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.

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.

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.

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.

Falling in Love; with a known person

Most of us remember our first relationship, I would like to think, some have amazing memories and are still together, but for most of us, we eventually part ways and allow life to keep us separated for one reason or another. After my cat fish experience trust was difficult and I stopped communicating online with people I did not have mutual contacts with. I have always had a problem letting go of those in my past as I tend to genuinely love those that I spend the most time with. My first boyfriend was no exception, he was a friend and I had a crush on him before he graduated high school two years ahead of me.

We were both shy and finally our mutual best friend set us up for Homecoming that year. I never got dates to dances, or had many boys interested in me so at first I thought he was only going with me so he could go and be with our friends, as he was in college. We went to the dance, he picked me up stoned out of his mind, and our pictures prove it. My mom almost didn’t let me go, but she didn’t want to ruin my last Homecoming.

We left for the dance and actually had a great time. He brought me home afterwards, as all my previous dates had done before, instead of going out on the back roads to meet up with everyone else. To my surprise, he wanted me to change and come along with him. We basically started dating right after that night. It felt wonderful to have a boyfriend to share things with. I had plenty of friends, but most of them had relationships they were a spending time in and I hated being the third wheel so I felt alone much of the time until then.

He went to school in another town so during the week we would spend hours talking on the phone. I would even sneak around to change the phone ringers and have him call me and pick up when I saw the caller ID light up. My parents were fairly strict with my time and they did not like the group of friends that he kept. My stepdad would check the arrest reports each week as soon as the News Observer came out to determine if I would see him that week or not. I was only allowed to see him during the school week when we went to church together on Wednesday nights, but we always snuck in some fun no matter what we did.

I felt safe with him and quickly fell in love and several months after our relationship began I lost my virginity to him. This was a big deal to me as I had been raised Catholic and premarital sex, abortions, birth control, and other subjects were just taboo, you didn’t do them. My mom was a biology major, and she was always far more open minded in how teenagers actually behave. She did talk to me about sex and asked me to tell her if I needed birth control, but I never did. I was mortified that they wouldn’t accept me if I did, which now I know is rediculous.

Our relationship was great until I left to go to spring break on my annual trip to Pensacola Beach. I had started hearing from a mutual friend that another girl liked my guy and that I was going to loose him to her. I started distancing myself in preparation for the inevitable and he thought I was distancing myself because I had cheated on him. He broke up with me two weeks before senior prom and I was devestated. I did not want to go to the prom alone and I knew at that point I would never be able to find someone to beg to go as my date. As I scrambled to find someone, I called a guy I did meet in Pensacola and knew for a fact liked me. We started talking on and off, but he was unable to get leave for my prom. The week of prom, my then ex-boyfriend decided he would in fact take me as my parents were forcing me to go with a date or without one.

When I look at our prom picture now I can finally laugh instead of feeling the overwhelming sadness my expression has in the photograph. He was stoned and I had been crying. We stayed about thirty minutes after the picture was taken, left for his house, and he went to sleep until time for us to go to the Baptist church for breakfast and then to the after party at a friends field behind her home. That was the first time I ever got high and the last time I was ever really with him, except for a few days on/weeks at a time off occasions for the next year or so.

My life changed drastically after graduation. Some good, some horrible. Those stories will come later, for now I want to reflect on the impact our first relationships have on us. Depending on our raising and family traditions, our morals and behaviors are primarily dictated by the environments in which we are raised. I thought I was a horrible sinner for being with a man that in did not end up with long term. Although I have not been religious in many years, reflecting on my past, I know that I was devout in my religious practice to the Catholic Church. I let my sins eat me alive and I began to get depressed, anxious, and of course heartbroken.

My parents banned me from seeing him again after prom and every time I did afterwards was because of my stealthy ninja skills, basically is how he described them. I did want to be a criminologist; I guess I’ve always been good at problem solving. I snuck around throughout the summer to see him, but then I left for college. That is when religion service attending went out the door and full fledged freedom ensued (at least I thought so).

I let my thoughts about family acceptance interfere with my relationship and the emotions I actually did feel. I realize now that I placed him in a very hard situation because of my desire to please my family. I had always had questions about religion and what made our Bible more believable than the beliefs held by the scientific Greeks and many other cultures as early as the sixth grade

My parents do not like that I have let religion fall to the wayside, at least one set minds, but the older I got and the more educated I became, I felt it was important for me to make my own decisions and choices. I mostly identify with Pantheism at my present state in life and I try to make decisions so based on my morals and ethics rather than those set forth by any one specific religion. I’m glad I can finally feel comfortable identifying with what I feel best fits me and know that I am still accepted by my family. Had I made decisions made on these beliefs earlier in life, it may have turned out different but it could have been worse as well. I’m still content with my life and I’m no longer ashamed of my past, so maybe things do balance out in time when we stop trying to please others and begin focusing on pleasing ourselves. I may as well enjoy the rest of my time here rather than live stuck in a miserable place. I hope you are ready to move forward too.