The Noose

The beginning of this week started off decently well but was abruptly filled with chaos and upheaval beginning on Tuesday. An ongoing family altercation had me continuously stressed and after leaving from their home rather distraught, I was just ready for the weekend to get started. I quit my caregiving duties because I no longer felt comfortable or welcome with the family members that are home during that time on Wednesday​. 

By Friday my husband was calling to make therapy appointments for himself due to his boss requesting he do so. I overslept for my therapy appointment and I promised my grandma I would bring her the money I owed her for not working my last two days I had been paid for, get her items from the store, and let my kids visit with their grandparents. Things were fine until I got ready to get them to leave.

After getting my grandma settled and the kids mess picked up I was hoitily asked if I had told my grandma that I quit my job. I replied had had attempted to three times and was interrupted with a reply shot icily across the room, “That wasn’t an  answer to the question, did you or did you not?” I glared in silence for a moment before I rounded up my children to head home. They stood at the windows in the dining room in an intimidating fashion as we loaded up in the car. I knew at that point my decision was the correct one.

My emotions were high as I headed towards my home but I had agreed to meet with my father there the following day to discuss the family rift in person. I was almost to my mother’s home in Prairie Grove to check on it when my husband got a text from a mutal friend. She had been attempting to reach me but my phone battery died and it was urgent. She had received a cryptic message from another mutual friend and was worried. As she does not have a vehicle, she wanted us to check on him. 

We kept in touch and made our way to his home after a series of messages to others allowed us to find him. As we neared his street we got texts from him telling us to turn around and not to come. I knew from a previous visit to this residence about a month prior when his then wife took about half a bottle of her medicine​ that he knew I was a mandated reporter. My husband stayed in the car with our children and I made my way to the apartment. I approached and knocked lightly on the door. 

My friend opened it slightly but immediately shut it upon seeing my face. I knocked lightly again and began to write down the address to call 911. He must have read my mind because he immediately opened the door and let me inside. He pleaded for me not to call anyone and I told him I would talk with him before I did anything. He asked for a hug, so I hugged him as long as he wanted. When we separated he sat on his couch and I took a spot on the floor. We discussed how being alone can be so dangerous for a severely depressed person and how I had self medicated for so many years simply to numb the roaring thoughts in my own head.

I invited him to our home several times but he declined saying he didn’t want to be a burden and that we had the kids with us. I finally decided to ask him what was keeping him at home. He sighed and rose from the couch extending his arm to me and stated he wanted to show me something. I got up and followed him through his bedroom and into the bathroom. He fumbled to get the light switch on and stumbled into the counter. 

When I peeked around the corner of his closet I could see a Dremel battery charger sitting on the toilet and inside the shower was a noose made from climbing ropes. I’m sure the horror on my face that I could not contain hit him and he began crying. I immediately remember the pain and agony I had felt so many times before when I felt unloved and alone. He snatched the noose from the shower head, we grabbed some of his belongings, and we made our way to the car.

He grabbed a notebook he called the ugly green notebook and stated it had some things written in it but he never really offered for anyone to read  it. He placed it in our kitchen where it remained and poured himself a growler of dark beer he had brought from home. He eventually told my husband that he had tried to hang himself and there were light red marks around his neck as well as both of his eyes blackened. I told my husband about the noose in the shower. We alerted his other friends he was with us and safe for the moment and commenced to attempting to enjoy our evening.

We decided since everyone had such a shitty week that we would celebrate Saturday instead of being miserable. I was nervous as I waited on my dad to  arrive and texted with a friend who surprised me with a video chat and served as a minor destraction for a few moments as he always makes me laugh. After dad’s visit we bought taco, queso, and cake supplies and our birthday celebration began. We sipped on drinks as we took turns preparing our dishes in the kitchen and enjoyed our meal together. I finally got our cake baked, iced, and just after midnight we celebrated our friends forty-second birthday instead of finding him dead in his shower.

I was reminded how precious life is and that the quietest people often have the loudest minds. I had been checking on his estranged wife for weeks but had neglected to check on him, and I felt pretty shitty about it. I have been in his place before and still struggle to keep my brain from going there occasionally still to this day. I know what it feels like to be a burden to everyone around you, that the thoughts in your own head are so consuming it feels as if the pain will never go away. It’s a pain that isn’t even easy to explain, but I know he felt it because when I tried to describe it he knew exactly what I was talking about.

It’s the pain of heartbreak and despair, the feeling that you will never love the way you loved before again. In a way, it’s right. Pain changes you, it makes you isolate, gaurd yourself more, trust less. I know what it feels like to sit back and watch the person you love not be able to love you back; to leave and move on while you’re still screaming for them to come home. In fact sitting alone after a loved one left our dwelling was the first time I contemplated taking my own life. I felt so stupid for overlooking the obvious but I also had been distracted by my own family problems.

We closed our night down watching a comedy show on Netflix and tucked ourselves into our respectful beds. We agreed to take our friend home that morning and everyone got ready accordingly. We talked about Jurassic Park with our kids on our way and as we parked, I left my husband with the kids to walk our friend home; I had to take the noose down.

He seemed confused as I walked up the sidewalk to his apartment and I told him I had to take care of something; he forgot it was still in the bathroom. That black cord hadn’t left my vision since Friday night however and I could not leave him at home with a ready made noose. I made my way to the bathroom and grabbed the noose. I began to untie it and wrap it back up in the bundle it was still neatly wrapped in. Although I was able to untie it, I had to work momentarily in several spots to get it loose and it was knotted correctly; I hoped this was his first attempt but began to doubt it.

I reached for the Dremel charger and noticed a bottle in the shower when I grabbed the noose. I had to step into the shower to retrieve the alcohol bottle and I saw the Dremel with a screw head attachment sitting next to the bottle. I’m not sure why it was in the shower, and I honestly do not know if I want to know why it was in the shower. My arms got chills as I continued to clean up the bathroom, that feeling of desperation to just make the pain stop flooded me. 

I returned his tools to his closet and was contemplating taking the rope with me. I knew that he could simply go buy another the moment I left, so instead I asked him if it would be used again anytime soon. He assured me it would not be and stuffed it underneath his couch. We hugged again and he laid down on his sofa ensuring me a long nap was in order. I felt relieved as I left his apartment and glad to have celebrated life with him this weekend rather than death. 

I felt more confident in my abilities to be there and hold space for someone even when I am battling my own demons and still have feelings of shame for having neglacted checking on my friend. Most importantly​ I was again reminded why counseling found me even though I have never been paid to be one, and I will continue to work towards opening my non-profit so there is a place for those that feel alone to go. The image of the noose and Dremel are still fresh in my mind, and likely will be for some time. I was able to untie it as an instrument of death this time, but it further tied me to my commitment and refuled my passion to make mental health availability a top priority.

Thirty-five and Finally Alive

On Tuesday I turned Thirty-five years old on what I thought was a typical day, however it quickly turned to turmoil after an altercation with some of my family. Due to changes in budget, my family is currently down to one vehicle. My husband decided to take the car to work and let me stay home with our daughter because I had a headache and she was up all night on and off. I had agreed to go to lunch with my grandmother alone to Red Lobster on my birthday, and I planned on and had been dressed and ready to go since eleven.

My daughter was still asleep as was my visiting mother-in-law so I opted to ask my husband if he would bring me the car and I would get him lunch on the way back. He did not know of my plans with my grandmother and wanted to surprise me by taking off early and offering to run errands with me. I felt horrible bout lying to him but I knew my grandmother had been saving her money for hearing aids. I sent her a text in an effort to make a compromise and offered to pay for my husbands meal. Admittedly by then I was a couple of hours later than I intended to be and it was not the first time it has happened. She stated we would do it a different day and that she was tired.

I felt horrible about missing our lunch date but when I arrived I offered to get her something else after she stated she needed to lay down. Almost immediately my husband was accused by other family members of having previous knowledge and crashing our plans in effort for him to get a free meal; one that he does not even prefer as he hates Red Lobster. A second blow was delivered when it was suggested that our daughter dictates our life and we needed to get control of it.

My husband blew up and went to the car at this point and began honking until I joined him. I left my grandmother visably upset and feeling like my guts had been ripped from me. In an instant my day went from semi chaotic to horrible. The next was no better, as I returned the following morning I was met icely at the door by one member and shared a “Hello” with the other as I exited to do an errand. After returning I was told that my presence was questioned in a sarcastic manner and I then made the decision that I would no longer place myself in the presence of those that have no respect for me in secret.

Yesterday I was told through social media that I used my past and trauma to hold me back. I make excuses about how the world has wronged me, and I need to stop complaining and whining and do something with my life. Although my traumas happened over a decade ago, I have never really processed the information. I drank myself numb and denied for over a decade. The several years I have spent in and out of therapy have helped me tremendously, but I am still processing.

I get stronger every day, and I try very hard to manage my life to the best of my ability. I do make mistakes, I do have irrational thoughts and beliefs. Most of these relate to myself and sometimes I misconstrue the thoughts others have. In this case I feel I have yet again opened up about my past to people who do not care to hear it. Instead of being empathetic, I have been told that clinging to my past is my crutch and I use my mental health issues and others to survive in life.

I disagree with this, however I also know that I cannot change the feelings others have about me; those are in fact their perceptions and misguided conclusions that they allow themselves to be deluded by before making and expressing rational thoughts. In fact simple definitions are not common knowledge among them, so I honestly do not know why I expected them to be any different from what they have finally shown their true colors to actually be.

I find it extremely hurtful that I have extended myself to them both emotionally and one financially to continue her habits and then they use my past against me. It’s my crutch I cling to in order to not progress my life and I take advantage of my loved ones. The last one hurts the most but I suspected that had been the mutaul feelings of many people for quite some time. 

I find it ironic that the one that called me out for being lazy has not even yet applied to multiple jobs in our area since relocating and living rent free and smoking and drinking off of cash he makes from the same said family member I supposedly take advantage of for the last four months or the money that was sent in effort to support him across country when he went to school. I am hurt more so than I have ever been in my life by my immediate family and I’m not sure how it will be fixed.

I’m mad that after living a life separated from my family by divorce and missing one event or another during holidays I am again forced to pick and choose sides to have a relationship with my family. I do not feel as if I can trust them again if they honestly feel that way about my past. I already knew from previous discussion that my work ethic is not anything to be proud of and that me and my husband needed to be taught a lesson and take control of our lives. This would supposedly make us proud.

What they fail to realize that everyday I make it out of my bed, breathing, and working towards getting out of the house does make me proud. That every day I fight myself on my worthiness to live in this world and the burdens I place on others, especially my children. I struggle to concentrate through tasks that used to take me minutes while battling anxiety riddled emotions my brain randomly spurts at me throughout the day. I make it to most of the places I am supposed to and I try to be the best mom and wife I can be. This makes me proud.

In the time I have left the military I have earned my bachelor’s and Master’s degrees​, I have worked multiple jobs at once, and I continued to work when I was staying home with our children as a nanny and caregiver until this Tuesday. I got a DWI and stopped self medicating, I realized I had mental health issues and I asked for help, I continue to use these services when available, and I strive to make everyone in my life as happy as possible to a fault.

Recently I decided that my life is my life and mine alone to live. I will do what I and my husband feel are the absolute very best for our family and our children. We both remain committed to that and are going to attempt every effort to be as healthy physically and emotionally as possible from present. I will face things that are uncomfortable and I will continue to grow as a person in my own way and in my own time. While my birthday may not have been one I will remember as being a good day for obvious reasons, it will be memorable in that for the first time in my life, I am living it for me and I finally feel alive.

A Week Away

As soon as the second leave period began I jumped in my red Saturn and headed out to Arkansas. I drove all night only stopping for gas and bathroom breaks, popped yellow jackets to stay awake, and chugged mountain dew followed by a ciggeratte every half hour or so. The trip took about twenty four hours but I wanted to leave my car in Arkansas for my cruise, so I knew the flight home would be no big deal.

I finally got to my driveway and hurried to my room to drop my gear. My dog greeted me and I made my way to the back den to snuggle with him on the couch, it was our favorite pastime. My mom joined me and we visited for awhile. I knew my friends were in town and decided to seek them out. We left that night for Monroe to eat and catch a movie. It was nice catching up but I immediately fell asleep upon arrival at the movie theater and I snoozed the rest of the evening. I realized how disconnected I felt from the women I had known since the first grade, but I couldn’t explain why I felt this way.

Their conversation topics were so different from the ones we had in the military. Their wild nights would have been rated G if they had been a movie compared to what I had whitnessed and experienced. I felt so uncomfortable with my thoughts I did not really speak much unless asked a direct question and felt so alien listening to their small talk. Our lives were so different; law school, grad school, marriage, babies, while mine consisted of work, drinking, and smoking cigarettes while attempting to not get raped and preparing for an upcoming war none of them were allowed to be told about due to security. It made me avoid them the rest of my leave period; I needed people I could relate to.

I hadn’t spoken to my first boyfriend in over a year or more at this point but he knew I was in town because of our mutual best friend, Zach. We arranged a meeting of sorts and I made my way to visit him. We discussed how things had been since we last spoke and he confessed he missed me. He was getting ready to graduate college and wanted to join the Navy as an officer so we could get married. I knew it was too good to be true the moment the words left his lips.

We did not reunite and that was the last time we spoke. I left the next day to return to Virginia in preparation of our next detachment. My parents drove me to the airport and I had forgotten about a sex toy a friend bought me as a joke for my upcoming deployment that was in my bag. Embarrassed, I had to tell the poor old lady working security what was in my bag. She looked horrified and processed me through as quickly as possible. I finally landed in Virginia and caught a taxie home. I was the last stop and was very comfortable until I became the only female in the vehicle.

He  started asking me questions and I tried my best to calmly answer without him hearing the panic rasing in my voice or my pounding heart and gnarling stomach. Upon arrival to my home, he asked to help me with my bags. I tipped him generously and quickly replied that I could get them as politely as possible. I ran as soon as I saw his car pull away from the curb and felt like exploding once I entered the entryway of my building. I had never experienced that before with a man I was alone with for no reason and it made feel stranger than the night I spent out with my friends. I threw my belongings in my apartment and called a friend to get a ride to base to check back in off leave. When I got home I finally passed out on the couch with the sounds of the city lulling me to sleep.

The last few days in town and at the command were hectic but flew by. I was miserable being alone at the apartment, especially with no car, but I ordered take out and spent time with my neighbors each evening until time to load up the ship. My last night home I ordered Chinese, drank, and laid in the nude until I knew I had to get my neighbor to take me to the ship. During the process I accidentally knocked the cherry of my ciggeratte down my throat and singed my espoughous.

My throat was throbbing by the time I made it to the ship, but I grabbed my sea bag and linnen bag and manuvered the catwalks to get checked in. After my bags were cleared through security I climbed the ladderwell to my berthing to unpack and get my rack ready for the next month plus. I had a bottom rack this time and it made falling asleep easier, but I found I constantly hit my head on the light provided and I was right in the lounge area where the tv and very loud women spent their off time. I hated the ship, but I was determined to make the best of it.

The Making of a Clown

Working in first lieutenant was easy but taunting and tedious work at best. Our work space was a broom closet off the second floor of our command. It was breezy as the bottom hall was frequented by maintenance personnel coming and going to the flight line. It was shoddily staffed with five gallon Turco buckets we used as seats and a small space heater for warmth amongst the commands cleaning supplies.

Every morning we mustered with our supervisor and awaited our cleaning orders from the command master chief. We routinely cleaned the heads, stripped and waxed the decks, painted anything that could be painted, stocked the geedunk, and anything else CMC could come up with. After our assignments we set out to accomplish our tasks throughout the rest of the day. We usually took a small break between each one to ensure we kept a busy appearance until we secured for the day.

About mid morning I made my way back to report to my supervisor and let him know my plan. He was not in the closet so I started rifiling through the scribbled notes to see if he left one for us as to his whereabouts as he usually did. I picked up a piece of paper and in CMCs handwriting were the words “Just keep those fucking clowns busy.” My hands started shaking and my body began to quickly fill with rage. We worked our butts off doing tedious little things for the command and him everyday. I knew then what I meant to my command and it actually caused me to have a major shift in attitude.

My supervisor happened to arrive as I was about to clear the closet door and knock on the CMCs. He said, “Korky, where are you going?” nervously as he could see the look in my eye. I thrust the paper toward him and as he read it he started shaking his head and smirking a bit. He sucessfully talked me out of barging in suggesting that my actions would only let him win. I attempted to calm myself and left the closet to go out to the smoke pit. 

It knew it was silly to be so offended by the word clown. I had been and would later be called much worse in my life, but that scene and the emotions it aroused that day stayed with me and I immediately lost all respect for CMC. It was hard to look him in the eye after that incident and when he shook my hand or thanked me for doing something I always believed it was insinsier or forced. I knew this man would never consider me a person.

Later as we were securing from a detachment and supplies were limited he stated, “I don’t care what you use, get those fucking pads and tampons out of that bin.” Disgusted I went to the head to wrapped my hands in plastic trash bags as we had no more gloves. Someone had failed to place a liner in the sanitary napkin disposal and me being the female left to secure, I did as he commanded. I had never felt so degraded in all my life.

I asked if I could secure to go cleanse myself in my barracks room and my supervisor obliged. I stood in the scalding arsenic ladden dessert the base in Fallon had and scrubbed myself from head to toe. Thankfully my roommate left that day during the fly off and I had the room alone for the evening. I headed off base with my friend to eat some Chinese food and we somehow found ourselves in a tattoo shop with men from another command.

After their tattoos were finished we headed back to base and waited on the supervisors to go to bed. Once they did I loaded all the beer bottles I had locked in my closet into my room mates comforter and we hauled it loudly down the stairs. We filled one trash can and moved down several rooms to the next to get rid of all of the bottles. I am not certain how many Sierra Nevadas I had on that detachment, but my drinking had increased tremendously between the first and second detachments. I was not yet twenty one and kept them locked away because CMC could not unlock it during inspection unless I was present.

We laughed off the enormous comforter stuffed with bottles along with the shipmates that passed during our excursion but I failed to see the red flags and attempted to deny my failing mental health. My superiors and peers were begining to break me down but I did what I could to keep my head afloat. My self esteem was declining rapidly as well as my sense of worth. I had no idea this was only the beginning of the negative experiences I would face in my life. What happens in Fallon, stays in Fallon may have been the catch phrase for those detchaments, but for me what happened in Fallon never left my body when I was raped, the degrading acts from my superiors only made my sense of self and symptoms worse in the long run.

Halloween Nights; Morning Nightmares

Our command returned to Fallon sometime in mid September or early October. After my stint in my squadron mates room the first detachment, I was sent to complete my temporary assigned duty and placed in first lieutenant, a glorified name for a janitor. The only people in first lieutenant were those that were considered shit bags by the command or those who had no choice. I was partially both, but  respected more than the men that were sent there because of their mental health and other issues.

People were so mean to these men, even lower ranked airman we were working alongside. One day I sent a male out to the Roach Coach to get us breakfast pigs since I had social anxiety and he was always broke. As we were eating he was telling me his grand plan to one day return to our command hanger bay and blow the entire thing up. I had never heard anyone speak like this and the shock read plainly across my face. He gently placed his hand on my arm and looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re not anywhere around when I do.” 

I could feel the pain ooze from his words and the agony his eyes carried, how could people be so cruel to make another human to feel so worthless. He remains in my thoughts to this day as I had no clue then I too would understand the pain he felt. He stayed behind when we went back to Fallon and was processed out by the time we returned. Sometime in mid September we said our goodbyes, and I never saw him again. 

When we returned to Fallon as the first lieutenant component of the command we were assigned hanger bay cleaning and out door grilling assignments twelve to fourteen hours a day. I mostly stayed to myself and occasionally left base with trusted individuals on rare occasions. I wore my SpongeBob costume and passed out candy for Halloween to my shipmates and cooked on the grill and spent most of my time with friends that were off. As the detachment was winding down the last week of October and into November and more brass and supervisors left, I was more inclined to venture out.

One night a FLIR tech promised my friend he would let me in a bar he was working the door at that night. I agreed to come along and used another females ID to show at the door. This was the first time I had ever used a fake ID and I was terrified of getting in trouble again. We made it to the bar and began taking shots and drinks with our remaining crew members. A new officer had just checked into our command and people wanted me to dance with him, but I declined fearing fraternization. I continued to drink, but hid in the shadows until closing time.
We prepared to leave for the evening and loaded up in a white duty van. I know this because the man driving was a third class Petty Officer with utilities on. We were supposed to head back to base, but the occupants talked the watch driver into pulling over at an all night bar, Headquarters. I decided I had enough to drink for the evening and would remain in the van. Another squadron mate also remained behind in the front passenger seat.

I began to feel my eyes get heavy as I was overly intoxicated and I laid in the floor on the van between the two back bench seats to try to feel better. The cool floor of the van and the heat from the vents lulled me to sleep. The next thing I remember is that I woke up feeling nauseated. I tried to sit up but I realized then that my squadron mate from the front seat had penetrated me and was on top of me. I’m not sure what happened next but I got sick. I threw up all over him and the van. 

I got out of the van and was still vomiting when the other occupants rushed out to check on me. Someone asked me if he did anything to me but I was so confused; and I knew I would be in serious trouble this time. The watch started freaking out about the entire situation and I just responded, “No.” I sheepishly tried to clean myself off and returned to the van and headed back to base.

That night was not spoken of again for many years. I denied it for a long time. Was I sure he was inside me, why was his tounge in my mouth, my pants were down, it must have been my fault because I thought he was cute before that night, he must have somehow picked up on it and tried to see where it would go. I went into shutdown basically and became numb to many parts of my life. We left Fallon and returned to Virginia for two short weeks before leaving out on the ship and starting the begining of the biggest atrocity I have ever participated in; Operation​ Iraqi Freedom. I had been raped before, in Fallon on the first detachment, but I had denied that one as well, up until 2016 in fact when asked to tell the truth, fourteen years after the incident by a whitness from that night

Denial was the easiest way to deal with it. I knew from Stephanie that I would be separated or relocated with a huge target in my record and no chance at promotion. I had given up my scholarship, I wanted my MGIB. I shoved it all inside and continued to act as normally as possible, to just blend in, unrecognized until I got out. That morning, and the mornings before when my squadron mates decided that my sleeping body meant consent was granted changed my view on my entire life. My self esteem and worth were shattered, I believed I deserved the bad things to happen to me for multiple reasons and stories yet to come, and I became more depressed than I had ever been in my life.

Showtime!

The end of August, 2002 my command began to prepare for our upcoming deployment. We were starting a series of detachments to train for our upcoming mission and would be spending a couple of six week stints in Fallon, NV. I had no idea what to expect aside from the wild stories I was told by my squadron mates. The basic rule of Fallon, from my understanding, was that what happens in Fallon, stays in Fallon. I had began staying off base after Andy left with two males from another command on a different work up cycle and keeping their apartment for them while they were away. Each night we would talk about the wild shenanigans that took place at the barracks and the obvious places to visit.

I was not particularly looking forward to going but I had no choice in the matter. As we prepared for the detachment things around the command began to get hectic and we started working longer hours to prepare. We packed up the equipment we would need in the dessert and loaded it into the back of an eighteen wheeler; tools, test equipment, pubs, cranials, computers, it all came with us. We finally loaded a large commercial size airplane and set off for Fallon. We made a small fuel stop in Kansas and finally landed at the air base several hours later.

I hadn’t spoken to Andy much since breaking up with him and my arrival to Fallon was no different, I had no phone. We waited to get our luggage and check into the barracks with our assigned roomate; I was assigned with a woman I barely knew, great. We made our way to our room and began unpacking our seabags in our home for the next six weeks and made small talk. I quickly changed clothes and sat out to find my friends, and to find someone to get me alcohol.

I walked around base until I found a squadron mate I knew that would get me set up, as I was still only 20. We made our purchases and went back to his room. Females could be in males rooms as long as the door was open, so we sat up a makeshift table by the entry and started playing spades. This was the usual routine most evenings in the Navy when there was nothing better to do. At the close of the evening I made my way back to my room to get sleep before reporting to work the next day.

I was shocked to find a male from another command in bed with my roommate upon my entry of the room. I made my way to the bathroom we shared with two other females to hide out. I was sitting on the toilet reading a book when I noticed a very large pair of what I called whitey tighties hanging from the towel rod. I was fairly disgusted by this and finally got the nerve to go back into my room and hit my rack. It disturbed me that I was sleeping in a room with a male I did not know, but the sun rose and we all made our way to our prospective work assignments the next day.

I attempted to stay out of my room as much as possible during the rest of that deployment. One night I was watching a movie in a friend’s room and happened to fall asleep. Instead of waking me when the movie was over, they let me remain on the floor. I woke up at about three or so in the morning and panicked; I had to get back to my room! I asked my friend to look out to see if a watch Rover was nearby so I could make my escape. He told me all was clear, but I walked right into the rover upon exiting the room.

He grabbed my arm and asked me where I was going. I stammered and replied that I was returning to my room. He asked me what command I was in and my name, but he let me go. I thought I was in the clear but when I arrived at work that afternoon, my lead petty officer and chiefs were waiting to speak with me. I had made them look bad, and I was messing up my image. They transferred me to a different shift from my friend and I was warned not to let anything else happen or they would send me to Captains Mast. 

I was humiliated and mortified, I did not even like my friend in a sexual way, and I had fallen asleep on the floor attempting to stay out of the sex fest that was taking place in my room. I laid low the rest of the detachment and tried my best to keep myself out of trouble. I traveled with friends to Lake Tahoe and Reno, but mostly just sat outside of my friends rooms for the rest of the detachment.

We left Fallon after six weeks and returned to Virginia for about three weeks before we would return to the dessert. I could not wait to get out of there and back to the safety of my friends apartment. They were gone on the ship when I arrived and had a week or so to myself before they returned. We had change of command while we were back and that night I bought a SpongeBob costume. I had no clue then how important that silly costume would become later in my life, but it sadly reminds me of a girl that I will never be again. 

The girl that bought that costume did not care what others thought of her and acted as silly or goofy as she pleased. She was a dreamer and a thinker, full of passion and love to give and share with anyone willing to accept it. She loved laughing and joking and social situations. That girl was naieve, but fearless and that purchase was the last glimmer of that girl that my memory holds.

Hello, Goodbye

After leaving Andy in Massachusetts my heart and soul felt empty. I drank heavily and worked or slept to forget the pain of being separated; no one had loved me the way he did. We talked daily but his depression worsened mine and we began to bicker over my drinking. About two weeks or so after he left I realized that I had not gotten my period. I fled to the mini NEX on base in a panic. I bought a pregnancy test and immediately peed on the stick.

As the results began to appear and I had never been more frightened in all my life. I was pregnant. I knew master chief would blow his top and I’d be a good for nothing deployment dodger. I returned to my room and laid on my rack and cried. I had always wanted to be a mom, Andy was the first man I had loved that loved me back for who I was. But in the back of my mind I struggled with my commitment I had made to the Navy and my squadron mates, supporting the upcoming war that was inevitable, and honoring my contract. I kept my secret to myself, aside from Andy of course, until we could figure out what to do next.

I knew my command was deploying and the baby would be due before deployment and I would return to sea duty six weeks after its birth. We could have gotten married, and he would be able to return to Virginia to live and raise our child, but that was not an option because Andy did not drive at the time. I continued working but I stopped drinking. It honestly did not make any difference though because within a week or so of me finding out I was pregnant, I had a miscarriage.

I sunk into a horrible depression and blamed myself for drinking and not eating and smoking before I found out that I was with child. Andy was devestated, as I was. The next few months we began to fight more often and I drank far more than I ever had. By the time he turned 21 in August I decided to break up with him. I was getting ready to go on detachments to Fallon, NV and then the ship for the next year or so and I would have no phone and little access to email. I thought I was doing him and me a favor so he would not have to be so lonely while I was away.

He became suicidal and constantly talked or discussed those thoughts with me. I became overwhelmed with the stress of the relationship and did not talk to him much at all when I was on detachment. We found out a good friend of ours died back in Arkansas from a random call I got from Jon one day, and that was the last I really remember talking to him until after I returned from cruise the following year other than letters he sent me while out to sea.

I knew I still loved him, but I also knew I could not be there for him the way he needed me to be at that time. We were both miserable apart, but I often wonder had things been different would we still be together today? Would we have our beautiful children we were so lucky to conceive at a later date? I recently discussed how my PTSD kept me from feeling elated when I found out Andy and I were going to have a child later in life and how frustrated I was to not be able to have those feelings most new moms get to experience. 

I thought, perhaps my loss of our first child that I never really was allowed to grieve and the guilt I felt for harming it as it developed kept me from fully experiencing the joy of having two gorgeous children years later. I love my children more than life or anything it has to offer, they by far are my greatest gifts I’ve ever had, but I have trouble expressing emotion with them from time to time and it’s beyond frustrating. I hope with this realization I finally put my guilt aside and know that the best gift I can give to my first unborn child is to treat their brother and sister the best I possibly can and give them all of the love and emotions I want.

If I had never gotten pregnant the first time and lost our child, the bond between Andy and myself could have been permanently broken. Perhaps that bond is what lead us back together and gave us both the life we desired to spend with one another in the end. I do not always believe things happen for a reason, but I think I can finally burry some of the guilt I harbor over our first child. Afterall, there are two siblings that deserve the same love and respect I’ve held inside me for so long; I forgive myself and I am thankful for my past, my present, and all of the lessons I have learned, especially the negatives.

A Valentine’s Gift

Not long after my arrival at my duty station in Virginia Beach, I got word from Andy that he bought a bus ticket to move from Arkansas to live with me. I began to panic knowing that I was not a high enough rank to move off base but I was estatic for him to come out. He was slated to arrive the Saturday after Valentine’s day to start our life together.

In the few weeks since my arrival I had mostly been working and when I was off, drinking and playing cards with friends. I had distanced myself from my A-school friends after Stephanie’s rape and mostly stuck with people from my own command. I made friends realitively easily and enjoyed spending time with them off base. We discovered a Purple Cow, one of my favorite places in Arkansas to get purple shakes, hit up Rick’s cafe for dinner when we got off work early in the mornings, and other local favorites.

The day finally arrived for Andy to leave and I was met with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, I still had no idea where we would live. I asked a friend how to get the bus station and made my way to get my love. I was not used to access roads in the area and when I got off the main road to enter the access road my left front tire hit the curb and immediately went flat as I entered the parking lot of the bus station.

Humiliated, I quickly gave Andy a hug and then proceeded to start changing my tire as he had never driven or owned a car. I got the spare on and we made our way to find a room for the night. We found a cheap hotel and checked in for the evening but I knew I would not be able to afford hotels every night on my lowly E-3 salary so the next day we set out apartment hunting. We were quickly discouraged to find even the cheapest apartment we could find would not rent to us on my salary.

I knew it would be hard for Andy to find employment I could easily get him to and from with my work schedule. He attempted to look for work, but we honestly did not put tons of effort into it. After a few weeks, Andy had finally landed a job at the base McDonald’s. He lasted about a day and gave up after no training was provided. I was running out of funds to stay in hotels and had began sneaking him onto base to stay in my room when I was at work and then him letting me in when I returned.

We began to argue over his lack of employment and our unsuccessful apartment hunting. One morning I had to report to work early for a safety stand down. I left Andy in my barracks room and reported to muster at my command. Upon completion of training I returned to the command for work for the evening. That night we were supposed to stay at my friend’s home off base and my buddy went to pick Andy up before I got off work. When he arrived at my room a note was hanging on the door.

My buddy grabbed the note and then entered my room with my the aid of my roommate. Andy was not in my private half of the room. My friend returned to work to give me the note and to tell me the news. Once he gave it to me all it said was that I needed to report to the Barracks Petty Officer ASAP as my heart sank in my chest. We had been caught! I started to panic as I thought of my master chief finding out and already saw the disapproval on my superiors faces.

I left work and went down to the beach to one of the last hotels we stayed in hoping to find Andy because he didn’t have a cell phone. I drove from hotel to hotel and finally found him. I knew our time was drawing to a close and we plotted our next move. Sadly the only option was to take him to Massachusetts to live with his parents until I could move off base.

We spent our last night together and the following day, after I was released from work, we drove to Massachusetts. We drove throughout the night and arrived sometime the next afternoon at his parents apartment; a one bedroom. We were there maybe twenty minutes before his dad whisked us away in his car and towards Boston to visit some friends. I was amazed by the sights of the city and instantly fell in love with the people and sounds of their accents.

Once we arrived at Andy’s father’s friends home, I almost immediately fell asleep. I couldn’t hold my eyes open anymore and after what seemed like forever, we finally headed back to their apartment. It was good to see Lura, Andy’s mom, and to see that he at least had a roof over his head while I would be away on my upcoming deployment. We spent our last evening in each other’s arms snuggled on the tiny couch that would become his bed. 

We woke the next day and spent as much time as we could with one another before I had to head back to Virginia to get back to work. I had already snuck away to Massachusetts for the weekend to take him there and would be cutting a thin line when I returned for having an unsupervised visitor in my barracks room. We ate a final meal together and said a tearful goodbye outside his parents apartment.

The drive seemed so long without Andy and I could not wait to climb into my rack and sleep. I drove for hours throughout the night as I counted down the states by the boarders I passed. I accidentally ran through a toll booth in Delaware, but was unaware at the time a ticket would be mailed to my step father. I finally made it back to base with no other incidents and crashed into my rack upon entry of the door to my room to catch a few hours sleep before had to muster for my shift on night check. I was not aware then, but Andy had given me an unexpected Valentine’s gift the night of his arrival and it had just began to make its presence known.

When My Brain Tells Me Lies

As of late I’ve done a lot of self reflection about the person I am. I evidently am a very hard person to live with as I’ve now heard it from both my brother and my husband. I’m constantly judging myself for my actions or lack thereof, but so are the others that are watching. Recently my husband told me before he read my therapy binder he thought I was an asshole and I didn’t care about him. To hear him say this five years after he read my binder allows me to know he must still feel like this often. He told me that he was very much considering ending our relationship.

I never felt that way back then, and to this day, I’ve never considered leaving my husband. Those words stung because to know five years ago that the father of your child was debating leaving when the thought had never crossed my mind left me spinning. If he felt that way then, what keeps him here now? I hope it’s love, it must be because I am not any better at accomplishing the tasks he wishes for me to complete. Dishes, laundry, cooking, cleaning that I never get around to and my piles drive him insane, but I do not think he realizes it drives me insane too. I used to work 40 hours a week, cook, and keep a spotless home before we had kids. Sometimes I think he forgets what kids take to live every day. I know I disappoint him and my children. I know our household is not traditional, my husband says there is no stability in my actions or routine.

I apply for jobs and do not get call backs, I attempt to do a job and I don’t do it good enough. I get told by family, “I don’t care if you work or not” but in the next breath “you don’t get something for nothing.” That I need to be taught how to stand on my own as an adult and stop relying on others to bail me out. I just wonder sometimes if they forget the numerous times they were helped throughout their life.

I do not ask for what I am given, and I appreciate it. Sometimes I wish others could see that I really do try. I don’t mean to forget to pull meat out of the freezer, or to not move the laundry over on purpose. I don’t mean to get frazzled and find myself doing three different chores at once. I try to concentrate so hard to remember to get it all done, but it never fails, and there is always someone disappointed about something.

If I could just stay awake and work for a day straight with no interruptions my house may get clean, I may have meals prepared, laundry folded, house cleaned and dusted. Then there is of course the other responsibilities that I lack in doing my best at. Feeling worthless sucks, feeling like a failure at everything you attempt sucks, being told to act like an adult when you’ve been one almost as long as you were a child sucks. But being told by your husband that you are difficult to live with five years prior to him almost walking out the door when the thought had never crossed your mind is worse than a slap in the face. 

After I got my DWI I tried my best to fix myself for him and for our children. I still to this day try to fix myself to be a better person for them. I hope in the future my abilities to please my family will return, I hope one day my kids will understand even though I disappointed them and told them no to things I was never told “no” to, that I am trying my best. Everyday that I wake up, I try to be the best version of myself I can be. Sometimes my brain tells me inaccurate information, sometimes I get irrational beliefs or thoughts and get misguided, I may dissociate and remain distracted for hours at a time before snapping out of it. On any given day I may get tons of work or no work done, but I promise that I am doing the best I can to try to please and to be the best version of myself that I can be. I think that is all I can do.

If Only I Had Been A Male…

Today I had the conversation about females versus male in the military with a friend. I do not really remember how the conversation came up but the thoughts it left me with are really the important part. I left high school an honor graduate and received a state funded scholarship to the only school in the state with a criminology program, which I was determined to study. My first choice had been at a school in Maryland, but my mother persuaded me to use the state scholarship first.

I hated my first school, the only good that came from it was meeting Andy through my roommate. My grades suffered and my Mom and step-dad ultimately decided if I did not want to return to Arkansas State that I could go with my mother to her school each week; a tiny community college in Wesson, MS. Unable to protest too loudly, and after being shut down at transferring to University of Arkansas in Little Rock, I begrudgingly decided for the later option.

Although I was making good grades and taking enough hours to make up for my first semester, I was still unhappy. Mid semester I decided to join the Navy upon completion of my current semester. I began reading all I could about my selected service branch and trying to get in physical shape for boot camp. I was excited to start my new life and to move on from what I perceived as my future in demise by staying in Crossett. I finished the semester with all A’s and a C; my parents were proud.

I headed to boot camp in June of 2001 and upon arrival I was asked an assortment of questions about my past. I answered yes to having been in band and thus was placed in a performing units division; 939. Although I had not played my saxophone for a year I managed to squeak through a badly performed site reading tryout and was then sent to tryout for the drill unit. I had done flag in band in junior high and this was a natural fit for me; I was twirling the riffle.

We practiced daily on our routines and I proved to be a great team member, our instructor was impressed with my marching and sharpness. I made it through boot camp with very few problems and because half our unit was male and other female, and we were pretty much all treated as equals. Once we graduated and moved on to our A-school for technical training of our jobs, I became the only female in my class. There was one berthing on base for all of the females compared to eight or more all male barracks.

Although my physical abilities differed from the male sailors and Marines in my class, my intellectual abilities remained consistent. I was still treated fairly, my questions were answered to the best of others ability, I was able to get to participate in after class tutoring sessions when needed and life on base was almost the same as living on a college campus with far more rules. I had my car and I often vacated the base as often as possible to escape to my beautiful Santa Rosa Island. 

After graduating from school and getting my orders to my first command I still felt fairly confident in my abilities to compete fairly with my male counterparts but that was quickly short lived. I was able to obtain many qualifications and a high security clearance because I had little negatives in my past history and doing what was expected of me was something I had always been taught. The further I went along though, the more obvious it became that my title as female greatly affected my abilities for advancement.

In my command girls were considered to be troublesome and we had a maintenance master chief that believed that females did not belong in his Navy; and god did he love to remind us! If a female became pregnant they were a deployment dodger, if a female claimed rape they were a whore, slut, good for nothing cum dumpsters, and completely shunned by the other members of the command; even most of the people they considered to be their family.

This was one of the main reasons I never reported my rapes, I just held them in and blamed myself for drinking and putting myself in the situations in the first place. As we progressed and began to get ready for deployment I continued to get my qualifications and to work hard to prove my worth to my superiors. When evaluations came around I was usually one of the lower ranked among my peers in my shop. It always confused me how those that did so much less work and had so many less qualifications could out perform me on our evaluations but I can not remember a single time where it did not happen.

The longer I stayed in my command and whitnessed injustices to myself and others I began to become disillusioned by the Navy. After deployment I put on third class petty officer and began to train to become a final checker and troubleshooter. I spent many long hours on the flight line preparing for this but upon time for my final approval with our maintenance master chief, I was instead given an impromptu board with him and the officers that were in maintenance control. I was humiliated when he clearly began asking me questions that had nothing to do with troubleshooting or my specialty at all. 

Shortly thereafter my command and shop supervisor decided to send me to corrosion control; but they wanted me to work the flight schedule as my rate, an aviation electronic technician, and then work a completely different workload after flight schedule in corrosion control. I was deeply hurt and felt completely disposable at that point. I tried to crossrate and was denied so I ultimately decided I was as unwanted in the Navy and began obsessively counting down my dates until my end of service obligation date.

Flight schedules, spare papers, scraps; none were safe from the countless numbers scribbled on them and dots that repetitively tapped each number as I counted the days down. I still find them in remnants of Navy paraphernalia that litter my house. I tried so hard to be a good sailor but I was never awarded anything more than what most in the Navy referred to as a toilet paper award, good enough to wipe your ass on the paper it’s printed on but not much else. My self esteem and self worth were at an all time low and I felt that no matter what I did in life I was never good enough.

Not good enough for many of my peers to respect me, my superiors to advance me, and most importantly not important enough to be respected and loved. All I had ever wanted in my life was for someone to love me for the person I was. I had found it once but at this point in my life, had pushed him into the arms of another woman because of my own insecurity. My depression was more than obvious and sometime after my rapist was kicked out of the Navy I just stopped caring.

I stopped getting anything other that required qualifications, I refused to work on earning my warfare pins, I stopped pushing myself to stay in good physical shape, and I gave up. I just attempted to exist until my separation. I worked, drank, and slept. I had a relationship with a man in my command, but I now know I loved him as a friend. He simply kept me safe and alive throughout the remainder of my time in my command. I never would have made it out alive if it had not been for him and a few other very close squadron mates.

I believed this was the darkest time of my life, but I would soon find out I was sorely mistaken. I believed life would be wonderful as soon as I was able to get out of the Navy. My first job hunting experience failed miserably and I ended up getting a front desk job at a seedy hotel down by the oceanfront making minimum wage. My ego was bruised but I took the job and I did my very best at it. Towards the end of the summer I abruptly stopped this job after a boss ran his hand up my legs and shorts while his wife and children were in the next room. It took a month or so to find employment in my new town and I began donating plasma for survival.

My live in roommate became extremely emotionally abusive towards me during this time and after blaming me for getting raped by a co-worker at my newest job, I fled the state for good. I arrived in Arkansas in a state of shock and proceeded to score another minimum wage cooking gig at a steakhouse. After my first few weeks I quickly realized I still did not make enough to cover bills at my new place. In a panic, I began to look for a new roommate and thus began another relationship.

Again, this relationship sprung out of survival, and the hurt I caused this man was not at all acceptable. I became reunited with Andy during this time and eventually moved into his home in Massachusetts, thankfully ending my need to be in a relationship for survival or fitting the technical definition of a very blessed homeless veteran. I continued to battle my demons I had incurred during and out of the military by drinking them away and my relationship with Andy began to suffer; I recently found out he was very close to leaving me at this time of our lives. 

After I was diagnosed with PTSD and began therapy I started to feel less like hiding and more like reaching out to former Navy and military personnel I had avoided for years. I became reunited with a squadron mate that came to the command at the same time as I did, we were even the same rank! I was surprised and overjoyed to find out he had put on Chief and was still proudly serving in the Navy. We began taking and one day he decided to ask me about a night I had been trying to forget since 2002.

One night while we were in Fallon, NV on a det I was incredibly intoxicated and out with friends from the command. Upon arrival to base I did not want to return to my room because my roommate often had men in there as well as other disturbing items I did not like to see. I opted to go to the room of my squadron mate, and realized that his roommate was still awake when we arrived. My chief friend was the roomate. After the lights went out our comrade began rubbing me and trying to penetrate my vagina. I said no in a hushed voice as to not wake up our sleeping co-worker, but he didn’t.

The next morning, it was joked about as if everything had been consensual. I brushed it off, embarrassed and horribly ashamed that my peer believed I was sleeping with people and acting irresponsibly, and more so that he believed it was consensual. This night though, through Facebook messenger, he was asking me to tell him the truth. He asked me if the events that took place in that room that night had been consensual.

For the first time since it happened I admitted that it was not, in 2016 fourteen years after the initial incident even took place. I’ve never even put it in my disability claim because I was fearful that he had believed it was consensual. He promised he was sorry and that we would talk about it, but he never called and we never did. The one thing he did say that night that has remained with me though was that he said he was sick of loosing good sailors for bullshit that happens in the military beyond their control, as no one can rape but a rapist.

It was profound to me that since I left the command a broken frail shadow of the person that entered it and he was a thriving successful career military chief. It made me wonder if I had stayed in, what I may be today. This man had been convicted of arson when we were at our first duty station and my largest sin was failing my physical readiness test after I decided giving up was easier than pretending to be strong. The differences our lives had taken struck me deeply.

He had prospered and been allowed to move above his transgressions while I was stagnated in every possible way, give or take a few supervisors that refused not to have my back. I got out and was only able to find minimum wage jobs in each state I lived in after the Navy. I was technically homeless for the two or three years before I relocated to Massachusetts to be with Andy. I was slapped with a government overpayment through the MGIB and had to sit out of school for two years while my credit was ruined. I self medicated to the point of getting a DWI and finally waking up enough to try to get my life straight. 

At 34 I have obtained my master’s degree, and I have a family that keeps me going, a nice home, a husband that cares for and loves me deeply, and yet I still feel like a failure at providing while my friend is living the life he always dreamed. It does make me wonder had I been a male in the military, would my experience have been much different? I would assume it would, not better or worse per say, but absolutely different. I do not regret my decision to join or leave the military, but I will probably always dream about what I could have been had I not been a female in a male dominated world.