Too good not to share! May we all remember those willing to sacrifice so much so we may sleep safe in our beds at night...
A Different Christmas Poem
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Chris tmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear..
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Chris tmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Chris tmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.."
" So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."
PLEASE, would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many
people as you can? Chris tmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to
our
U.S service men and women for our being able to celebrate these
festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe.
Make people
stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves
for us.
LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN
30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One
Al Taqqadum, Iraq
23 December 2009
18 December 2009
through the mind of a penguin, pt 1
Why do people give us the stereotype of being mercenaries? I mean, yeah, some of us are the out-there, in your face, military type, but honestly, not all of us are. Some just want to live a peaceful life, not be involved in taking over the world, or stealing beer and women. Some of us have other talents, thank you very much.
I, for one, can tap dance. No, not as a scheme to distract people while my compatriots take their money, or inflict some kind of hypnosis on them. No, sir! I am a legitimate tap dancing penguin. The nice thing is I don't have to worry about dressing up, or dry cleaning a tux. Mine is fully attached to me, causing my clothing bill to be very minimal. Of course, I have to buy tap shoes, but you know, when those have to be custom made, they can be expensive! I mean, tap shoes aren't exactly cheap to begin with, but regular ones just don't fit flippers. But, that doesn't mean I go around getting the money for them illegally. Nope, I started out young, and tapping in just my flippers on the street corner with my hat on the ground looking for handouts. Those don't come easy people! Especially when you are a penguin and people think you are going to hurt them somehow, or turn them into zombies or what have you.
That's like one of my good friends from South America. He, like me, is on the small side, but you know, that doesn't get him down. I mean, it's better than being an Emperor penguin. Those guys have some issues. They think that they already rule the world just because the word Emperor is in their name. Talk about a complex! Anyway, back to my friend. He writes. Mostly news articles, giving the people a first hand view of what is happening on the penguin front so they can be informed. He's the one that first got people to see through that "cute and cuddly" front. Now, that took courage. He had all the other penguins up in arms against him, had hits out on him from the penguin mafia, death threats, attempts on his life. He had to go into hiding for a while there and only came out of hiding after making a deal with the Penguin Mafia Overlord saying that he wouldn't infiltrate their ranks and report their tactics to the common man again, that if the people wanted to resist the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, that they would have to figure it out on their own.
Now, the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, FLIPPR for short, in my opinion is a load of crock. What do we need liberated from? And who exactly is the Internal Penguin Population? Half of their title I am convinced is there for the sole purpose of having an acronym that sounds like flipper. Cruel to our kind on their part. I mean, it's not like we have those awesome thumbs or anything, or even fingers for that matter! Do you know how hard it is to grab a cup of hot chocolate with a flipper!
Wait. wait... Oh no! I hear them coming! First they silence my friend for his comments, and now they are coming after me! I can hear them on the steps. If anyone reads this, please....PLEASE remember that not all the penguins are ba.....
I, for one, can tap dance. No, not as a scheme to distract people while my compatriots take their money, or inflict some kind of hypnosis on them. No, sir! I am a legitimate tap dancing penguin. The nice thing is I don't have to worry about dressing up, or dry cleaning a tux. Mine is fully attached to me, causing my clothing bill to be very minimal. Of course, I have to buy tap shoes, but you know, when those have to be custom made, they can be expensive! I mean, tap shoes aren't exactly cheap to begin with, but regular ones just don't fit flippers. But, that doesn't mean I go around getting the money for them illegally. Nope, I started out young, and tapping in just my flippers on the street corner with my hat on the ground looking for handouts. Those don't come easy people! Especially when you are a penguin and people think you are going to hurt them somehow, or turn them into zombies or what have you.
That's like one of my good friends from South America. He, like me, is on the small side, but you know, that doesn't get him down. I mean, it's better than being an Emperor penguin. Those guys have some issues. They think that they already rule the world just because the word Emperor is in their name. Talk about a complex! Anyway, back to my friend. He writes. Mostly news articles, giving the people a first hand view of what is happening on the penguin front so they can be informed. He's the one that first got people to see through that "cute and cuddly" front. Now, that took courage. He had all the other penguins up in arms against him, had hits out on him from the penguin mafia, death threats, attempts on his life. He had to go into hiding for a while there and only came out of hiding after making a deal with the Penguin Mafia Overlord saying that he wouldn't infiltrate their ranks and report their tactics to the common man again, that if the people wanted to resist the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, that they would have to figure it out on their own.
Now, the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, FLIPPR for short, in my opinion is a load of crock. What do we need liberated from? And who exactly is the Internal Penguin Population? Half of their title I am convinced is there for the sole purpose of having an acronym that sounds like flipper. Cruel to our kind on their part. I mean, it's not like we have those awesome thumbs or anything, or even fingers for that matter! Do you know how hard it is to grab a cup of hot chocolate with a flipper!
Wait. wait... Oh no! I hear them coming! First they silence my friend for his comments, and now they are coming after me! I can hear them on the steps. If anyone reads this, please....PLEASE remember that not all the penguins are ba.....
A story from Basic
In my half asleep disorientation, I saw the tent I was in, and the one next to mine, both belonging to my platoon. I also saw the other Soldiers and our gear, but it was blurry like I was trying to look through a piece of plastic and make out exactly who and what I was seeing, which would tell me where I was. I knew these people, but what were they doing here militarizing my room with their drab green tents, uniforms and bags of gear? And what did they do with my nice soft feather pillow?
As I was puzzling this strange, seemingly out of body experience, I saw these Soldiers grabbing weapons, helmets, and masks on their way out of the tent. I was overcome with different signals in a pattern of sets of three: shoulders touched three times, three claps in a row, and something I couldn’t quite make out shouted three times. Then a smell hit that was faint at first, but its strength grew exponentially with each second that passed. The smell was indescribable to anyone that hadn’t smelled it before, like explaining how salt tastes: sickly sweet, yet incredibly sour, sharp, and so painfully strong even in a small amount it felt like the inside of my nose had started on fire. Once you have the privilege of smelling it, it is a smell you will always recognize, even if you can't explain how it smells to someone.
A flash of memory hit from a few weeks ago when we were all being oriented to the finer details of how our gas masks worked and, more importantly, the chamber where we got up close and personal with CS gas or, as it is more commonly known, Tear Gas. That realization along with the one that it was the word “gas” being shouted in sets of three hit me at the same time. The two combining meant only one thing: the Drill Sergeants had begun their fun on the first night of the Field Training Exercise.
Reoriented after waking up a mere five seconds ago, I grabbed for my gear. The face mask was to go on in less than seven seconds; I had it mastered in five. The helmet was next because contrary to popular belief, without one you are screwed. Finally, as I was headed out, I grabbed my weapon. By this point, it was part of my body a necessary accessory to my daily outfit: without it, especially here in the field, I was naked. Luckily, the chance of me leaving my weapon behind was as likely as me leaving an arm behind.
As I was running for our designated safe zone, engineer tape in the form of a square on the ground marking our makeshift bunker, I again misplaced my surroundings. The cloud from the CS gas had caused a hazy fog to form, whiter than regular fog. The gas that touched my skin burned like a thousand tiny paper cuts with lemon juice poured on them, all over the skin that was exposed. My pores were rejecting any amount of the gas that touched it, causing a thin layer of perspiration to form on top of the burning. Because of the claustrophobia caused by the mask and the feeling of choking the gas caused due to muscle memory from the last time I felt this burn on my skin, breathing was nearly impossible.
The mask I had on had been used and washed so many times that the plastic eye pieces were so scratched that everything appeared hazy under normal circumstances. That combined with the distracting sensation of my skin on fire and the cloud of white gas surrounding me caused me to be running in the wrong direction by about 45 degrees or so. I removed my mask, thinking I was out of the cloud enough that it wouldn’t hurt me as bad, in an attempt to reorient myself. Bad idea. Not only did my sinuses explode the second the gas hit them causing me to lose what little sight I had with the mask on, but I saw briefly that I was headed straight for the Drill Sergeants’ tent.
In this situation, the last person you want to come across while alone and disoriented was a Drill Sergeant, especially one that didn't belong to your platoon. They have the power to strike the fear of God into the majority of people, as well as having the luxury of this being their day job. So, showing the weakness of being lost and alone during a training situation while in front of one of them was not something I was willing to do at that point. I heard him say through the fog, “I see you. Don’t follow my voice or you will regret it! Better start running!” in a very uncharacteristically sing-song voice. The surety of this voice, who it belonged to, and what would happen if the owner of it caught me was enough to cause some semblance of clear, logical thought to pass through my brain. The normal punishment for being caught by a Drill Sergeant while alone would only be expounded since I didn’t have my mask on like I should, and was headed in a completely wrong direction.
My only saving grace of that moment was having the training from earlier that day come to mind where, if we got lost, we were to find the line of stars that had been pointed out to us and follow it to the bunker. As this thought passed through my head, I looked up, and started running again, this time in the right direction. Half a minute, three stumbles, and a headlong trip into a ditch later and I was to the bunker, finally finding that safe zone.
As I was puzzling this strange, seemingly out of body experience, I saw these Soldiers grabbing weapons, helmets, and masks on their way out of the tent. I was overcome with different signals in a pattern of sets of three: shoulders touched three times, three claps in a row, and something I couldn’t quite make out shouted three times. Then a smell hit that was faint at first, but its strength grew exponentially with each second that passed. The smell was indescribable to anyone that hadn’t smelled it before, like explaining how salt tastes: sickly sweet, yet incredibly sour, sharp, and so painfully strong even in a small amount it felt like the inside of my nose had started on fire. Once you have the privilege of smelling it, it is a smell you will always recognize, even if you can't explain how it smells to someone.
A flash of memory hit from a few weeks ago when we were all being oriented to the finer details of how our gas masks worked and, more importantly, the chamber where we got up close and personal with CS gas or, as it is more commonly known, Tear Gas. That realization along with the one that it was the word “gas” being shouted in sets of three hit me at the same time. The two combining meant only one thing: the Drill Sergeants had begun their fun on the first night of the Field Training Exercise.
Reoriented after waking up a mere five seconds ago, I grabbed for my gear. The face mask was to go on in less than seven seconds; I had it mastered in five. The helmet was next because contrary to popular belief, without one you are screwed. Finally, as I was headed out, I grabbed my weapon. By this point, it was part of my body a necessary accessory to my daily outfit: without it, especially here in the field, I was naked. Luckily, the chance of me leaving my weapon behind was as likely as me leaving an arm behind.
As I was running for our designated safe zone, engineer tape in the form of a square on the ground marking our makeshift bunker, I again misplaced my surroundings. The cloud from the CS gas had caused a hazy fog to form, whiter than regular fog. The gas that touched my skin burned like a thousand tiny paper cuts with lemon juice poured on them, all over the skin that was exposed. My pores were rejecting any amount of the gas that touched it, causing a thin layer of perspiration to form on top of the burning. Because of the claustrophobia caused by the mask and the feeling of choking the gas caused due to muscle memory from the last time I felt this burn on my skin, breathing was nearly impossible.
The mask I had on had been used and washed so many times that the plastic eye pieces were so scratched that everything appeared hazy under normal circumstances. That combined with the distracting sensation of my skin on fire and the cloud of white gas surrounding me caused me to be running in the wrong direction by about 45 degrees or so. I removed my mask, thinking I was out of the cloud enough that it wouldn’t hurt me as bad, in an attempt to reorient myself. Bad idea. Not only did my sinuses explode the second the gas hit them causing me to lose what little sight I had with the mask on, but I saw briefly that I was headed straight for the Drill Sergeants’ tent.
In this situation, the last person you want to come across while alone and disoriented was a Drill Sergeant, especially one that didn't belong to your platoon. They have the power to strike the fear of God into the majority of people, as well as having the luxury of this being their day job. So, showing the weakness of being lost and alone during a training situation while in front of one of them was not something I was willing to do at that point. I heard him say through the fog, “I see you. Don’t follow my voice or you will regret it! Better start running!” in a very uncharacteristically sing-song voice. The surety of this voice, who it belonged to, and what would happen if the owner of it caught me was enough to cause some semblance of clear, logical thought to pass through my brain. The normal punishment for being caught by a Drill Sergeant while alone would only be expounded since I didn’t have my mask on like I should, and was headed in a completely wrong direction.
My only saving grace of that moment was having the training from earlier that day come to mind where, if we got lost, we were to find the line of stars that had been pointed out to us and follow it to the bunker. As this thought passed through my head, I looked up, and started running again, this time in the right direction. Half a minute, three stumbles, and a headlong trip into a ditch later and I was to the bunker, finally finding that safe zone.
09 October 2009
life
So, I started school the end of September, and was completely overwhelmed at how much was then being asked of me. This week, I have had kids home sick with the flu. That on top of a paper due and the first exam in the Western Civ. class that I am finding myself struggling in, is not a good combination. 8 years since I really have been in school is a long time to forget the simple basics of how to study, how footnotes work, how to retain information from a lecture. That on top of everything else going on in my life, and it's amazing I'm still standing. Better yet, because of the great friends I seem to have picked up along the way, I am able to smile.
A real, genuine smile that seems to have been plastered on to keep people from seeing the hurt, from seeing all the conflicting emotions I have had for a long time now. True friends that have asked me, and some all but forced me, to open up, to trust again and allow them the chance to help. That has helped me to grow, to recover, better than the one I have had that was telling me how to fix it, how to recover, going off of not much more than my inability to put into words what I am going through and how it made me feel, and his own feelings and insecurities.
A person can only learn lessons, recover from bad experiences, as fast as they are able. Not every person can do it the speed of light, let it all just roll off their back and be unaffected. Some situations cut deeper, hit harder, and hurt more than expected, and more than allows for the ability to let it all just roll off your back. If you push someone to recover and bounce back fast than they are able then you cause more damage than good.
I guess where I am going with this bit of rambling is that I am very grateful and thankful for those friends in my life that have allowed me the chance to do this on my own. The ones that have been there when needed, even if it is just someone to talk to about goofy stuff.
A real, genuine smile that seems to have been plastered on to keep people from seeing the hurt, from seeing all the conflicting emotions I have had for a long time now. True friends that have asked me, and some all but forced me, to open up, to trust again and allow them the chance to help. That has helped me to grow, to recover, better than the one I have had that was telling me how to fix it, how to recover, going off of not much more than my inability to put into words what I am going through and how it made me feel, and his own feelings and insecurities.
A person can only learn lessons, recover from bad experiences, as fast as they are able. Not every person can do it the speed of light, let it all just roll off their back and be unaffected. Some situations cut deeper, hit harder, and hurt more than expected, and more than allows for the ability to let it all just roll off your back. If you push someone to recover and bounce back fast than they are able then you cause more damage than good.
I guess where I am going with this bit of rambling is that I am very grateful and thankful for those friends in my life that have allowed me the chance to do this on my own. The ones that have been there when needed, even if it is just someone to talk to about goofy stuff.
17 August 2009
Warrior Tower Lesson
During the Army's Basic Combat Training not only is the curriculum learned, but you also lean a lot about yourself. While I was in Basic, I learned of a few different fears I wasn't previously aware of, as well as how to over come those and other obstacles. One instance of this I would like to share is lessons I learned on Warrior Tower, which was part of the Confidence Course.
While making my way through the confidence course, I met my match in the form of Warrior Tower. The tower stood roughly 50 feet high where it was required to climb up one side through a series of ropes and incredibly unstable feeling rope ladders, then a swing on another rope across a pit before getting to the other side of the tower where Soldiers were required to rappel the 50 feet of the tower and set their feet back down on solid ground.
I found myself about halfway up the side of this tower when my fear of heights decided to present itself for the first time. I can attest to the fact that being stuck 20 feet in the air with only a rope and your grip to keep you from falling is not the best time for a fear of heights to fiercely present itself, causing you to question your ability to control your bowels. I looked down to secure footing and saw just how high I was, and I froze. Due to quite a bit of yelling from Drill Sergeants and others below me on the rope, I was able to make it to the ledge where I was to move on to the next obstacle on the climb to the top of the tower.
It was there, sitting precariously on the edge of the tower shaking like a leaf barely able to keep my lunch down that I got one of the most meaningful pep talks I have ever had. The Drill Sergeant that was sitting there told me to look at him in an attempt to keep me from looking at the ground. Then he said to me, "Part of being a Soldier is looking your fears int he face, laughing at them, and moving on with the task at hand. The reason why we do this now is so that when you are in a foxhole with people shooting at you, you w ill have the intestinal fortitude to swallow your fear and be able to shoot back."
I sat there for a second astounded at the knowledge presented to me in that short, ten second speech, then decided to use this new-found knowledge to make my way through the rest of the day. From then on through the course, when my anxiety started to get the better of me, I would remember that speech and be able to get done what I needed to. The best part is I am able to apply the concept of that speech into my daily life, even after I am no longer a Soldier.
While making my way through the confidence course, I met my match in the form of Warrior Tower. The tower stood roughly 50 feet high where it was required to climb up one side through a series of ropes and incredibly unstable feeling rope ladders, then a swing on another rope across a pit before getting to the other side of the tower where Soldiers were required to rappel the 50 feet of the tower and set their feet back down on solid ground.
I found myself about halfway up the side of this tower when my fear of heights decided to present itself for the first time. I can attest to the fact that being stuck 20 feet in the air with only a rope and your grip to keep you from falling is not the best time for a fear of heights to fiercely present itself, causing you to question your ability to control your bowels. I looked down to secure footing and saw just how high I was, and I froze. Due to quite a bit of yelling from Drill Sergeants and others below me on the rope, I was able to make it to the ledge where I was to move on to the next obstacle on the climb to the top of the tower.
It was there, sitting precariously on the edge of the tower shaking like a leaf barely able to keep my lunch down that I got one of the most meaningful pep talks I have ever had. The Drill Sergeant that was sitting there told me to look at him in an attempt to keep me from looking at the ground. Then he said to me, "Part of being a Soldier is looking your fears int he face, laughing at them, and moving on with the task at hand. The reason why we do this now is so that when you are in a foxhole with people shooting at you, you w ill have the intestinal fortitude to swallow your fear and be able to shoot back."
I sat there for a second astounded at the knowledge presented to me in that short, ten second speech, then decided to use this new-found knowledge to make my way through the rest of the day. From then on through the course, when my anxiety started to get the better of me, I would remember that speech and be able to get done what I needed to. The best part is I am able to apply the concept of that speech into my daily life, even after I am no longer a Soldier.
12 August 2009
There's always at least one individual!
In the link below, there is a story of a misunderstood planet who just wanted to be different. To strike out on it's own path. Fromm the sound of it, it woke up one day and said "you know, all the other planets follow the same rotation as the start they are tied to. Well, Not me! No, sir, not me any longer! Starting today, I'm gonna do my own thing!" And from then on, it has been rotating in the opposite direction as the star it rotates around. Science, naturally, tried to explain away the cause of this as a near collision with a larger planet, but we know what really caused it!
This also has caused me to wonder... If the planet rotates backwards, does that mean if you live on it, you get younger instead of older?
http://news.yahoo.com/s/space/20090812/sc_space/newfoundplanetorbitsbackward
This also has caused me to wonder... If the planet rotates backwards, does that mean if you live on it, you get younger instead of older?
http://news.yahoo.com/s/space/20090812/sc_space/newfoundplanetorbitsbackward
02 August 2009
Paths
I have been thinking a lot lately about the pathways we walk in life. How much control do we really have over them? Growing up, there were these Choose your own adventure books, where you choose what happens from the choices given and basically run the story from that aspect. Is this how life is? Are we presented with a situation played out, then we are left to turn to page 23 for such-and-such, or to page 35 for choice number 2? Or do we just go through life with some predetermined path we are to follow and get whatever we can out of it without having any real control over what happens?
I would like to think that it is a combination of the two. That God controls what trials we face since He knows us better than ourselves, and it is up to us to decide which choice we make from there. Not like we have this predetermined plan of where we end up in life that is set in stone and we have no say in where we end up, but more like the Choose Your Own Adventure books that have a ton of situations that play out, but you get to choose how the main character (in this case, you) reacts to the given situation, and where you go from there.
In reading those books, I discovered that even if you make a bad choice or even two or three, you can always redeem yourself to come out with a happy ending. In life, I fully believe that you can make a few wrong choices, travel down a few dark and dreary paths, but there will always be another path, a side road, something that will be there to help you find your way back to the right pathway. Some way to get you through the path of darkness and back into the light.
Another perspective is that shown in the picture. Not many different pathways to navigate your way through, but one pathway, scattered with shadows and sunshine, and no set of either any specific length, differing in shades, length, and size. The darkness covering different parts of the path, some covering only a small section, while others cover more like the entire path, not leaving room for you to walk around the shadow, forcing you to traverse the darkness, go through the trials. The best part of that, is that after you have forged your way through that darkness, make your way past the demons and shadows, you come out on the other side, not a different person, but still you. The difference being that those trials, shadows, and darkness have given you strength, courage, and the ability to know that you can succeed. You can beat the shadows and come out on the other side stronger because of it. think back with me on the trials of your life. How wonderful is the feeling of knowing that you did it. You made it through that horrible time in your life, and if it comes again, you know you are ready because you've done it once before?
21 July 2009
Random
I have discovered a few things in the last few months. I guess that is what happens when you embark on a new path in life.
I have discovered that Drill sergeants don't find it too funny when they ask what you learned at basic training and you reply that you learned that yellow smoke from smoke grenades does not come out of uniforms no matter how hard you try.
I have discovered the enjoyment at running in the mornings. A few miles to start the day with seems to always start me off on the right foot.
I have learned that the majority of the army refers to 4 am when they have to be there for PT as the middle of the night. I had to agree with this one. It is still night time when it is still dark out for the entire hour you are PTing.
I have discovered that your day never really starts unless you get barked at by sea lions and homeless people as you run by.
I have discovered that homeless people will bark at you when you run by in military PT's and/or will propose marriage to you. That was an interesting run.
I have discovered that the only way to make some of the sounds of the Arabic language correctly, you need to jab yourself in the throat just right, or try and cough up a hairball.
I have also discovered that the Arabic language is the only language to have more exceptions to the grammar rules than rules themselves. We learn a rule and then learn about three exceptions to it. Apparently no one really follows some of the grammar rules...
I have discovered that Drill sergeants don't find it too funny when they ask what you learned at basic training and you reply that you learned that yellow smoke from smoke grenades does not come out of uniforms no matter how hard you try.
I have discovered the enjoyment at running in the mornings. A few miles to start the day with seems to always start me off on the right foot.
I have learned that the majority of the army refers to 4 am when they have to be there for PT as the middle of the night. I had to agree with this one. It is still night time when it is still dark out for the entire hour you are PTing.
I have discovered that your day never really starts unless you get barked at by sea lions and homeless people as you run by.
I have discovered that homeless people will bark at you when you run by in military PT's and/or will propose marriage to you. That was an interesting run.
I have discovered that the only way to make some of the sounds of the Arabic language correctly, you need to jab yourself in the throat just right, or try and cough up a hairball.
I have also discovered that the Arabic language is the only language to have more exceptions to the grammar rules than rules themselves. We learn a rule and then learn about three exceptions to it. Apparently no one really follows some of the grammar rules...
Values
VALUES
Somewhere in the Devil’s Land
Where no one should have to live
A Soldier takes a guarded stand
And gives all he can give.
Somewhere on a lonely tower
A Soldier stands on guard
Fighting sleep at an ungodly hour
Even though it may be hard.
Somewhere at a checkpoint
A Soldier and hostile meet
Keeping his anger in check
Is a task that he must beat.
Somewhere in a wooded land
A Soldier takes a ride
Covered with our flag
Honor bound in every stride.
Somewhere in a room
A Soldier stands straight and tall
Fighting the urge to lie
Has integrity and takes the fall.
Somewhere in a guarded place
A Soldier holds his own
Refusing to flee in haste
Courage is all that’s shown.
Loyalty. Duty. Respect.
Selfless Service. Honor.
Integrity. Personal Courage.
Are what makes a Soldier what he is.
Somewhere in the Devil’s Land
Where no one should have to live
A Soldier takes a guarded stand
And gives all he can give.
Somewhere on a lonely tower
A Soldier stands on guard
Fighting sleep at an ungodly hour
Even though it may be hard.
Somewhere at a checkpoint
A Soldier and hostile meet
Keeping his anger in check
Is a task that he must beat.
Somewhere in a wooded land
A Soldier takes a ride
Covered with our flag
Honor bound in every stride.
Somewhere in a room
A Soldier stands straight and tall
Fighting the urge to lie
Has integrity and takes the fall.
Somewhere in a guarded place
A Soldier holds his own
Refusing to flee in haste
Courage is all that’s shown.
Loyalty. Duty. Respect.
Selfless Service. Honor.
Integrity. Personal Courage.
Are what makes a Soldier what he is.
21 June 2009
Help Me
How do I express that which causes my pain?
The anguish and suffering; the trials I bear alone.
How do I fight for my happiness
When I feel so drained and alone.
How do I survive the angry storm,
Battering and beating me to the ground.
I know there is a rainbow waiting at the end;
A light at the end of the tunnel;
A breath of fresh air after being under for so long.
Help me! Love me! Save me from myself!
I can't do this on my own.
Fighting the waves, battling this storm
Has left me bruised, broken, in need of repair.
Please, oh please! Don't desert me now when I need you the most.
I know I should be strong, but I can't beat this on my own.
Let me lean on your strength a while longer;
I promise I will overcome.
I'm stumbling, I've fallen, wandered too far from home.
Let me ride on your back, fly with you a while.
My wings are broken and I need help learning to fly again.
The anguish and suffering; the trials I bear alone.
How do I fight for my happiness
When I feel so drained and alone.
How do I survive the angry storm,
Battering and beating me to the ground.
I know there is a rainbow waiting at the end;
A light at the end of the tunnel;
A breath of fresh air after being under for so long.
Help me! Love me! Save me from myself!
I can't do this on my own.
Fighting the waves, battling this storm
Has left me bruised, broken, in need of repair.
Please, oh please! Don't desert me now when I need you the most.
I know I should be strong, but I can't beat this on my own.
Let me lean on your strength a while longer;
I promise I will overcome.
I'm stumbling, I've fallen, wandered too far from home.
Let me ride on your back, fly with you a while.
My wings are broken and I need help learning to fly again.
17 June 2009
Another poem from Basic
I have yet to decide if this one is actually finished or not. It is another one from Basic.
You see the Soldier standing guard
Watching every movement
Protecting all within the post
Never moving yet seeing all.
You see the Soldier cover a child
Seconds before the blow
Covered in dirt and shrapnel
Claiming it was the call of duty.
You see the Soldier and six others
Three sets of seven volleys
All seven moving as one
A tribute to the one lost in battle.
Most never comprehend
All that a Soldier goes through
Many can't even fathom
All it takes to be a warrior.
You see the Soldier standing guard
Watching every movement
Protecting all within the post
Never moving yet seeing all.
You see the Soldier cover a child
Seconds before the blow
Covered in dirt and shrapnel
Claiming it was the call of duty.
You see the Soldier and six others
Three sets of seven volleys
All seven moving as one
A tribute to the one lost in battle.
Most never comprehend
All that a Soldier goes through
Many can't even fathom
All it takes to be a warrior.
22 May 2009
Venting
I suddenly get overwhelmed by emotion and can't place why or anything. I was so dependent on him because he led me to believe that I wasn't strong enough to be without him and...now...now, I am too dependent to know how to be independent, but I don't have anyone to be dependent on. Turning to friends has made me feel like I am dragging them down, even if they proclaim I am not and they are here for me.
I am afraid to love again for the fear that I will become dependent on someone rather than on myself
so I get caught up in these people who just want sex thinking that will help, but its not the sex I miss from being in a relationship. Then, I tell myself that it's not a real relationship, but i still fall. It's the having someone there I miss. Someone to give me a big hug and tell me that it will all be okay and help me plan out what needs to get done
just....AAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH
Yet...here I sit in a hotel room, homeless, jobless, fucked up, but I'm the lucky one because I got the kids. He's got a fucking house, VA benefits, all kinds of shit, but I am the lucky one. I don't think of it as luck. I think of it as he hurt them and me, he doesn't deserve them. He should be in jail, but they are dragging ass on that as well.
GRRR
All I am asking for in this is a friend willing to be here for me at 2 am if I need it, that doesn't live over 1000 miles away or isn't deployed. I have a ton of friends that will do that for me...but none here, where I need them. None that can come over and just give me a hug, a literal shoulder to cry on.
There are so many people who say I need to keep my head up, stay strong for the kids, don't cry in front of them, let them see that you are strong and it isn't anything to get worried over
well I'm sorry if i can't do that and keep it up 24/7. I'm not perfect, I'm human. I lose control. I can't be emotionless all the fucking time. No one can. I can hide it the best I can, but I'm not very good at that. People tend to be able to see right through me.
You don't know how bad I really am fucked up right now. I am capable of hiding a lot of it, so people think I am holding it together when really its hollow inside the walls I show everyone. I know that doesn't exactly help me get through it, but it appeases those that always spout my needing to keep my chin up, press forward and never give an inch.
People know me as the one they can talk to. The one that will sympathize or empathize with them depending on the situation. The one they can vent to that will be their shoulder to cry on, their source of strength. I am so tapped out that I find myself getting strength from the wrong places, those deep dark places that will only hurt you in the end rather than give you the strength they pretend to. Right now it is so hard for me because people come to me needing help when I don't have anything to give. I don't want to let people down because that's not me. I want to be there for them, its in my blood, in my nature, who I am. At the same time, it would be nice to get that same devotion in return. But then again, i guess I have to be receptive of it. I have serious issues asking for help. Just who I am. I am shy, but I am always willing to help out a friend. I'll offer help all day long, but its hard for me to ask for it. Anyway... Now that I got that off my chest, now I get to decide who I want to actually be able to read this...
I am afraid to love again for the fear that I will become dependent on someone rather than on myself
so I get caught up in these people who just want sex thinking that will help, but its not the sex I miss from being in a relationship. Then, I tell myself that it's not a real relationship, but i still fall. It's the having someone there I miss. Someone to give me a big hug and tell me that it will all be okay and help me plan out what needs to get done
just....AAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH
Yet...here I sit in a hotel room, homeless, jobless, fucked up, but I'm the lucky one because I got the kids. He's got a fucking house, VA benefits, all kinds of shit, but I am the lucky one. I don't think of it as luck. I think of it as he hurt them and me, he doesn't deserve them. He should be in jail, but they are dragging ass on that as well.
GRRR
All I am asking for in this is a friend willing to be here for me at 2 am if I need it, that doesn't live over 1000 miles away or isn't deployed. I have a ton of friends that will do that for me...but none here, where I need them. None that can come over and just give me a hug, a literal shoulder to cry on.
There are so many people who say I need to keep my head up, stay strong for the kids, don't cry in front of them, let them see that you are strong and it isn't anything to get worried over
well I'm sorry if i can't do that and keep it up 24/7. I'm not perfect, I'm human. I lose control. I can't be emotionless all the fucking time. No one can. I can hide it the best I can, but I'm not very good at that. People tend to be able to see right through me.
You don't know how bad I really am fucked up right now. I am capable of hiding a lot of it, so people think I am holding it together when really its hollow inside the walls I show everyone. I know that doesn't exactly help me get through it, but it appeases those that always spout my needing to keep my chin up, press forward and never give an inch.
People know me as the one they can talk to. The one that will sympathize or empathize with them depending on the situation. The one they can vent to that will be their shoulder to cry on, their source of strength. I am so tapped out that I find myself getting strength from the wrong places, those deep dark places that will only hurt you in the end rather than give you the strength they pretend to. Right now it is so hard for me because people come to me needing help when I don't have anything to give. I don't want to let people down because that's not me. I want to be there for them, its in my blood, in my nature, who I am. At the same time, it would be nice to get that same devotion in return. But then again, i guess I have to be receptive of it. I have serious issues asking for help. Just who I am. I am shy, but I am always willing to help out a friend. I'll offer help all day long, but its hard for me to ask for it. Anyway... Now that I got that off my chest, now I get to decide who I want to actually be able to read this...
16 May 2009
Brothers in Arms
Brothers in peace, brothers in battle.
Brothers in time and in the hereafter.
Walking this path, no regret or fear.
Knowing your brothers will keep you clear.
Teaching and learning together they work.
Erasing bad guys who in darkness lurk.
In times of need, these brothers will come,
Working as one to bring you home.
They don’t want recognition, and no special favors.
“It’s just a job, don’t fawn over our labors.”
The best at their job, yet incredibly humble
They do their tasks without even a mumble.
Honor. Integrity. Values they know.
Courage. Strength. Values they show.
Brothers in peace, brothers in battle.
For years they protected in secret battles.
Brothers in time and in the hereafter.
They will be missed deeply from now to forever.
Brothers in time and in the hereafter.
Walking this path, no regret or fear.
Knowing your brothers will keep you clear.
Teaching and learning together they work.
Erasing bad guys who in darkness lurk.
In times of need, these brothers will come,
Working as one to bring you home.
They don’t want recognition, and no special favors.
“It’s just a job, don’t fawn over our labors.”
The best at their job, yet incredibly humble
They do their tasks without even a mumble.
Honor. Integrity. Values they know.
Courage. Strength. Values they show.
Brothers in peace, brothers in battle.
For years they protected in secret battles.
Brothers in time and in the hereafter.
They will be missed deeply from now to forever.
07 May 2009
Demons
Demons haunt, and shadows hide
Fear lies hidden beneath these eyes
Just one look will let you in
Unless I hide what lies within
I live in a world of fear and pain.
I try to defy them, but sadly in vain.
You come along and I let you in
Laying out all that I’ve tried to hide.
I know what will happen if I let you in.
The fears inside me begin to erupt.
I try to stop it, but the blow’s too abrupt.
I freeze yet want a new life to begin.
I need the emotions within me to slow.
Before the weight of them bends me too low.
How much more of this can I take
Before it all causes me to break?
I have yet to learn to fly on my own.
So dependent on others that I’ve never grown.
Fear lies hidden beneath these eyes
Just one look will let you in
Unless I hide what lies within
I live in a world of fear and pain.
I try to defy them, but sadly in vain.
You come along and I let you in
Laying out all that I’ve tried to hide.
I know what will happen if I let you in.
The fears inside me begin to erupt.
I try to stop it, but the blow’s too abrupt.
I freeze yet want a new life to begin.
I need the emotions within me to slow.
Before the weight of them bends me too low.
How much more of this can I take
Before it all causes me to break?
I have yet to learn to fly on my own.
So dependent on others that I’ve never grown.
05 May 2009
Through the eyes of a child
In having children, I have learned how to see the world through new eyes. I have seen angels and frogs and other assorted objects in the clouds. I have learned how exactly you make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (put the peanut butter on one slice of bread, jelly on the other then squish it together til it makes a mess on the inside), as well as learning the true meaning of the phrase "I hope you have a kid just like you when you grow up".
I used to stand at the top of a flight of stairs, yell "Mom, Look!!" and right as she turns around I would jump to the bottom. Now, I have a son and a daughter that I am convinced are going to be acrobats when they grow up just because of how much they try to fly. Off the couch, onto the couch, from bed to bed, bed to chair, pretty much from any one thing to another where they should technically walk, but they don't. I have also learned that the floor randomly turns into hot lava and that is the explanation for all the jumping around. See, I would believe that, but I too once was a kid. Yes, believe it or now, I was a child. I guess is ways I still am, hence the antics I have gotten into in the military and other places. Anyway, back on track... I now know what my mom went through when I displayed my daredevil antics for her. If you have kids, you know the feeling, heart jumps into your throat threatening to come right out your mouth, stomach ties itself into a million knots for that split second they are airborne, and once it is over, you have such an adrenaline rush that you want to lock them up so they can never do that again, but then you hear the laughter. Yes, that pleasant, heart-melting laughter of the child you love so dearly that causes you to forget why you were so ready to throttle them two seconds ago. Gotta love kids.
When my son was born, I mentally prepared myself for bugs being brought in the house to show off, finding rocks and sticks and spiders and other random creepy-crawlies in pants pockets as I am doing laundry. You know, the typical little boy stuff you have to watch out for. That time for me never came. Well, never came with my son at least. He would admire the bugs and creepy-crawlies, but never really picked them up. He would grab me by the hand and drag me out to admire these bugs. Which was funny, considering how the bugs never played his game and stayed in the same spot that he left it in when he came to get me. No, it isn't my son's pockets I have to check for bugs and things while doing laundry, it is my daughter's. Yes, my baby girl who almost refuses to wear pants and is always in skirts or dresses, plays dress-up, and rocks trucks to sleep at night. I have always wondered how that worked. You prepare for what you think will happen with the kids, think about every possible outcome, issue, problem, and any other path you can conceivably come up with, and without fail the one that eluded you during all that planning and preparation is the one that happens. A parent's motto shouldn't be "Always prepared", it should follow one of the mottos the military has: "Adapt and overcome".
I used to stand at the top of a flight of stairs, yell "Mom, Look!!" and right as she turns around I would jump to the bottom. Now, I have a son and a daughter that I am convinced are going to be acrobats when they grow up just because of how much they try to fly. Off the couch, onto the couch, from bed to bed, bed to chair, pretty much from any one thing to another where they should technically walk, but they don't. I have also learned that the floor randomly turns into hot lava and that is the explanation for all the jumping around. See, I would believe that, but I too once was a kid. Yes, believe it or now, I was a child. I guess is ways I still am, hence the antics I have gotten into in the military and other places. Anyway, back on track... I now know what my mom went through when I displayed my daredevil antics for her. If you have kids, you know the feeling, heart jumps into your throat threatening to come right out your mouth, stomach ties itself into a million knots for that split second they are airborne, and once it is over, you have such an adrenaline rush that you want to lock them up so they can never do that again, but then you hear the laughter. Yes, that pleasant, heart-melting laughter of the child you love so dearly that causes you to forget why you were so ready to throttle them two seconds ago. Gotta love kids.
When my son was born, I mentally prepared myself for bugs being brought in the house to show off, finding rocks and sticks and spiders and other random creepy-crawlies in pants pockets as I am doing laundry. You know, the typical little boy stuff you have to watch out for. That time for me never came. Well, never came with my son at least. He would admire the bugs and creepy-crawlies, but never really picked them up. He would grab me by the hand and drag me out to admire these bugs. Which was funny, considering how the bugs never played his game and stayed in the same spot that he left it in when he came to get me. No, it isn't my son's pockets I have to check for bugs and things while doing laundry, it is my daughter's. Yes, my baby girl who almost refuses to wear pants and is always in skirts or dresses, plays dress-up, and rocks trucks to sleep at night. I have always wondered how that worked. You prepare for what you think will happen with the kids, think about every possible outcome, issue, problem, and any other path you can conceivably come up with, and without fail the one that eluded you during all that planning and preparation is the one that happens. A parent's motto shouldn't be "Always prepared", it should follow one of the mottos the military has: "Adapt and overcome".
04 May 2009
Armor
There are many different forms of armor. From clothes that protect from the elements to the bullet-proof vests Soldiers wear into battle to the emotional walls we put up to protect our hearts and souls from the daily emotional attacks we deal with.
Most physical forms of armor only seem to physically protect us. Keeping us safe from those things that can injure our bodies. Bullet-proof vests protect against bullets and shrapnel. Coats protect us against the winter weather.
The emotional walls we gain through life exist to protect us emotionally. Someone breaks your heart so you build a wall to keep it from happening again, or at least from hurting as bad the next time. Someone criticizes a project you worked on for hours on end and a wall is built making it so that the criticism you receive doesn't affect your ability to shake it off and continue down the path of your life.
Every once in a while, we come across a talisman, a symbol that reminds us of the strength to withstand that we have inside, an object we give power to that is really nothing more than a reminder of that emotional armor we have built up. Sometimes we can inadvertently give such an object too much power, coming to see it as the source of the armor rather than merely the reminder it is.
An example is a military uniform. Nothing more than clothes at first look, but if you see what it stands for, the different power people have put behind it, it is so much more than than just clothes. At Basic Training, Soldiers are taught about something called Military Bearing. It is this bearing that allows a Soldier to be shot at and be able to react rather than let fear take over. This bearing allows a Soldier to be yelled at regularly by Drill Sergeants and not let it get them down, or to stand in front of their Commanding Officer to answer for a mistake and keep the Soldier standing tall rather than crumpling under the pressure. It is the cement that solidifies all the different pieces that comprise a Soldier and makes him strong.
To me, the symbol of this Military Bearing is the uniform. In the almost 2 years I spent in the service of my country, the uniform I put on daily became that symbol, as well as the symbol of my personal strength to withstand. In that uniform I felt I could handle almost anything because of all that I did handle and all that others have handled in it. I made it through the stresses of Basic Training, the Drill Sergeants, gas chamber, field training exercises, confidence course, and everything else that was thrown my way while there. I was able to keep it together when i called home from Basic after not being able to for a few weeks and hearing a female voice in the background and not jump through the phone to find out what was going on. I was able to handle the night my kids were taken into Protective Custody and the interviews that followed that night without going completely insane or imploding like I felt I was going to. I did end up in a state where my mind was refusing to process anything serious for a couple months, but i made it through that as well because of the strict battle rhythm of the military. I stood tall during the house inspections, the hurry up and wait of the court system, and standing in front of my Commander as he told me that he had no choice but to separate me from the Army because I wasn't able to meet all my military and personal obligations. Again, that sent me into a state of numbness, but not as bad. I was able to accept it, understand the reasoning behind it, even if I didn't fully agree or want it.
I fought my way into the military. I wanted to join after high school, but got pregnant a few months before graduating, so i told myself that i didn't really want to go that route. I never lost the love of the military that seemingly came out of nowhere. It stayed with me. Five years after graduating high school and two kids later, I was biking the three miles to work when it hit me that if I was able to do this, then why wasn't I able to do that military which would not only pay better, but also give me the housing and medical benefits that being a part-time cashier at Wal-martcouldn't offer me. So i talked to my husband and a recruiter and didn't let anyone talk me out of it. I went through four months of strict dieting, exercise, and weekly weigh-ins to get my weight and run time down to meet the requirements. I fought my own battle to get into that uniform. I wanted it so bad that it wasn't funny. All the recruiters in that office knew me on sight and knew that I wouldn't talk about joining to anyone but SGT Ricks. he helped me in my battle. Ran with me to help with technique and speed, cheered me on and cheered me up when I got discouraged. Because of this personal battle, it felt great when I finally made it and was sworn in. i loved every second of it, any and all contact with the military I had, and formed bonds that will last a lifetime.
Then I was separated. I rebelled against it in my own way. Tried to prove that i could do it, refusing to accept that I was too late and that this was what it was. Refusing to allow myself to believe this was any more than a bad dream and I would wake up any second and go to PT just like any other morning.This is what it is. I put so much power into that uniform that it meant more to me than I realized. It was my protection from all the emotions that I felt would otherwise consume me. it held me together when all i could think to do was fall apart. I stood strong and didn't shy away from Brian when he came to pick up his stuff, violating the place I felt the safest, because I was in uniform. It was one of the hardest things emotionally that I ever had to do. I no longer wear that uniform.I am now dealing with that emotional bombardment that I knew was there all along but felt I could handle because of the support of the uniform I wore. I feel in a way like I have been thrown to the wolves with nothing more than a toothpick to protect myself. Like I am standing naked in front of a crowd. Stripped. Beaten. Sore. Wounded. Vulnerable. Weak. Lost. Small.
It's kind of funny how people try to congratulate me, assuming this is a good thing that I am getting out. I won't deploy now. I won't have to work grueling 14, sometimes 30, hour shifts any longer. I am free now, right? Free, yes, but at what cost?
The truth is that getting out of the military isn't always a good thing. It truly is one big family. They really do take care of their own.
I feel like a lost child that no one knows what to do with so they just turn their backs. I feel let down, even though I understand that it had to be done. I feel like that family-type of support only goes so far and that I reached my limit without realizing that there was one. I came to rely on that support so much that I am lost without it. The Army was the only place I have found so far that i have felt accepted, cared about, like a member of the team and not just on the sidelines watching.And now it is gone. All my armor, all my safeties that were placed strategically to keep me from falling are gone. Stripped out from under me leaving me scrambling to find replacements for them while I feel myself going down. I would give almost anything to have the military back. Anything except having no guarantee that I won't deploy leaving behind my two precious children after all they have been through already.
So my reasons still stand. I can't deploy and leave my kids without their mother after all they have been through. I have had to choose what to sacrifice. I can go on without the Army. I can find another path and make my way through this world. But I cannot--WILL not-- intentionally make my kids go any long length of time without me like they did the four months they were in Foster Care again. Not if I have the ability to choose not to. They are my world and I will make the sacrifices needed for them.
Most physical forms of armor only seem to physically protect us. Keeping us safe from those things that can injure our bodies. Bullet-proof vests protect against bullets and shrapnel. Coats protect us against the winter weather.
The emotional walls we gain through life exist to protect us emotionally. Someone breaks your heart so you build a wall to keep it from happening again, or at least from hurting as bad the next time. Someone criticizes a project you worked on for hours on end and a wall is built making it so that the criticism you receive doesn't affect your ability to shake it off and continue down the path of your life.
Every once in a while, we come across a talisman, a symbol that reminds us of the strength to withstand that we have inside, an object we give power to that is really nothing more than a reminder of that emotional armor we have built up. Sometimes we can inadvertently give such an object too much power, coming to see it as the source of the armor rather than merely the reminder it is.
An example is a military uniform. Nothing more than clothes at first look, but if you see what it stands for, the different power people have put behind it, it is so much more than than just clothes. At Basic Training, Soldiers are taught about something called Military Bearing. It is this bearing that allows a Soldier to be shot at and be able to react rather than let fear take over. This bearing allows a Soldier to be yelled at regularly by Drill Sergeants and not let it get them down, or to stand in front of their Commanding Officer to answer for a mistake and keep the Soldier standing tall rather than crumpling under the pressure. It is the cement that solidifies all the different pieces that comprise a Soldier and makes him strong.
To me, the symbol of this Military Bearing is the uniform. In the almost 2 years I spent in the service of my country, the uniform I put on daily became that symbol, as well as the symbol of my personal strength to withstand. In that uniform I felt I could handle almost anything because of all that I did handle and all that others have handled in it. I made it through the stresses of Basic Training, the Drill Sergeants, gas chamber, field training exercises, confidence course, and everything else that was thrown my way while there. I was able to keep it together when i called home from Basic after not being able to for a few weeks and hearing a female voice in the background and not jump through the phone to find out what was going on. I was able to handle the night my kids were taken into Protective Custody and the interviews that followed that night without going completely insane or imploding like I felt I was going to. I did end up in a state where my mind was refusing to process anything serious for a couple months, but i made it through that as well because of the strict battle rhythm of the military. I stood tall during the house inspections, the hurry up and wait of the court system, and standing in front of my Commander as he told me that he had no choice but to separate me from the Army because I wasn't able to meet all my military and personal obligations. Again, that sent me into a state of numbness, but not as bad. I was able to accept it, understand the reasoning behind it, even if I didn't fully agree or want it.
I fought my way into the military. I wanted to join after high school, but got pregnant a few months before graduating, so i told myself that i didn't really want to go that route. I never lost the love of the military that seemingly came out of nowhere. It stayed with me. Five years after graduating high school and two kids later, I was biking the three miles to work when it hit me that if I was able to do this, then why wasn't I able to do that military which would not only pay better, but also give me the housing and medical benefits that being a part-time cashier at Wal-martcouldn't offer me. So i talked to my husband and a recruiter and didn't let anyone talk me out of it. I went through four months of strict dieting, exercise, and weekly weigh-ins to get my weight and run time down to meet the requirements. I fought my own battle to get into that uniform. I wanted it so bad that it wasn't funny. All the recruiters in that office knew me on sight and knew that I wouldn't talk about joining to anyone but SGT Ricks. he helped me in my battle. Ran with me to help with technique and speed, cheered me on and cheered me up when I got discouraged. Because of this personal battle, it felt great when I finally made it and was sworn in. i loved every second of it, any and all contact with the military I had, and formed bonds that will last a lifetime.
Then I was separated. I rebelled against it in my own way. Tried to prove that i could do it, refusing to accept that I was too late and that this was what it was. Refusing to allow myself to believe this was any more than a bad dream and I would wake up any second and go to PT just like any other morning.This is what it is. I put so much power into that uniform that it meant more to me than I realized. It was my protection from all the emotions that I felt would otherwise consume me. it held me together when all i could think to do was fall apart. I stood strong and didn't shy away from Brian when he came to pick up his stuff, violating the place I felt the safest, because I was in uniform. It was one of the hardest things emotionally that I ever had to do. I no longer wear that uniform.I am now dealing with that emotional bombardment that I knew was there all along but felt I could handle because of the support of the uniform I wore. I feel in a way like I have been thrown to the wolves with nothing more than a toothpick to protect myself. Like I am standing naked in front of a crowd. Stripped. Beaten. Sore. Wounded. Vulnerable. Weak. Lost. Small.
It's kind of funny how people try to congratulate me, assuming this is a good thing that I am getting out. I won't deploy now. I won't have to work grueling 14, sometimes 30, hour shifts any longer. I am free now, right? Free, yes, but at what cost?
The truth is that getting out of the military isn't always a good thing. It truly is one big family. They really do take care of their own.
I feel like a lost child that no one knows what to do with so they just turn their backs. I feel let down, even though I understand that it had to be done. I feel like that family-type of support only goes so far and that I reached my limit without realizing that there was one. I came to rely on that support so much that I am lost without it. The Army was the only place I have found so far that i have felt accepted, cared about, like a member of the team and not just on the sidelines watching.And now it is gone. All my armor, all my safeties that were placed strategically to keep me from falling are gone. Stripped out from under me leaving me scrambling to find replacements for them while I feel myself going down. I would give almost anything to have the military back. Anything except having no guarantee that I won't deploy leaving behind my two precious children after all they have been through already.
So my reasons still stand. I can't deploy and leave my kids without their mother after all they have been through. I have had to choose what to sacrifice. I can go on without the Army. I can find another path and make my way through this world. But I cannot--WILL not-- intentionally make my kids go any long length of time without me like they did the four months they were in Foster Care again. Not if I have the ability to choose not to. They are my world and I will make the sacrifices needed for them.
03 May 2009
Beginnings
So, I have been told that I am a rather good writer on more than one occasion. Maybe, since the majority of those who read what I write say that, I should develop this talent I have, and see where it goes. What better place to do that than my very own blog. Okay, so maybe I just wanted something that is easily accessible from any computer I may happen across. Things happen causing us to lose our Internet access sometimes, so why not plan ahead?
Here is a little about me. I am a 25 year old female, spent close to 2 years in the US Army, have two kids, in the process of a divorce from a rather sick man, and basically doing my best to come into contact with the person I was before I lost myself in the submissiveness that snuck up on me in the 8 years I spent with him. Yes, for now he shall remain nameless. Don't get me wrong, it's not hate that spurs that decision, it's more hurt and betrayal. As this blog progresses and I delve into the insanity known as my life, I am sure that the reasons behind those feelings will come out at least in some form.
I was very in touch with my feelings, and am trying to get back in touch with them considering that is what generally spurs most of my writing. I have always loved music in almost any form, the history, performing, singing, listening, and also almost any genre. In high school there was a joke about how I spent more time in the band/choir room than I did at my own house. What can I say? By the time I hit high school, I was the only child out of 5 total left at home and my parents worked a lot, leaving me home alone after school more than I liked. There was always something going on in the band room, and, well, at that point my love of music had basically hit the status of love affair rather than just a relationship.
I have a 7 year old son, and a 5 year old daughter. They are rather entertaining, and I am sure more about them and their antics will be posted as well. Like most kids, they like to tag team their parents, but since I am a single parent, they typically drive me to the point that I feel like I would like to visit an insane asylum more for the fact that I would get peace and quiet there than anything else. Okay, so the jacket that would let me hug myself all day long and the walls I can literally bounce off of sound fun as well. More the walls than the jacket though.
I have a certain level of creativity and smartass-ness that has gotten me both into and out of trouble as well as make life interesting for all those involved.
Well, I will sign off for now. I don't want to scare anyone away this early, though I am sure that would be some sort of record.
Til next time!
Here is a little about me. I am a 25 year old female, spent close to 2 years in the US Army, have two kids, in the process of a divorce from a rather sick man, and basically doing my best to come into contact with the person I was before I lost myself in the submissiveness that snuck up on me in the 8 years I spent with him. Yes, for now he shall remain nameless. Don't get me wrong, it's not hate that spurs that decision, it's more hurt and betrayal. As this blog progresses and I delve into the insanity known as my life, I am sure that the reasons behind those feelings will come out at least in some form.
I was very in touch with my feelings, and am trying to get back in touch with them considering that is what generally spurs most of my writing. I have always loved music in almost any form, the history, performing, singing, listening, and also almost any genre. In high school there was a joke about how I spent more time in the band/choir room than I did at my own house. What can I say? By the time I hit high school, I was the only child out of 5 total left at home and my parents worked a lot, leaving me home alone after school more than I liked. There was always something going on in the band room, and, well, at that point my love of music had basically hit the status of love affair rather than just a relationship.
I have a 7 year old son, and a 5 year old daughter. They are rather entertaining, and I am sure more about them and their antics will be posted as well. Like most kids, they like to tag team their parents, but since I am a single parent, they typically drive me to the point that I feel like I would like to visit an insane asylum more for the fact that I would get peace and quiet there than anything else. Okay, so the jacket that would let me hug myself all day long and the walls I can literally bounce off of sound fun as well. More the walls than the jacket though.
I have a certain level of creativity and smartass-ness that has gotten me both into and out of trouble as well as make life interesting for all those involved.
Well, I will sign off for now. I don't want to scare anyone away this early, though I am sure that would be some sort of record.
Til next time!
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