunting nightmares I've always known. Something I wrote earlier for Facebook:

Think of three women you know- any three.

No, really. Pick three women in your head- your mom, sister, nieces, daughters.... Whoever you want.

Okay, you have your three? One of them has or will be, in their lifetime, a victim of sexual or physical assault.

Think about that.

You know someone who's been beaten and/or raped. You do, it's impossible not to. Now remember this the next time you laugh at a joke about it, thinking the word "rape" doesn't effect you. 

A joke is a way of making ourselves less sensitive to something.

If you want to make yourself less sensitive to something your friends and family are going through, go right ahead.

Personally, though, I'm going to remind people that it's something to be taken seriously.  

Because a real man doesn't have to get your sister drunk to get her to sleep with him.

Because a real man doesn't have to threaten, coax, or push your niece.

Because a real man won't force your daughter to do what he wants her to.

Because a real man won't ever forget what it means when you tell him no. 

I have had a lot going on in my head over these nightmares, as you can see.

Mr Nice Guy and I are past the month marker, and still moving smoothly forward.

I can honestly say that we are very much in love, and definitely learning to trust each other.

We both have jealous tendencies. It's interesting to be in a relationship where, instead of sneaking around looking for something to upset me, I pick up his phone right in front of him and tell him I'm being jealous today. He does the same thing, and it works for us. Neither of us feel like the other will cheat on us, really, but I think this is our way of setting boundaries and ensuring our rather open, honest, beautiful relationship isn't going to blow up in our faces. I can't help but think it's a good thing that we can be open with each other, even about something as personal and dangerous as jealousy.

Tonight, I asked him if I could trust him not to lose and not to misuse my spare truck key, should I entrust it to him. He assured me that I could, then asked me the same. I explained to him, as I tend to, in a great amount of detail, that such misbehavior is simply not my style, no matter how enraged I have become in the past. So, he has a spare key to my truck, and I to his. 

It feels right. 

He feels like the person who has my back, and will come running should I ever need to call. 

He feels like the person who wouldn't leave me stranded.

I may never really understand all the complex workings of my subconscious, and I may never completely "recover" from my past, but, while I'm still learning, I'm mostly learning how to be happy. 

And I'm enjoying it. 

Stable

Despite what many think, military folks don't make much- at least enlisted military folks.
It's always been a guaranteed paycheck on the first and the fifteenth, but it ain't much of one. I know waitresses who pulled more in tips in two weeks than I do in a steady paycheck.
I am, however, finally learning to do this whole 'financial responsibility' thing.
I got a little bit of extra cash this month (a once-yearly allowance of a couple hundred extra dollars for all the uniforms and gear that we wear out annually- and don't kid yourselves, it doesn't cover the amount I spend on uniforms and military stuff in a year) and, while I'm still waiting on the thousand-plus dollars the Army still owes me in back pay, I managed to pay off my credit card, and throw some extra toward my truck payment.
Have I told you how much I love my truck?
Have I told you how much I want a Harley?
I am working on fixing my truck up, a little at a time, but so far, she has taken more of my abuse than my love, with all the driving and moving I've done since I bought her.
My truck isn't new, she's a '99 Blazer, but I absolutely love her. She's sturdy, with four-wheel drive, and iPod playing capability. She has her quirks- like how I have to turn my high beams on and off 3 times before I know my left headlight will be on without high beams, and how she still needs her headlights adjusted so she's not all cock-eyed anymore. Despite the worn leather seats, the headlight issues, and, well, the fact that she's a used truck, I'd much rather put money into her now and know she'll stick around for a while than just beat her up and eventually trade her in for something newer.
Anyhow, money-wise, I paid off my credit card today. I know from experience that my bank will sit on the payment for 3-5 business days before it even reflects, but I know how much I have left after the payments I made today, despite the bank's lack of timeliness, and I will most likely save the back pay up for a motorcycle, or just pay off my truck in it's entirety and then start putting money away each month for the bike. I won't do payments on both a bike and my truck at the same time, because one of them is bound to wind up needing repairs, and I would be too confined financially to do all of those things. It sure wouldn't bother me to have a truck and a motorcycle paid off by the time I leave the Army in February of 2013.
Over all, things are going really well for me right now. I have a truck I'm not just keeping up with the payments on, but exceeding those payments every chance I get, I managed to upgrade my reliable old flip phone for a 4G-capable Android- and bought the new $435.00 phone for $170.00, mind you- and, well, my relationship is just as steady and wonderful as it was day one, over a month ago, and I really think, despite some stress, that I am happier than I have ever been.
I've made a lot of hard decisions lately, but I'm proud of each and every one. I'm really going to make it just fine, after all.  

Rain

So, it's raining here, well, on a decent scale, anyhow, for the first time in ages. I have been in a foul, tired mood all day, but between Mr Nice Guy and I spending time together, and the rain- both of us are bad-land-bred desert dogs- I'm in a much better mood, now, as I try to unwind and get some sleep for work tomorrow.

Mr Nice Guy calls himself a Desert Mutt, which suits him awful well, and I'm slowly becoming attached to the 'dog ideology'. There's a true attachment between his heart and all things dog, which I love. I find it very hard to trust someone who doesn't like animals. When I was in training, one of my companies was Bravo Bulldogs, and had a sign over the community area that read "Dog Pound". I was always amused by this, and would have loved to have found a way to incorporate it into my own life. When I think of a future with Mr Nice Guy, long-term, I see this sort of thing having quite the role in our lives.

Well, it's nearly eleven o'clock at night now- my favorite time, by the way- and that means I should have already been in bed asleep, sadly. So, as the rain pounds down on the windows and walls, I bid you good night.

Better With Age

I am so glad I will never be a teenager again.
I thank God every day for helping me survive "the best years of my life" so that I could see the best years of my life.

Today, I am tired, cranky, hormonal and working.
Despite this, I would take today over being a teenager again, hands down, no questions asked.
I miss Danger, and am still processing the fact that he's been gone a year as of last Friday.

I have been through so much in twenty-five years.
I don't always understand how I survived life or myself at some points.
All I know is that I feel like I'm finally who I really am, and finally able to live, rather than constantly trying to be somebody I had pictured in my head.
This is where it gets good.

One Year

I don't understand how Danger's been gone a year.
It seemed like, for months after his death, I would cry myself to sleep a few nights a week, begging him to take me with him or come back... I'd be lying if I said I'd completely accepted it or dealt with it in this last year. I understand it, I know it's real, but some days, it just doesn't seem like the world should still rotate on it's axis without him in it... He was such a fixture in my life, someone I absolutely adored from the moment I met him... While my ex-husband was in Iraq, when we were still married, Danger and I would spend nights at his tattoo shop, lying on that big red leather couch together, watching movies. Even when Veggie (ex hub) and I were doing very poorly, even when it would have been so much easier than holding back, Danger never let me slip, nor let himself slip, and nothing more than a hug and a very strong friendship passed between us.
It still blows my mind that a man like this could ever love me.
He was- is- will always be a rock star in my mind.
I still miss him so badly, I feel the tears when I allow myself to think about him much.
I love Mr Nice Guy, and I know Danger would approve.... but some days, I wonder if it was ever supposed to happen like this, or if this was the plan all along?
I miss you Danger, and I'll love you forever.

Halal, Living, and Moving Forward In My Faith

So, I just tried one of the My Own Meal ready-made meals. These are not frozen meals, by the way, but meals kept inside a tin foil-like packaging within a box, generally used to replace MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat- the boxed up meals Soldiers eat when hot meals are not available) for Muslim Soldiers. These are Halal meals. What caught me off-guard about these was the back of the box- the President and Founder of the company is Ms. Mary Anne Jackson- a woman. This both impressed and surprised me- positively, of course, as much of the Muslim community tends to not put women in places of power. These meals are listed as both Kosher and Halal, so she may not be Muslim, but, either way, I liked seeing it, both as a woman and a Baha'i.

So, I stumbled across a blog post about blogging while Baha'i which pointed out that blogging is a form of social discourse, one of the main goals for our Faith. I felt a little better about the activity and lack there of where my Faith has been concerned lately. The Baha'i Faith is something I believe whole-heartedly in, though I am a young Baha'i, and still very much finding my own way.

I was listening to the song Standing Outside The Fire earlier- a country song I really love- and I realized why it always made me feel so good to hear it. The song, in a roundabout way, talks about people who live 'outside the fire' and take caution with themselves, their hearts and their lives, versus those who tend to live life  'within the fire' who live life fully, but take the risks with their hearts that others wouldn't. "Life is not tried, it is merely survived, when you're standing outside the fire." This is my favorite line, because it reminds me that, all the times people have told me to slow down, to take my time, to not rush into things or take risks, it was a risk I chose to take, and, ultimately, helped me really live life, rather than waiting for life to happen. I could have a lot less scars- physically and emotionally- but I'm proud of my scars, and I came by them rightfully, and, at 25, I have experienced much more than so many people, and I love that. I miss people, there are things I wish I had done differently, but, ultimately, I truly believe I have done everything to the best of my ability, and, furthermore, truly lived my life these past 25 years. The last year or so, I've started asking myself if I'd have any regrets if I died in my sleep tonight, and, more and more often, the answer is no. People may wish they had lived more, on their death bed, but most people don't really wish they'd lived less. I'd rather die living a life I loved, than live a life just to get to death.

Process

Mr Nice Guy made it to T-town safe, and even remembered to text me along the way. (Not while driving, though, he knows I'll yell at him for that!)
It's not nearly as hard to not have him here as I expected. I mean, I would rather have him with me, but, really, it just doesn't feel like anything's changed. I like that.
Friday, the 22nd of July will be one year that Danger has been gone. I asked for this day off. I have no idea how it will affect me, but I have no intentions of falling apart at work again for as long as I can help it.
It is also the day that Mr Nice Guy returns from T-town. I haven't entirely decided if it's a good idea or bad idea to see him that day, but I really think it might be a good thing... I hope.
Sunday, the 24th of July will be my one-month anniversary with Mr Nice Guy. (I had miscalculated the date in an earlier post when I said the 17th of June.)
Sunday, the 24th of July will also be what would have marked 2 years of being engaged to Danger.
Overwhelming.
I don't know how Mr Nice Guy feels about monthly anniversaries- some men don't count them, others think as much of them as the most sentimental of women- but it'll be a (mostly) happy day for me. It's so odd to me that that one-month marker has become such a big deal to me, but it's so rare to see someone stick around a month, while, if they do, it tends to last upwards of six. It's less than five days until our one month speed bump, and I am perfectly confident in this relationship to last through next week, and next year, if we so choose.
It's been a long day, cleaning up the mess Madman made at the apartment I'm house-sitting while he took care of the place so I could go out of town. We start running sick call and actually operating as medics tomorrow, for the first time in the year I've been here.

The Separation

Mr Nice Guy is, as I write this, on his way back to T-town for the next four days.
He and I have been attached at the hip since the day we met, so this will be weird for me- but hopefully not too rough.
I am the happiest I've ever been since I've been with him, and I truly believe that no separation can change that. Things don't always go off without a hitch between us- we definitely are on two different planets sometimes- but we never have to put effort into getting along or making things better when they get a little wobbly. He understands me, and does his best to show it. I talk to him a lot, which is funny to me, because I think a lot of it is stuff he already knows.
He explained to me the other day, though, that he's the 'silent jealous type'. He's shown no signs of passive-aggression or any type of anger, so I was completely clueless he'd ever gotten jealous at all. I'm very outgoing, though, and it doesn't surprise me too much that, as much as I talk to people and as many people as I know, that, at some point, this has bothered him. We need to go more in depth with it, so I can avoid him having to feel like that again, but I'm glad he told me. I love him, and don't want to ever do anything to hurt him.
I'm glad we have these days apart, in truth, because I need to get some time to look at things. I have no doubts about how I feel, but, the more spirituality and faith become part of our relationship, the more intimate it gets. I need to step back and look at how much I am willing to give him of that part of myself. It's something that's very important to me, and I want him to understand and participate in that part of my life- I don't think faith is a completely private matter, honestly- but my dream of praying with someone I love is as scary as it is real. I want that. It's overwhelming, though, and I want it to feel right. I don't want to rush this, no matter how certain I am.
It's a scary path we're walking, this growing thing.

Love At Last

I know it's still entirely possible that Mr Nice Guy and I aren't forever.
I mean, you never really know what life's going to do, no matter how much you try your best and all.
However, he and I spent some time talking today after, well, not a bad day, but it wasn't our best day, that's for sure.
The deep part of the conversation started when I asked him how he felt about the fact that he chose not to see a particular female friend of his anymore because of my expressions of serious discomfort with that very specific situation. We talked for a little while, and he finally really opened up to me about things with her, and let me know that he seemed to have many of the same questions about her that I did. I admitted that I made a bad choice in asking Madman about her once Mr Nice Guy had told me she knew him. He asked why, and I explained to him that I felt it was inappropriate of me to involve anyone else in that situation, not to mention making that choice when I was still rather emotional.
The conversation proceeded, though, and I opened up to him. Now, I've always thought I was a generally open person, and perhaps I still am, but the way I opened up to him... Scared me. I talked about a lot of things that, while not secrets exactly, were never things I really felt comfortable telling anyone else. It wasn't confession, it was a very honest, open expression of a lot of emotions I suppose I'd almost forgotten were there at times.
I'll spare you the mushy, personal details of it all, but I have never been so sure of anything.
It's not that I think it's impossible for me to lose him- I know better than that- but I know that I will do whatever it takes to keep him.
Our week in T-town was, in a word, perfect. I fell in love with this city-sized-small-town with amazing, diverse, local restaurants, a variety of wonderful health food and natural food stores, beautiful landscaping, incredible book stores, and just a wide, diverse range of people. Mr Nice Guys' friends are some of the best people I've ever known, and his family was very, very generous and kind. His father is very much the quiet type, but a really wonderful, intelligent guy. His sister has things she's dealing with, but I think she's a very sweet, kind person, and will be finding her own way soon enough. His mother and her boyfriend are far more outgoing than Mr Nice Guy's father, but still very kind, and both obviously very intelligent. I came away from the last week feeling that, while I think I was a bit of a shock to all of them- my tattoos, long hair, military occupation, outgoing nature and overall personality being a bit out of Mr Nice Guy's norm- they all seemed to like me, anyway. Whether it was in spite of themselves or not, I couldn't say, but I was glad they all seemed to be okay with me holding such a place in Mr Nice Guy's life.
I promised him tonight I wouldn't rush this, and we agreed that we needed to discuss time lines a bit, but I know in my heart that I will do whatever it takes to be with him for as long as that's what he wants. To feel a connection with someone on physical, emotional and spiritual levels like this... It just doesn't happen twice...

Happiness

Maybe it isn't forever.
Maybe it is.
All I know, is that I feel like I've found a city I could call home, and someone who I'd really like to share that with. Mr Nice Guy has opened up a new world for me by bringing me to T-town, and, well, I've found myself happier and more open to new levels of trust in these last few days than I can remember being.
I've fallen in love many times.
I've been happy many times.
I consider myself to be very blessed in this regard, rather than looking at the ends of each of these times as a curse.
I feel as if I'm glowing when I'm with Mr Nice Guy. He's begun to open every door for me- to include car doors- and even pulled out my chair for me tonight when we went to dinner with his dad. He loves spoiling me, and showing me more and more of T-town. He's very patient with me when I'm a little off or down, and I'd be completely oblivious to the fact that he even sees these moods if he didn't check to make sure I was okay each time he recognized these things. Despite the fact that he's clearly stated that he 'despises' the L-word, he still tells me he loves me at every opportunity, especially when he sees my mood falter. He remembers everything he learns about me- from ring size to foods and colors I like, and the names of family and friends- and simply treats me like I was a princess or something. I've never had anyone want to take care of me like he does, and, honestly, I'm really enjoying learning how to let someone take care of me a bit.
We haven't talked too much about the Faith these last few days, except when I found out about the nearby institution and that there was a strong Baha'i community here. We are generally around quite a few other people, and I know too well how preachy and pushy discussion of one's beliefs can come across to others when brought up at seemingly inappropriate moments.
None the less, I've seen him pick up Baha'i books at the local used book store without even my general attention focused on them. He shows active interest, and has agreed to come to a Fireside my community is hosting after we return to Sun City this Saturday.
I feel really blessed to be with someone who is so attentive, caring and generous, and have every intention of holding on to this, and doing everything in my power to ensure that I never do anything to over-step or misuse this wonderful man.

Bird Of Pray

So, Mr Nice Guy and I have been up in T-town for a few days now. I was scared out of my senses about how things would go once we got here, but I have been very pleasantly surprised so far.
Mr Nice Guy's dad is just like him, but sweeter and quieter.... I'm amazed. He's been cooking for us every chance he gets, and he's an amazing cook. He barely speaks, but he's just the nicest, most passive guy.
Mr Nice Guy's sister is also very nice, though she is far more outgoing than her father or brother. She's less conservative.

T-town has an amazing Greek restaurant, a bookstore I fell in love with the moment I walked through the door, and a good selection of large organic and health food stores. There also, from what I've seen, appears to be a strong Baha'i community here, and there's a Baha'i institute about an hour outside of town.

Mr Nice Guy and I are still doing very well, and I am happier with him each day. I am finally learning to relax rather than over think this all. He is very good to me, very sweet, and I am enjoying this more with each day. I'm so in love with him. The fact that he and I can talk about faith, and that he's interested in the Baha'i faith certainly helps.

I've never been happier.

Lesson

So, I went to the local community Reflection Gathering today, Mr Nice Guy in tow- voluntarily.
Having never been to a Reflection Gathering, I wasn't aware just how administrative it is.
I learned tonight.
Mr Nice Guy sat patiently through an hour of discussion, despite being tired and probably more than a little impatient, but he hid it well.
After we took a break, we came back and sat down (I'd made sure by this point he was okay with staying through the second half) and, well, my community surprised even me.
By this point, it had been well established that Mr Nice Guy knew little to nothing of the Baha'i Faith. Several people had approached him with bits and pieces and offerings of info. One of our Persian Friends, though, took a special interest immediately, if rather indirectly. He pulled the organizer of tonight's meeting aside during the break to ask if we could do a small fireside.
Very quickly, it turned from a 'small fireside' into a very, very animated discussion as each of us went around the room, to include the Youth-age folks, and explained how they became Baha'i. Needless to say, hilarity ensued. We have some wonderfully funny and talented Persians in our community, one in particular who is a fantastic storyteller. Even the folks who were born into a Baha'i family generally had pretty interesting or funny stories passed down from parents and grandparents about how they had become Baha'i. One of our Youth ladies simply stated "I've been a Baha'i eighteen years. Anyone wanna guess how old I am?!" Naturally, the room erupted into laughter, after having only just heard quite the emotional discourse from one of our more weathered Friends.
Mr Nice Guy hasn't said much, and I plan to talk to him a bit over the coming week, but so far, I really can't gauge how he feels about it over all, though he still has only fairly vague information about it, I suppose.

I can't possibly explain how good it felt to be back with the community.