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.

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.

Communicating for You

My biggest fault in every relationship I’ve been in life thus far has been in the area of communication. I struggle with it daily, although improving my skills is one of my goals. Sex, money, friends, kids, extra curriculars, plans, appointments, doing what you say and meaning it; all are areas of communication in which I have aimed to increase their effectiveness. I learned a long time ago that people pleasing only leads me to misery, yet I still find it hard to communicate my desires.

As a child I was taught to be respectful of others and treat all with the golden rule in mind. I was passive as it was and excruciatingly shy, and terrified to hurt anyone else. These are admirable traits for one to have but when they begin to errode away at the core person underneath it all, it can set the course for disaster. I’m not sure when my insatiable desire to be the peacemaker came into play, but I’m assuming it was sometime after my parents got divorced when I was five.

Of course I was too young to understand the situation but looking back now I can see how I lost an extreme sense of security in my life. I remember the pain in my parents eyes as they asked me and my brother who we wanted to live with and the intense terror that filled my body when forced to give an answer. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t still live with both. My dad had spent the majority of my childhood helping to care for me during my mom’s working hours and we were more than close.

The day they asked us I was watching the Care bears with my little brother at the house on Thompson Street in McGehee, the only house I had ever known. My mom and dad came in and turned off the tv to tell us we needed to talk. I don’t remember anything that was said other than my mom asking me if it would be OK if we lived in another house while daddy stayed in ours. Being little, I just wanted to avoid the conversation at all costs and quickly blurted out, “sure.”

The next thing I can remember is packing our belongings and moving into a big older home across town. The house was pretty and it had an enormous yard, but that is when I stopped sleeping at night. I would lay awake for hours starting at the shadows, the hedges, and rose bushes outside my window that were cast across the ceiling of my room. I always felt scared there and my brother had a cot in my mom’s room where they slept together. I always wanted to seek comfort from my parents like I had when I was little, but now it was just Mom in their bed in a room that wasn’t theirs.

I would remain in my own room until morning thinking I was a big girl now, life was changing rapidly and then the sun would rise and it was almost the same again, I got ready for school and made my way to Mimi and Paps for the day. My best friend lived next door, and a lot of kids were in the neighborhood to play with, but when night crept back in so did the insecurity.

I began to find it difficult to handle conflict of any type and would basically do anything to avoid it. This set a precedent that followed me throughout my life and lead me to make many eronos decisions simply because I found it too difficult to hurt anyone, for any reason. Now that I think back perhaps I was punishing myself for the hurt my parents felt during their divorce. We were told it wasn’t our fault, we had nothing to do with the dissolution of our parents marriage, that we were good kids, etc. But I wonder, deep down, if my codependent tendencies began to occur after the divorce served as it’s catalyst.

I know divorce is prevelant in our society, and as a young child in the eighties, it was more common, but I did a lot more growing up in the five year old body than I ever realized was taking place. In a matter of weeks I went from having what I perceived as a loving family, the only home I had ever known, to my parents at odds in a home across town in a strange bedroom. Within months, my mother transferred to another city for employment and we moved into my grandma, Beebo’s house, and by the end of the school year I was living in Crossett.

I liked our new house on Pecan street but I missed my dad and my old friends. I had a new day care to go to, which I honestly hated with a passion, but my room wasn’t as scary. I slowly began to make friends but would panic at the first threat or sign of discord. I would do anything to keep someone from being mad at me and I would put myself between friends to keep the peace without hesitation. I know now that this set me up for disaster later in my life, but the pieces only started making sense recently.

Through custody fights, seeing the police in my front yard and the terror I felt when I thought they were going to take him away, the journals of cruel deeds done to one another unknowingly read while cleaning the house, all of the things they did to one another because they were hurt. It made me vow to never get married to a man I didn’t think I could spend eternity with if kids were involved. I never wanted my kids to deal with the trauma of having to choose which parent to live with.

In the last year I have learned, as most adults do, the real reason my parents divorced. Surprisingly, I was never told by either of my parents, but by bits my brother and I pieced together or stories I was told from other relatives. I learned that many events, no longer important, lead to the dissolution of my parents marriage, but the largest part of their downfall was a lack of communication. Not being able to communicate effectively was the cause of their demise and subsequently the demise of many relationships in my life.

Yesterday my husband and I had a long conversation about communication. He was frustrated about our finances, which is understandable. I realized my fear of conflict, my unwillingness to handle rejection with grace, and my fear of doing and saying what I wanted was ultimately going to be the demise of my relationship if I didn’t stop hiding behind my fears. I vowed to stop living with my impulsive decisions that seem to offer temporary satisfaction. Instead I will own my thoughts and behavior and defend my actions as choices I made for the better good and most importantly for myself and my needs and even wants. I am worthy of that, and so are the people I love.

The Day the World Changed

My decision to join the Navy was not a very complicated one; I simply loved the ocean and everything about it. I had vactioned in Pensacola Beach, usually semi-annualy because it is my absolute favorite place on earth thus far in my life, and I fell in love with the life of the sailors I met each time I went. I contemplated going in right after graduation from high school, but my mother convinced me to use my state funded scholarship for at least a year first, and if I was still unhappy, I could revist the option. I did follow her wishes, and used my scholarship at Arkansas State University in Jonesboro, but I had some bad experiences while enrolled and choose to go to school the following semester at a community college in Mississippi that my mom was working at.

My semester there was going fairly smoothly, I was taking eighteen hours and making good grades, working side jobs, and spending time with my friends in Little Rock. As spring break approached, my mother found out I had been sneaking around with my then banned first boyfriend and my best girl friend and really freaked out. We had a huge argument as I was leaving the house with my father for Florida. I spent the week in Pensacola Beach really contemplating my life and where it was going. I knew what I needed to do for myself, but I was scared. I met a few sailors, including females during that trip, and became more intrigued in entering the military. I returned from Florida still confused, hurt, and very lonely.

A few days after my return from Florida and school for the week I was laying on the couch in the back den of my parents home. The phone rang and it was a Navy recruiter; he wanted to know if I still wanted to join. I quickly stated I was interested and within a week I was a pledged memeber of the delayed entry program, as an Aviation Electronics Technician. I finished up my semester in Mississippi and spent as much time with my friends and family as possible. I went to boot camp and finished my requirements to perform in pass and review, and was shipped out to Pensacola for A-school. We arrived to Pensacola late in August of 2001. I had no idea the day I joined the military that my first official Navy watch would be the morning of September 11, 2001 or that the world as I knew it was about to completely change.

We spent the first few weeks of A-school waiting to class up and we were basically cleaning or standing watches during the day. My first scheduled watch was the morning of September 11. I was supposed to ask everyone entering to show id, grant them permission to come aboard, etc. A first class petty officer came whirling through the front door of the barracks about thirty minutes into our watch. He was carrying a television and did not saulte the flag or ask permission to come aboard. Fearing I would be in trouble for not standing a proper watch, I hastily asked him for his ID. “Shut the Fuck up,” he screamed at me. I was shocked so I shrunk back behind the podium in horror that I was going to be punished. He ignored me and plugged in the TV.

All we could see were that one of the twin towers had been hit by a plane. As we watched with intensity, a second aircraft came into view and slammed into the other tower. Cursing and frantic screaming began to take place. Our base was quickly locked down as we heard reports of bombings at the Pentagon, parents were calling the phone lines with such intensity they never stopped ringing. I finally got to talk to one of my parents that afternoon on a payphone as I did not have a room phone. He wanted to know how I was and that I was safe, but he had other news to share as well.

On September 10, 2001 my cousin, Brooke and her son Dylan were involved in a fatal car accident. Brooke died on the sceen and Dylan died earlier in the morning on September 11. My heart felt like it was exploding as I talked to my Nana on the other end. Her sobs are a sound I will never forget. My first thoughts were, I have to go home. I have to hug my Nana. I have to tell my cousin goodbye. As I made my way back to my room to figure out my next move, I had no idea it was already figured out for me. We classed up the very next morning; they were pushing us through school and getting us out to the fleet to prepare for war.

As we lined up for class that morning and began to make our introductions and  I was informed that I would not be able to take any leave until after my time in school was over. That was day I learned for the first time that the government owned my body, my freedom, and everything about my life. As I walked around base with my ID card above my head in the prescribed uniform of the day as to not get shot by the marines gaurding the sidewalks I thought what is the outside world like now? We were locked down for two weeks, and the only people coming and going from base were our instructors.

Things finally started to calm down a bit as parents realized their kids had to finish their A-schools before they were going anywhere near the fleet and the military realized our nation was no longer at great threat to be under attack. We began to get some freedoms, but I still was not allowed to come and go as I pleased. There were so many rules, and so many ways to get into trouble. I began to drink to cope with my depression of being physcially separated from my family during our time of trauma and attempted to cover it the best I could by pretending everything was ok.

My friends began to get disillusioned with the military and had began to be counted as UA from school and the barracks. Because I often signed out with them, the command constantly harrassed me to tell them my friends’ whereabouts, but I did not even know where they were staying at the time, purpousfully, so that I had no information to give to the those questioning me. As Christmas time came near, I met with my friends one night before they were going to be processed out. We were with some civillians, but I was also spending time with some military friends on the other side of the hotel.

As per the norm, a sailor got out of hand in a room, and the Escambia County Sherrif’s Department were called to the scene. Upon the end of their investigation, they knocked on the door my friends were staying in. There were two UA military members, civillians over and under 21, and they had alcohol and drugs in the room. My bag was still in there, although I was visiting sailors on the other side of the hotel. They began searching for me and as I was walking back towards my friends room to see what was going on, they grabbed me and started questioning me and my other sailor friends.

They blamed us for having drugs and drinking underage and called the military police. We were scared out of our minds, but knew we had done nothing wrong. They loaded us in the Paddy Wagon and escorted us back to base; and let all of the civillians and my UA friends go. We were given breathalyzers and drug tests and placed on legal hold. I freaked, mostly because I had just been told school would be shut down for two weeks and we could take leave if we wanted to and had the days on the books. I wanted more than anything to go home and being on legal hold meant I could not put in my leave chit without special permission.

I told my story to our chief and he aggreed I was not a flight risk and allowed me to go home. Once I made it to my house, I was so relieved to be away from base. I got to hug my Nana for the first time since Brooke and Dylan died, and I got to participate in family tradtitions I had always taken for granted. I knew my decision to join the military would impact my life, but I had no idea how drastically the nature of the military and the climate of our country would change overnight. I knew then at 19 I was preparing to head to war, and that was something I never thought I would have to face.

People tried to tell me, Bush was going to be our president and we would be going to war most likely. They all begged me not to join the military, but of course I thought, what do you know? The Vietnam Veteran catfisher pleaded with me not to go, but not even he could talk me out of it. I was a true patriot back then, as far as following the constitution. I felt that my decision to join the Navy was something that I was supposed to do, and I planned on fullfilling my contract, but for the first time in my life I really felt as if I had absolutely no control and I didn’t. I thought I had little freedom living with my parents, I had no idea how little freedom I truly had in my life until I joined the military and it frightened me beyond belief.

Vera’s Sunset

Last Friday I lost a friend I had been preparing to lose as I knew he had been placed in hospice care. It happened to be the exact nine month mark of sobriety for our mutual best friend, my first boyfriend, and a particular time of turmoil and distress in our great nation, which is something Matt never would have wanted to live through anyhow. I find it eerily amusing that he left on Trump’s inauguration day, I can almost hear him say, “Fuck this, I’m out, I cannot live in this world any more.” In every single picture the friends and family members post of Matt, he almost always is flashing his signature peace sign. Peace, love, unity, respect; were all values Matt lived for. At times I know he may have forgotten who he was to substances and addictions just like we all do, but at the core Matt was always a dreamer with his eye far above the horizon.

I first was introduced to him by way of his mother and mine. She went to the local athletic supply store to pick up something for one of my brothers sports teams, and always got into at least a thirty or forty minute conversation with Mrs. Lisa, Matt’s mom. I knew him from school, but we never really spent much time around one another. That day, Mrs. Lisa told my mom that Matt had a gigantic crush on me but was too shy to talk to me.  My mom told me and I was far to embarrassed to talk to him then. Eventually we had classes together throughout the years and mutual friends. I eventually got a crush on him, and we sort of flirted around with each other but never started a relationship. In a way, it worked out great because we learned to love and respect one another as great friends, like brother and sister as the years passed.

We discovered Pink Floyd together, we watched the stars and moon for hours during the summer months while he would fight with our dear friend Sara over random craziness, we would play football and his little brothers would tackle me and tease me about liking Matt. We would ride around town, go swimming in little secret holes he knew about, always in his red jeep he loved as much as being outdoors. It was a wonderful friendship and those are times I will always cherish. Eventually he began to get very upset and depressed about his physical health, and a chronic lung condition that had plagued him since infancy. He had began to turn to other sources to cope with his reality and we fought about it often. His behavior was different and his attitude. He was like a stranger, but occasionally bright spots would still shine. He used to sing Vera at the top of his lungs when he was booted for acting on a dare in our experimental honors chemistry class. If I was in the halls I would usually answer back, comforted that for the moment my Matt was back.

He and Zach both began to spiral out of control as they stopped participating in course work and classes. They both were held back eventually because of it and it always broke my heart when they did not walk with our graduating class our senior year. I watched drugs take the two people that had the most influence on my development from middle school to high school start to go under, and my first boyfriend was going down with them, but he always kept his grades up, paychecks steady, and record clean. I finally wrote Mrs. Lisa an anonymous letter I typed on my computer, but Matt knew me well enough and that I was the author. She sent him to rehab, but he was furious with me for many years. He did finally tell me thank you, right before his son, Tyce, was born, and we rekindled our friendship from there.

By the time I left to go to the Navy Zach, Matt, and my first boyfriend were all using pretty heavily and part of the reason I left was because I was afraid I would end up like them. Sadly, as I have learned over the years, unless one gets away from Crossett, that seems to be how it ultimately ends for many. I wanted more to my life, and I knew I would not get better staying there. When I came back to visit he and Zach were the ones I went to find. It was never hard, if you found one, the other was never too far away. If there were ever a live example of soul mates, the relationship those guys had would be proof. The last time I was with Matt, Zach, and my first boyfriend was no different. We sat in Zach’s yard and visited while Matt made a recliner out of the boat seat; and we sang and goofed off. At the time I never realized the significance of that day, but the summer of 2007 was the last time we all saw each other alive.

It is now a memory I will always cherish. The next time we were together was at Zach’s funeral. April 8, 2008 was the day he left us, and Matt and my first boyfriend were with him the night before he died; with intentions to throw an intervention of sorts fearing his death was immenent. They got the call the next day, and were in his front yard when I found out from a sherrif deputy we went to school with that did not want me to hear it on social media. I screamed, “he overdosed didn’t he?” My friend said an autopsy would have to be performed and I just kept screaming he overdosed. I knew, he had called me about the time he died on my birthday and told me he was going to die and I had to be there to see him April 7, 2008 and was adamant about it, but had woken up to take pain pills for his dislocated shoulder and was out of his mind.

I knew the guys blamed themselves for his death but I never knew why until recently. I also knew with Zach’s death my relationship with the guys would be completely different. At the time I was not allowed to speak to my first boyfriend per his current girlfriend and Matt disappeared for awhile. We put our best friend in the ground and went our separate ways for a bit. My first boyfriend ditched his lady and started over with a empathetic and caring person I’ve grown to love, although I’ve known her since childhood. Matt went back to school and got his degree, a double major. He became a teacher at our alma mater and was loving life, it seemed he had fulfilled the dreams he and Zach had planned before his death.

I have no idea if he was still using at that point in life or not, but I know he was happy. His lungs began to really start to shut down and he became too sick to teach. His air capacity was lowering daily and he needed a double lung transplant if he was going to survive. Fundraiser after fundraiser was held to ensure that his transplant would happen if the lungs became available, and one day they finally came. He made an excellent recovery and lived life to the fullest for about a year or so. About sixth months after the transplant signs of rejection started to appear and his demons slowly started to creep back into his life. I was so angry at him for what I perceived as him giving up the fight after he was given a second chance. I didn’t realize how selfish my thoughts were until I went to his funeral. All I could feel was hurt, and anger for giving away his new life.

When I heard Matt was gone rage set in. How could he leave us, his family, his son this way. He was such a bright and brilliant light in a world clouded with gloom. I began to make arrangements to get down to Crossett for the funeral because as mad as I was, I was more hurt and afraid to tell him goodbye. Since we began talking on the phone for hours at a time as kids he told me he would die before he was forty. “No!” “They are going to fix you and cure you,” I would cry back. He was afraid to fall in love or get married because he knew his life would be cut short. Just as Zach knew he was going to die, I just didn’t want to listen to them; I wanted them to be wrong. We had kids, marriages, careers, trips, a whole life ahead of us we had to live. Now almost ten years later when I just started healing from Zach, Matt had to go, too.

I made my way home to say my farewell but I was still so mad. I knew he was in pain and he struggled his entire life just to breathe, but I wanted him here. When I walked into the funeral home, I actually used to attend as a church when our Catholic Church had burned in the seventh grade, and walked to the casket I felt differently. I hadn’t cried yet, I was too pissed and I didn’t cry when I saw him; I smiled. I had not seen him look so at peace and like himself in years, and then I knew how wrong I had been. How I had loved the man he was and always had been far before drugs came into our lives. I slipped a bag of pennies in his casket representative of our births and the dates of the years we last physically saw each other. I smiled again and whispered, “I love you!”

I found other friends, and visited and exchanged stories that made us laugh. I got to hug Mrs. Lisa and she assured me that he loved me as I loved him. She reminded me of memories I had forgotten about, which made me laugh even more. As the procession started I found a seat next to a classmate and began focusing on the video playing a collection of photos from Matt’s life. Baby photos, sports photos, school pictures, Tyce’s birth, formals, graduations, weddings, hospital stays in Dallas, camping, playing guitar, etc. So many memories ran through my head as the photos flashed through his memorial video and songs belted that we spent hours analyzing under the bright starlit sky, I finally felt all of my anger diminish.

I went to Zach’s grave that afternoon, and that night I finally went out in my backyard by the big tree we spent so many nights underneath and broke down. I cried because I wanted my friend, I wanted him here, but for the first time realizing he fought for his entire life and perhaps he was tired of living in pain and misery from a body that was failing him continuously. I felt like the shittiest friend for not seeing him once since Zach’s death and for being angry. After my cry I went inside and laid in the big chair, the one me and Zach always shared, and went through Matt’s Facebook page. As I scrolled through the months and years of posts I realized that we spoke at a minimum of two to four times a month through social media about all of the topics we had conversed about as children and into adulthood. We were still very much a part of one another’s lives and still connected as recently as a week before his death, and I followed along intently until he took his last breath. I realized that I finally remembered my friend and the love that I lost instead of the addict that I believed let himself die by giving up hope for a better life.

Letting Go in the Midst of Silence

Letting go of relationships has always been terribly difficult for me to do, be it a friendship, lover, family member, and even some acquaintances. I read an article this morning about letting go while keeping and remembering the good parts of the relationship as well as the bad and most importantly remembering what that specific relationship taught you. For me, it seems most of my relationships with others end abruptly with little to no closure. This is a huge trigger for me as it seems that all of the significant relationships in my life have ended on this note. Even now, if we are back in contact with one another, communication is stifled. It seems funny to me that humans seem to have such a problem with communication when we are the one animal on the planet that has been blessed with a gift that is relatively easy to use, even if it is complicated at times. I’ll admit I am one of the worst at this myself but as I grow older I cannot explain how it makes me feel to be able to be brutally honest with someone for them to not respect me enough back to give me an honest answer when asked.

After my first boyfriend broke up with me we went back and forth multiple times in my attempt to get back together; I am still uncertain as to what his expectations were. We would get back together for a weekend, and then not speak for months at a time. This fueled my anxiety by making me wonder what I did wrong, or what I had done to make him ignore me. The silent treatment is probably one of the most cruel and disrespectful actions one could take against another, in my opinion. It leaves the other person completely invalidated that they were ever even meaningful in your life to begin with. It does not matter how long the relationship lasted or in what capacity it was in, if I am left with nothing or no explanation, I automatically start to blame myself.

During the turbulence of the aftermath of my first breakup, I began speaking with a man I met on vacation in Pensacola Beach while on Spring Break my senior year. He was stationed in Virginia Beach not long after we began communicating by phone. I fell pretty hard for him, and even used my graduation money to drive out to see him that summer. My parents would not let me go alone, so my mom went with me and we spent a week on the oceanfront and I fell head over heals for my AT (Aviation Electronics Technician). We talked daily for hours at a time, wrote letters back and forth, and sent each other gifts. I left to go to college in August of 2000 thinking I was in a relationship with him so when I left my hometown and got settled down in my dorm I tried to give him my new information for contact. I attempted to call his phone for days with no answer. About a month or so went by and I finally got his barracks mate on the phone. He informed me he had been in the brig for attempting to fail a drug test to get kicked out.

His father was an officer and pulled some strings to instead send him to the brig and forced him to finish his enlistment. Evidently during this time, he met another woman and had begun a relationship with her. She was pregnant and in his command, so they both got in trouble for fraternization and he was sent to another command on the west coast. Eventually she followed him and they were married. The funniest part of this story is that he never once told me any of this, I found it all out on my own after months of attempting to call and his roommate make excuses for him. Finally the roommate was tired of covering for him and told me everything. I never spoke to him again, but it was not by my choice, it was his.

Later that semester I had joined a sorority although I had not been through recruitment or anything like that. My friends ended up pledging after they went through rush and then brought in the rest of us later in the semester. We had a dance coming up and we were all expected to bring dates. I automatically flashed back to high school and the torment I went through trying to find someone to go with back then and my anxiety immediately began to raise. We were working on a float with another fraternity for the Holiday parade and I ran into a man I had previously met on a trip to Washington D.C. I had been nominated to be a delegate to National Youth Leadership Forum my senior year in high school and I had met a few other people from the state during that trip. I thought, well, I know him well enough, I should ask him to go with me to the dance. I did, he accepted and I was shocked.

We went to the dance that night and my friends also had dates from the same fraternity. Afterwards we all went back to their fraternity house to finish up the evening. We played card games and watched television and eventually we all split off into the couples we went to the dance with. I had sex that night with my date and I believed it was because he actually liked me. We left the next morning and from that point on they no longer would speak to us. This went on for over a week when we finally learned from another fraternity member that they had used us as part of their fraternity initiation. They were supposed to all have sex with a girl and then not talk to her again. Me and my friends felt like the biggest idiots for having fallen for such a dirty trick.

The dehumanizing feeling one is left with after being silently discarded is immense. It is something that can stay with someone for a very long time, I know because those events took place in the year 2000 and they still hurt to write about them now. I have never really told those stories before, and while it feels good to let it out, I am amazed that at this point in my life, I have had many more than the above leave me with the silent treatment, I even did it once to one of my very best friends, which I wrote about my regrets in an earlier post.It is hard to explain what exactly the silent treatment does to another human being if you have never experienced it, but for me, I can assure you it is agonizing.

I’m going to try to stop torturing myself with those who choose to employ this tactic against me. They do not deserve my time or attention if they can not give me the simple respect of an honest answer, even if the answer is “I don’t know how to answer that question at this time.” My experiences have left me with a person that cannot be anything but honest, as I know the damage that lies and dishonesty cause in all relationships. As children we are brutally honest with one another with little repercussions for our communication skills, why do we loose so much of this as we age? I hope if you have read this far that you too will commit to being more honest in your daily interactions. I wonder what the world would look like if we stopped being afraid of effective honest communication instead of the holding onto the bitterness and isolation a lack of communication seems to cause. It is a world I will strive to create, and I will not apologize for it any more.

I Will Become; a Year Later

I originally made this post at this time last year to my Facebook wall in an attempt to let go of some of the anger and resentment I continued to hold on to from the last time I was in an abusive relationship, which thankfully has been eleven years ago now. I haven’t written about these stories on here yet, but I felt it was important to reflect on where I was a year ago and to document  where I am now. At this time last year the person that I wrote this poem about was on my no contact list. Although he is very much still a part of my life through family, I went for several years with no contact with him in an attempt to heal myself. From 2013 until this past August we did not share a word, and after some pressure from other family members who were not knowledgeable of our past began to pressure me to speak with him again, I decided I could compartmentalize enough to handle a person to person interaction if it were to manifest itself.

I started speaking with him again through Facebook messenger and by occasionally commenting on posts that I passed in my news feed. One day, right after Thanksgiving, which he did not attend, I commented on a post he made about how much simpler life was if one told the truth. I responded with “you don’t say ;)” in my attempt to show that our past was something I was working on healing. He took it the wrong way and deleted my comment which immediately triggered me into my past belief that nothing I say matters to anyone, my opinions, thoughts, dreams, etc. I asked him about it and we discussed it for a bit, and then he left the conversation with “we will talk about this soon.” We never did. I just decided he was never going to give me the validation I needed or wanted from him and I have not talked to him through messenger since. I do occasionally comment on posts I find relevant  but I will no longer have emotionally charged conversations about our past.

I will never get the answers that I want.I do not know if it is because he cannot or does not want to give them to me, but that is out of my control. Just like my current situation with my friend and suddenly being blocked, I have done all I can do. I have reached out and said and made my peace. I have no idea if he has read it, I have no idea if he will ever respond to it, but it is absolutely no longer in my control. I am still working on becoming the person I am today, but everyday I get closer to knowing who she is. I learn more about myself, my behaviors, and why I choose to behave that way. I am absolutely not ashamed of my past anymore, and I do not have any more secrets to hide.

I have learned that my secrets are not ones that everyone wants to hear, and I never expected that they would be. I simply want those that want to be in my life to accept me for who I am, all of my battle scars, regardless of where they came from or who gave them to me. I spent my entire life trying to fit into the lives of others, and all I have ever gotten from that is misery. I want to continue to grow with my husband and family in whichever lessons life throws at us, and I want to keep moving forward with my goals and dreams. While I may not have “become” last year, I know that I am still working on becoming her, and so far, while I still make mistakes and have insecurities, I like her–a whole lot.

*The following was written last January 14, 2016

January 14, 2006 I walked away from what has thankfully been my last toxic and traumatic experience in my life. The next 7.5 years were fueled by self-medication, denial, and not really knowing why I thought and acted the way I did. When I finally started to understand that my experiences had greatly effected the person I always thought I was, I finally was able to ask for help. Since then, my life has gotten better. I am learning who I am and I am able to accept that had my past experiences never taken place, I would not be the person that I am today. If you or anyone you know are in an abusive relationship of any kind with anyone, please encourage them to ask for help.

I can honestly say that the longer you deny and hope that it all just goes away, it doesn’t until you work through it. It is hard, it sucks, but it feels a hell of a lot better than being stuck. I debated making this post because it exposes me and some of my past, but as of this time in my life I have decided that I can own my past, I don’t have to be embarrassed or ashamed, and I take my responsibility in creating whatever problems I created for myself and others, and I do what I can to be the best person possible.

This year my resolution was to not visit my past unless it was necessary for healing or growth and not denying my emotions when they arise. My goal this year is to face my intrusive thoughts and work through my traumas as I re-experience them instead of continuing to ignore them. Because of that I am sharing a poem I wrote. It is significant to me because the last time I wrote was when I was living in the above mentioned situation. It took me almost a decade to write anything for pleasure because I shut myself down for ten years of my life. I am ready to live again.

I Will Become

I see you; everywhere.
I erased you for so long.
Myself too.

Radiantly beaming; seemingly with ease.
Flashing the smile I used to long to see;
Strangely always a comfort.

The love you give and show now,
So effortlessly and free,
Stabs me to the core.

Like thorns from the decade old rose,
Unbelievably still in my possession.
The only symbol of beauty or love in which you did not destroy.

Hard, frail, dead;
The way you left me,
Huddled in a tearful mass on our apartment floor.

Memories constantly pulsing through me;
The good and bad torment my soul.
Electrifying, intense, impulsive; just as you were.

I miss you, I love you, but the person I love was only an illusion.
No heat, no phone, coins to survive; seeking death.
Abandoned by you, I had to save myself.

My control an attempt to resist your demands.
Your power, isolation, fear; my ultimate savior.
Betrayed; you took all I gave you, everything.

You left me with scraps of a life,
I will never know again.
Shocked and hopeless; my light smothered.

Broken, destroyed, weak; invisible.
Denial, trying to make the pain stop.
Cover it all up and bury it deep.

Exploding rage, grave mistakes;
A silent plea for help
Before deciding to overcome.

We will never be the same again.
I can’t.
You nauseate me, yet I grieve for you.

Frozen, paralyzed; numb.
Was it real?
Was any of it ever real?

So fooled by you and jaded by the rest;
Hopeful for a fresh start, but stabbed in the back,
Night, after night, after night.

Your evil; masked by my love and gullibility.
Lies, deceit, chaos;
I died a little bit each day.

Stomach growling; my heart devouring itself.
Curled in the red chair; alone.
I just wanted someone to love me, but I banished the true.

I had so much to give and share;
It was never wanted or appreciated;
Taken for granted.

You didn’t want me, but you didn’t want them to have me.
Lonely and miserable;
Always steadily idle.

Hoping for the slightest hint of affection;
But only able to give you what you wanted, until someone else offered more.
Discarded like the trash I ate for food.

My passion and intimacy stripped; raped emotionally.
My ability to know real love long forgotten;
I cannot feel.

I fight myself daily.
A chameleon in my own skin; hoping not to be revealed.
Judged, ridiculed, rejected again.

Sick of hurting.
Sick of thinking and re-thinking.
It’s all so stupid-you didn’t care, never did.

But why should I?
Why should I still care?
Because they tell me you’re different now;

You’re sober now; happy.
Rebuilt your life to your liking.
I’m choking and stumbling to make it through the day, and every day since I left you there.

Never even the slightest hint of an apology;
Not one.
“Mutual partners in crime” was the stated belief.

You’ve been out of my life for so long, but I still hold on to every single memory.
Do I want to?
Is it because it is all I have left of you?

The thought of you invokes panic.
I wouldn’t know what to say to you.
I have nothing left to say.

You can’t torment me anymore.
I have to let you go; from my thoughts, my dreams, my life.
They are mine.

I can forgive you.
I can wish you happiness.
But I can no longer be a part of you.

“I’ll always have you,” you said, “You’ll be there forever, I already told you bye.”
Final words muttered to my desperate pleas.
Your anchors can’t drown me anymore.

I will heal my wounds and become;
A lover he deserves, a mother they hopefully cherish,
The person I desire to be, the dreamer I was.

The one I’ve been hiding for so long;
From myself, them, the world.
No longer ashamed.

I will rise above.
The names you made me believe, the lies you told, the fear you instilled;
The trust you stole, the loyalty you shattered; the hurt.

You never gave me your time.
Why do I keep giving you mine?
I will set myself free; I will become.

Back to the basics

Having PTSD has taught me numerous and countless lessons in my life so far but the ones I have the most problems fixing or correcting seem like they should be the simplest to overcome. Remembering to eat, or that I’m hungry, forgetting to set out something for dinner, the piles of random items placed with the intentions of one day making it to their assigned designation, the forgotten medication, freshly washed laundry still in the machine two days after you started them; I could probably keep going, but just simple things I used to take for granted that seem like such a massive accomplishment now.

I know it gets annoying and is hard to live with. I’m reminded fairly often by multiple people, so it isn’t just one person that notices. How I’m late everywhere I need to be, I don’t communicate effectively, I don’t know what social barriers are acceptable to cross with new people, and I either end up intimidated and shutting down or freaking them out to the point that they just disappear. Shutting down and being numb are no strangers to me.I spent so many years that way because the few times I did try to talk about it at various times in my life, I’ve always been asked to stop when I brought it up. Was I sure? What responsibility did I place on myself for putting myself in that position? Did I try to fight? Why didn’t I tell anyone in charge? The would have, should have, could haves already consume me daily since they happened. They are not something I have never thought about. But they are absolutely things that I could not control because ultimately the responsibility comes down to the person committing the action. I thought being quiet was the only acceptable thing to do about my past because after talking to others about my experiences and their rejection, it was really the only way for me to survive.

This afternoon my husband was snippy as is pretty typical during the work week, and for the obvious aforementioned reason of lack of housework I already don’t get done being the main troublemaker. Anyhow, we were discussing things and he made a blunt statement, that no one wants to hear about my past, I’m a very boring person (I know I am a nerd, but I still think this one is debatable), and I guess now that I’m not instant messaging with others, all I want to do is spend time on Facebook or this blog. I get it, my past isn’t pretty, but it is what made me, me. How am I ever supposed to heal from past wounds if I’m never allowed to grieve them, let them out, accept them, rediscover the person that was left in the aftermath, and continue to attempt to live a fulfilling life if I keep shoving all of it down for only my brain to consume itself with?

It is hard for me to feel comfortable in many situations while trying to act like everything is fine on the outside but all I want to do is run and hide on the inside. I think I have to get out my  past troubles before I can get back to the basics of living the life that I desire. I hope by using this outlet as my means of healing, I will be able to make more meaningful connections with people in the future, that are fulfilling and nurturing on both ends. When people ask me why I think and feel the way I do about things that are so different from the views I held as a child, but then make no attempt to meet me where I am at presently in my life, it makes it really hard for me to answer them. I usually end up saying something to the effect of “the eyes can’t change what they have seen and the ears can’t un-hear the things they were told.” I can adapt my beliefs to fit my new world beliefs, but I cannot and I never will be the person I was before the Navy and I wouldn’t want to be. PTSD and all.

Cat fishing: You never know what you are going to get.

Catfish lurk in dark areas of the water and mud, not unlike those that intentionally pursue relationships with real people under the guise of another, they have to be in a dark place to do this in the first place. Cat fishing has grown in the recent years, however my first experience with it was when I was 17 years old. My small town in South East Arkansas was slow to get new technology, especially our household, so to say I was surprised to find a computer with internet access connected in our home after I returned from my Dad’s and our summer trip to Woodstock, I was over the moon. I had gotten to go to my dream festival and now I would have a way to keep in touch with the people I met during our travels.

We finally made it through the summer working hard and saving up our money and it came time to depart for our trip to New York. We drove up in Dad’s old jeep and made many pit stops along the way. I wanted to be a criminologist so we stopped in DC so I could get an FBI shirt. My brother was obsessed with baseball so we spent a couple of days in Cooperstown, NY to see the Baseball Hall of Fame. My dad, the history buff, ensured we made our way through Hersey and Gettysburg, PA, and we got to make a stop in Scranton, PA to see my cousins that I had not seen since childhood.

The day finally arrived that we made our way to the festival. We quickly unpacked our jeep and worked our way to the front gate entrance. We finally were admitted and scouted out what we thought was the perfect spot in an already crowded camping area. We got everything set up and then spent the next four days exploring, learning, meeting, and thriving with all of the people that we came across. I met friends from all over and went from camp to camp to spend time with them, always after I had checked back in with my Dad of course. I had the most freedom I had ever had in my entire life, yet I was still a pretty sheltered child. I did not do any drugs or have sex with anyone at the festival. I left it still a virgin.

We returned to Crossett and my parents had surprised us by getting the internet at our home. I quickly logged into the “world” as I called it back then and began chatting with people almost immediately. My parents had no knowledge of the dangers of the internet or giving out personal information to strangers online, so I never thought twice when I started talking to a man I met in the Woodstock chat room. He said he was twenty-two and had been at the festival with his friends. I was still seventeen.

We began an online relationship as I knew there were not any guys interested in me in my town, or if they were, I never knew it. I had never had a date, I had been made fun of and lied about the first time I kissed a boy, so I to say the least, I was smitten with my new “love.” He gave me attention and compliments I had never had before. He made me feel wanted and special, and that anyone would be lucky to end up with a girl like me. I finally sent him a picture in the mail and we began writing not only on the internet but back and forth to each other as well.

We talked on the phone, he sent me gifts, he sent me money. None of these were items I asked for, he just did it he said because he liked me. One day after school I hurried home to check my inbox before scuttling off to dance practice and there was no message. I thought it was odd as he always left me messages before practice during the week. When I got home that night and finally logged back into the computer, I got it.

Across my screen in bold letters, “JACK IS NOT THE MAN YOU THINK HE IS.” At first I thought he must be playing some kind of trick, so when I responded ‘What?” a flood of messages came across my screen back to me. The next message stated that I was no longer talking to Jack, but his wife instead. She informed me that Jack was a Vietnam veteran, whom I later found out as technology progressed is older than my Stepdad, and was pretending to be twenty-two year old son who was incarcerated for vehicular homicide.

My heart dropped immediately. How could I do this to another woman, I thought. What did she know about me, what did he tell her. All of this was stupid, of course, I did not do anything to cause his problems, but at the time, I was mortified. She told me she had installed software on the computer and had been reading all of our conversations for the past several months. She asked me to stop talking to him in an effort to save her marriage. She never said anything about me only being seventeen or that a much older married man had tricked me into having intimate conversations with him.

My sense of security and trust changed after that. I wasn’t sure who to believe as the cognitive dissonance was too much to bear. He attempted to contact me again after the initial confrontation, as a man his own age, but I found it hard to differentiate between reality and bull shit the longer we continued to speak. I eventually stopped talking to him after I was stationed in Virginia Beach, two or three years after his wife busted him. In fact, after I returned from cruise, I was in his area in New Hampshire to get my friends belongings to bring back to her ship in Norfolk. I spoke with him on the phone that day for the last time in my life.

Although this man never met me, he had an enormous impact on my development.  The only relationship I had before Jack was with the guy that lied about me and made fun of the way I kissed. I started to doubt myself and my self-esteem continued to plummet. After Jack’s outing, he tried to be like a father-figure type I guess, and would tell me how proud he was of me. He sent me money for toilet paper and food in college, a four hundred dollar check for graduation, and many, many letters.

A few years back, I looked him on social media to see what he was up to, to finally see the face of the man that knew me inside and out. I found him, and he is still with his wife. His son is out of prison now, his youngest is grown, he’s a grandfather, and the least gratifying thing I found out was that he had been named the winner of an award in his community for being an outstanding citizen with exemplary re pore. I felt sick to my stomach. I wondered how many other minors besides me there were during his years of online sex seeking adventures while his wife and kids went about their normal routines in their home.

It made me wonder how many others this had happened to? Did they still think of their cat fishers? Did they still feel exposed and violated the way I did, half a lifetime later? Did they still trust others or had the experience made them a better or worse person for it? Finally when the television show catfish came out, I realized this happened to people all over the world. It made me horribly sad to think that so many people were out there making these connections through invisible means, but did it ever really lead to happiness?

As a seventeen year old girl, excited that a guy liked me, for me, for the first time was a big thing. The violation I felt after this incident stayed with me throughout the remainder of my other relationships, and is still with me today. Why do people treat others with so little respect to get a few mere minutes of gratification? I may never know the answer, and of course, I trusted and put myself out in the world again, but each time I do there is always a little reminder that Jack and others like him are everywhere in this world. They can’t keep us from trusting and loving others, but they will always leave their mark on the innocent souls they deceived.