In 5th grade, I started to play the trumpet. I ended high school playing the Baritone. As an adolocent, I never had to be told to practice. Why? I had found my passion, my voice, and my people. This video reminds me of the common bond we shared as we collectively worked together to make music. It didn’t matter if you were one of the jocks or cool kids, all that matter was that you could play your part. Music was the ultimate equalizer.
I expressed to my psychiatrist that there has been an emptiness in my life since my band days. We decided that I would learn how to play the harmonica. It’s been three weeks since I started my new hobby and I’m loving it. It’s not the same as being in the band as a brass player; however, it has returned the joy of music to my life. #bandgeek
It’s been 20 years. I boarded the plane without any idea of what lay ahead. I was embarking on a 2-year period of psychosis. No amount of time pushes the memories completely out of my psyche. It’s been 20 years. Why am I questioning my recent decision to speak up for myself? Why am experiencing those same feelings of rejection? It’s been 20 years. Why am I questioning my perception? Why don’t I know who to trust? It’s been 20 years. Why do I feel the same urge to run away? Why am I struggling not to believe that I’d better off “layin’ in that dirt” It’s been 20 years. I’m not okay. I’m tired. I need help. It’s been 20 years. I made the decision to accept the necessary help. Surrounded by my Veteran Brothers and Sisters in, I found comfort in knowing that I am not the only one. It’s been 20 years. I made it to the other side. The pain is no longer pulling me down. I’m going to be alright. We’re all going to be alright.
This summer will be the 20th anniversary of my deployment to Rhein Maine, Germany. I deployed in an attempt to release the anger that started after being sexually assaulted by a fellow Airman in 2023. As Amy Lee sings in Tourniquet, “I tried to kill my pain but only brought more…so much more.” I’ve often wonder if I imagined the trauma I experienced the summer of 2004. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I tend to blame myself for all of it.
The question I have carried since my return has been: “Why?” Instead of obsessively looking for the answers or numbing myself, I recognize that self-blame gives me a false sense of control. Could I have handled things differently? Sure. I could have done a million things differently. However, all of the “could have’s, should have’s, and would have’’s” serve no purpose other than adding to the guilt and shame.
So how do I deal with the questions and memories? One of the ways I chose to heal was by arranging videos to various songs. The lyrics reflected the feelings trapped inside. I found a way to express what I believed to be unexplainable. When I’m struggling, I use my video journal to remind myself that while I may not be where I want to be, I’m sure as Hell not where I was.
One of my last nights in Germany, I was asked by the Squadron Commander: “What do you want?” My answer was simple: “I just want to go home.” This video captures how I felt when I returned home; alone, unworthy, and rejected. When I’m triggered, I still often feel that way. Instead of latching onto those emotions. I remind myself that I’m stronger than my past and my lowest moments.
When I learned the truth, I felt a despair unlike any other. As the reality sunk in, I fell to my knees. I begged God to take me out of this world.
How could she lay next to me while she was sharing her body with another person?
How would I live knowing that our vows didn’t matter to her?
I wanted to hate her. I wanted to find a way to hurt her back as much as I was hurting. In the end I could not do either of those things.
Why? Hating her wouldn’t undo the hurt. Hating her would have slowly killed me. Hating her would have kept my heart locked in a cage forever.
Instead of hating her, I chose to forgive her. Our marriage ended; my love for her didn’t. It took me many years to go from “being in love” with her to loving her as a “friend” but I do truly love her. As her friend, I’ll always have her back and be there.
My decision may not make sense to others but it makes sense to me. I’m grateful that I didn’t let the hate destroy me.
I know that you feel completely overwhelmed. The current stress associated with your work injury has you spinning. As much as you want to trust the doctors at Concentra, you know that they do not care about injured employees. Instead they care about the corporations who use them to evaluate injured employees. The goal is not to provide top-notch medical care; the goal is to save the insurer money. This unfortunately is the reality of the current situation.
I know that there is another force at play behind the scene. I know that you are dealing with the memories of returning from Germany with physical and mental injuries. As much as you tell yourself that the past cannot hurt you now, you cannot stop the panic that is causing your heart to pound and your body to tense. Fighting the fear is causing you to want to shut off and run away. Fighting the fear is also pushing you to act out of anger; to act hastily. Instead, I implore you to step back for a moment. Take a moment to breathe. Take a moment to believe in your ability to protect yourself in a calm and rational manner. You are smart. You are resourceful. You are your biggest supporter.
Instead of fighting the past, change your focus. Do not dwell on the painful memories of being abandoned; rather, focus on the strength you found to fight back. Focus on the courage it took to demand medical care. Focus on the fact that even while you were somewhat “disconnected” from reality, you found a way to protect yourself.
Believe in yourself. Trust that you will survive once again. You are a warrior. You are a fighter. I love you and I believe in you.
Instead of tossing and turning, I work up 2 hours early. What was on my mind? I was overthinking every single part of my ride with a supervisor yesterday. One of the most tiring aspects of my coping strategies is my brain becomes a camcorder when I feel stressed. When I’m out of the situation, the replays begin. Over and over and over again. Trivial comments are broken down as if they hold the key to human existence. I wish I could shut my mind off. I wish I didn’t feel the need to constantly scan my environment for danger. I wish I could trust. I wish I could do as so many people suggest: stop overthinking. As long as I’m able to rationalize the information and don’t let it overwhelm me, does it harm me to overthink? Doesn’t it take more energy to try to outmaneuver myself and my coping strategies? Is it living if I search for a way to numb my brain? Maybe instead of resisting or rejecting the overthinking, maybe I should appreciate that it has helped me survive thus far. It has served a purpose. I am over-thinker. Whether it’s my ADHD or my PTSD, I will continue to be one. That aside, I am a survivor and a fighter. I am who I am.
“The path to great confidence is not in becoming invincible, flawless, and seemingly perfect. But rather, it is in embracing your humanity, in all its messy glory and tender vulnerability.” – Aziz Gazipura
This song takes me to 1996 and my first “relationship.” Tonight as I listened to this song it got me to thinking. How many times have I been drawn to emotionally unavailable, fickle, prone to cheating women? This ex is the reason I loathe patchouli, nag champa incense, and the term “spiritual.” Yet on the flip side, this ex is the reason I love Sarah McLachlan and Sting. What’s my point? There are patterns in how we choose friends and lovers. Whether we like it or not, we have a “type.” And second, as dysfunctional as a relationship may or may not be, our lives are forever changed because of that interaction. I can never take back the time and energy wasted on that relationship. However, I can take the lessons I’ve learned by looking back and make better decisions when I reenter the world of dating. “Think of each failure, each heartache, and each loss in your life as a lesson in courage and resilience.” – Kate Anderson
Shame is an intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging. It’s an emotion that affects all of us and profoundly shapes the way we interact in the world.
Brené Brown
Last night I decided to look for the title to my Jeep. I opened the first shoe box filled with important paperwork . Half way through the box, I see the folder with my Medical Evaluation Board (MEB) paperwork. Instead of setting the folder aside, I started to read the letters, emails, and evaluations. Reading the words, I felt a mixture of shame and intense anger.
The various letters seemed to have a running theme about my behavior after my deployment. I was combative, fearful, paranoid, confused, withdrawn, unable to preform my duties, and tearful. These are all signs that an individual is experiencing some sort of mental health crisis. If I was so dysfunctional, why did my Commander make it so difficult to receive the proper medical treatment? I know there were times that my reactions were unwarranted. I was afraid. I was traumatized. I’m still angry that I had to fight to be heard. I’m still angry that I was not believed. I’m still angry that no one took the time to ask me one simple question: what happened in Germany?
Underneath the anger, there is so much shame. Almost two years ago, I was celebrating New Year’s eve with friends downtown. Across from us were two individuals from my old unit. One of the individuals saw me at my very lowest point. Initially, I wanted to pretend I hadn’t noticed him. Instead I decided to acknowledge him and shake his hand. As I shook his hand, I found myself apologizing. While I don’t remember ever being disrespectful to him, I apologized for not being “okay” when I was assigned to Headquarters. He nodded his head and said that he understood. I wonder, why did I feel the need to apologize? Why do I still feel the need to hide when I see someone from my unit? Why am I still so embarrassed?
I tried to nicely ask for help. When that failed, I screamed for help. Was it my anger outbursts which pushed people away from me? Anger took over when it became obvious that I was not getting help. I’m not proud that I told my Section Supervisor to “fuck off.” I’m not proud that I told my trainer that if I was not removed from an upcoming deployment, I would “kill the next motherfucker who sexually harassed me.” I’m not proud that I used to go into the restroom to cry because I was so scared. I’m not proud that I learned how to sit in a room full of people and not hear a single word. I’m not proud that I was not strong enough to put it all behind me. I’m not proud that it broke me. I’m not proud that I had to walk away from an organization I once loved. I’m not proud that I quit.
As I read the letters, I was full of shame. As I write this, I’m full of compassion. I did not ask to be raped in Tennessee. I did not ask to be sexually harassed and retaliated against in Germany. My brain and body reacted to the trauma(s.) At the time, I did not have a cognitive choice in my reaction. I was in survival mode. How can I be ashamed of surviving?
I do wish I could explain to the people who may still see me as “crazy” that I was not crazy. I was just finding my way back from a trauma. Perhaps if they knew the whole story, they would be able to understand my reaction. Perhaps then it would be easier to let go of this heavy burden named shame.
“I had good intentions and the highest hopes. But I know right now it probably doesn’t show.”
Easy On Me
With this particular song, I’m reminded of my divorce. At first, all I could experience was the pain. I focused on the ways I felt my ex had failed me…had failed our relationship. Gradually, I was able to acknowledge that the blame didn’t lay solely on my ex. We both played a role in the destruction of our relationship; whether it was intentional or not.
My biggest mistake was that I never truly believed that I deserved to be happy much less loved. As our love began, so did my doubt. With each passing day, I wondered if that was the day she would walk away. I tried to push aside the fear of abandonment, the fear of happiness, and the fear of being loved. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to and those insecurities molded my daily reactions to the life we shared.
I truly do believe that we both entered our marriage with “good intentions and the highest hopes.” In the end, those good intentions just weren’t enough. When my marriage ended, I felt I had one of two choices. I could focus on the mistakes, the hurtful moments, and the end. Or I could acknowledge that we were both flawed and we both hurt one another along the way. I picked the latter. Why? We fell out of “love” but we still love and respect each other. Moving on with life after a divorce is hard. Why make it even harder by holding onto bitterness and resentment? Forgive your partner; but even more importantly, forgive yourself. Go easy on them; go easy on yourself.
I have had my fair share of hookups, dating, and relationships. Most were much ado about nothing. Fortunately, perhaps unfortunately, two of my past relationships were anything but ordinary. In both instances, I believed that I had found my partner for life. When the relationships ended, I wondered how and when the air knocked from my lungs would return.
How does one regain their breath? How do we let go?
The thing I have learned about myself is that in order to heal, I have to be alone as I face the pain. As time passes, the pain doesn’t disappear. Rather it’s becomes a part of me. Like any other scar, it symbolizes a chapter in my life. With the right person, I will share the story behind the scar. I will reassure them that while it will always be there, it’s just another part of me. I am not ashamed of my scars. Without my past, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.
It seems that for most people, breakups and divorces are merely moments of heartache and regret. And I’ll admit that more times than not, breakups seldom kept me down for long. In a blink of an eye, we move on to the next one. What’s the old saying, “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new?”
I wonder. Do the people who jump from relationship to relationship have scars? Or do they walk around with wounds which never heal? Yet, this is the socially acceptable way to process a breakup and/or a divorce. As unhealthy as it seems to me, perhaps this is the way to let go. Or perhaps, there isn’t a wrong or right way to move on. Whether a person sprints or crawls, it’s the forward momentum that matters. After all, we all let go differently.
“Sometimes you’re going to have to let one person go a thousand different times, a thousand different ways, and there’s nothing pathetic or abnormal about that. You are human.” -Heidi Priebe
Last night I watched several LGBTQ films; it got me thinking about my decision to remain “single.” The following lyrics capture the lies I tell myself:
“So if you love me let me go and run away before I know. My heart is just too dark to care. I can’t destroy what isn’t there. Deliver me into my fate. If I’m alone I cannot hate. I don’t deserve to have you. Ooh, my smile was taken long ago. If I can change I hope I never know.”
In reality I’m not too damaged to love or be loved by another person. And that is what scares me. Why? I care too much. I love too hard. I don’t want to open myself to someone and have them walk away. I don’t want to be hurt again. As much as I fear it, I long to share my life with another. How do I open my heart again? I need to stop trying to convince myself that I am unlovable. My scars will always be there. I will not hide them or be ashamed of them. The right person will love me and my scars. So while I’m comfortable with remaining single; I don’t want to remain alone out of fear. It’s time to lower my walls. Its time to open myself up to the possibility of finding “my person.” I deserve to be loved and to love.
July 2004 changed my life. The events I experienced during those 31 days broke me. I retuned from Germany with physical and mental injuries. And while it took a fight, I remained on active duty orders for 9 months to receive medical care. After which I completed a month of inactive duty as my psychiatrist completed the necessary steps to ensure I received treatment for my “line of duty” injuries. The 45-day deployment became a very long 13 months.
In July of 2005, I had to return to my “civilian” life. The first obstacle I faced was returning to UPS with an injury to my left shoulder. I had just been released from a “medical profile.” The day the medical profile was lifted, the Orthopedic urged me to find a different profession. Instead of giving up, I allowed the anger and frustration to outweigh the uncertainty. I returned to UPS on July 5, 2005. In the end, my shoulder injury caused minimal challenges compared to my PTSD. Within days, my other employer, SED Medical Labs, refused to rehire me. While my employer clearly broke the law, I didn’t have any fight left in me. I accepted their decision and moved on. When the weekend arrived, I wasn’t surprised when my girlfriend ended our relationship. Looking back, I wonder how she made it as long as she did. I was a shell of a person who was afraid to talk, laugh, and trust. While it was better, I was still struggling with my grip on reality. I didn’t want to burden her; unfortunately, my silence also kept me from being able to be in the moment. I’m sure my mental state was not the sole reason behind her decision. No matter the reason, I do not blame her for walking away.
It would take me years to understand why everything had to unfold exactly the way it did. My attendance at UPS was horrible for at least 3 years. A very understanding and patient supervisor is the only reason I’m still employed at UPS. SED Medical Labs decision not to rehire me was a blessing in disguise. I hardly made it to one job much less two jobs. There was a brief moment in which I considered giving up my job at UPS to work full-time at SED. That would have been a huge mistake. SED is no longer in business. The failed relationship was very difficult. I know that if we had remained together, I would have done everything in my power to bury the past. I would have remained quiet about my triggers and anniversaries. Why? Being with her made me happy; she was my calm and I felt safe. I would have willed myself to be strong. I would have pushed myself to ignore the pain. The relationship had to end.; it was the only way I was able to fully face my mental illness. I had to be alone to heal.
I do not believe that traumatic events happen for a reason. Nor do I believe that trauma creates a stronger person. The trauma I experienced in Germany happened because I was seen as a “Whistleblower” and my Squadron retaliated. I do believe that life doesn’t always go as planned. During those times, we may feel helpless and wonder why things are not working out. It is only in retrospect that we can gain understanding. My first week back to civilian life, left me feeling defective, hopeless, and abandoned. It took several years to acknowledge that while it hurt, those things had to occur. I had to be alone. I had to allow myself to feel and embrace the anger. Alone I was able to explore my pain. Alone I was able to find my way back. Alone I was able to regain my grip on reality and escape my imaginary world. In 2005, I felt defeated. In 2021, I understand and I am grateful.
‘Feeling older every day, took everything I had to not crash and burn. But I’m starting to learn. Sometimes I’ll fall down. Sometimes I’ll lose hope. But those days will be few if I keep my feet on the ground. I might be lonely, but I ain’t alone here. So I keep pushing the limits of what makes me me. All I needed was the last thing I wanted…to sit alone in a room and say it all out loud. Every moment, every second, every trespass, every awful thing, every broken dream. A couple o’ years back and forth with myself in a cage. Banging my head ‘gainst the wall, trying to put words on a page. All I needed was the last thing I wanted…to sit alone in a room. Alone in a room”
Healing…how many times are we told that we have to forgive the transgressions of others? How many times have we been told that part of healing is letting go? These ideas have lead to shame and unnecessary self-torture.
The above scene from “The Handmaid’s Tale” echoed my own desire for revenge. I saved my rapist’s business card for years. I fantasized on finding him to slowly inflict my vengeance. I wanted to kill him; but even more, I wanted to destroy his sense of normality and safety. I wanted him to feel the same pain that I have felt since that night. I wanted him to beg death to take him because the thought of living another day was too painful. I wanted to ruin his ability to be intimate with another human. I wanted to destroy his life.
Luckily the fear of prison was greater than my desire for revenge. While it took almost a decade, I allowed myself to destroy that business card. While I can never avenge myself, I openly admit that wish him pain. Forgiveness will never an option.
“Holy water cannot help you now. Thousand armies couldn’t keep me out. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your crown. See, I have to burn your kingdom down.”
Copyright Disclaimer: Under section 107 of the Copyright Act of 1976, allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, education and research.
I voluntarily admitted myself for inpatient, psychiatric care; once in March 2006 and then again in October 2006. I couldn’t control my thoughts: paranoia, ideas of reference, obsessive thinking, and indescribable delusions. I needed a safe place to bring myself back to reality. After the second admission, I wondered if I would become a frequent flyer at Ward 7. Was this going to be how I coped when life became overwhelming?
In an attempt to distract myself and perhaps normalize mental illness, I began to seek out movies like Girl, Interrupted. I needed to know that I was not the only person battling my mind. The following quote from the Girl, Interrupted hit me hard:
What world is this? What kingdom? What shores of what world? It’s a very big question you’re faced with Susanna. The choice of your life. How much will you indulge in your flaws? What are your flaws? Are they flaws? If you embrace them, will you commit yourself to hospital for life? Big questions. Big decisions. Not surprising you’d profess carelessness about them.
I realized that while I may live with the fear of returning to an altered reality, I had to make a decision. Was I going to limit my life in order to avoid another possible bout of stress-induced psychosis? Or was I going to find a way to fight/challenge my thinking and live with mental illness?
It has been almost 15 years since my last inpatient, psychiatric admission. I wish I could say that during those 15 years, I have been in complete control of my thoughts. I’ve had moments of extreme paranoia. I’ve had moments that I want to beg my psychiatrist to put me back on an antipsychotic. And I have had moments that I wondered if I needed to admit myself for inpatient treatment. While it has not been an easy battle, I am grateful that I have not let C-PTSD keep me from living.
To my friends and family who maybe struggling, please find a way to live. There is no shame in asking for help, taking medication, or sharing your struggles. It’s not easy; but you’re worth the fight! “Do not drop anchor here.”
Over the last eight years, I’ve often asked my psychologist and psychiatrist if they felt I was a functioning alcoholic.
The fear of turning to alcohol as a coping mechanism has kept me from drinking when I’ve felt hopeless, angry, or completely defeated. And I’m proud to say I’ve sustained from turning to it during those extremely low points.
What about the normal periods of my life? What about the times I socialized? What about the high points?
Alcohol was a daily habit for me. One drink would lead to another. It seemed that no matter how many drinks I consumed, I never quite felt intoxicated. Perhaps my tolerance increased to the point that “catching a buzz” required an abnormal and unthinkable amount of alcohol.
I decided to see if I could go thirty days without alcohol. I’m proud to say that even with four of my favorite beers, my favorite whiskey, and two fantastic bottles of wine at my disposal, I made the thirty days.
I read a lot of articles which listed the benefits of giving up alcohol for thirty days. To be honest, I didn’t experience 99.9% of benefits listed. I still had day time sleepiness. I didn’t notice a decrease in my anxiety. And my sleep patterns and quality of sleep remained essentially the same. However, I did realize that I don’t need alcohol to socialize. I don’t need to end the day with a drink. And I am not an alcoholic.
So where do I go from here? Is it time to pop open one of the many adult beverages lurking in my kitchen?
For right now, I am going to continue this journey of life without alcohol. While I didn’t have any mind blowing, positive effects over the past thirty days, I did learn that I do not need alcohol as a part of my daily life. When the time is right, I’ll have an occasional drink without the looming question: “Am I a functioning alcoholic?”
When I arrived in Germany in June of 2004, I purchased the following CD’s: Evanescence: Fallen, Linkin Park: Meteora, and Alanis Morissette: So-Called Chaos. These three albums would become the soundtrack which enabled me to survive the deployment.
The song named “Excuses” by Alanis Morissette captures how I felt when my comrades turned their backs on me.
Why no one will help me?
I survived the questions by making excuses for the betrayal. I was too difficult. I was too sensitive. It’s impossible to help such a fucked person. The excuses helped me ignore the pain. The excuses helped me turn to perfectionism in an attempt to show them that I was worthy of their approval. The perfectionism lead me to sleep deprivation. The sleep deprivation lead me to psychosis. The psychosis lead to the end of my military career and a lifetime of mental, physical, and emotional damage.
When I look back on my past relationships, I realize that I used excuses to justify staying in an unhealthy relationship. It was so easy for me to justify a partner’s behavior. After all, I couldn’t expect for them to treat me differently. I was too fucked up to deserve someone kind, loving, compassionate, and understanding. I was lucky that they were willing to put up with me and all of my baggage. I truly believe that if I left the relationship, I would remain alone forever. And out of fear, I would stay. After all, no one would ever see me.
In the past and currently, I use excuses to remain single. The excuse that I’ve used at two different points was that I was still in love with an ex. I’d tell myself that it wasn’t fair to be with someone if my heart belonged to someone else. The reality is that I wasn’t in love with my exes. I was clinging to the unattainable to protect myself from developing feelings for another person. If I never develop feelings again, I’d never be hurt again. My excuse provided me with the perfect cave to hide from the world. My excuse was my life line. My excuse fueled the fear of trusting and loving another person. My excuse kept me from truly engaging in life. My excuse pushed potential lovers out of the picture. My excuse kept me safe but also so very lonely.
My goal over the past two years has been to let go of the excuses which have held me back. I recognize that I come with a lot of baggage; but don’t we all? I recognize that while I maybe covered with scars, I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be with someone who sees my scars and celebrates how they come together to form me. I deserve someone who will not use my insecurities against me. I deserve someone who will understand that sometimes I’m just not okay. I deserve someone who will hold me when I feel like I just can’t go on. I deserve to be with someone who reflects the kindness, compassion, love, support, and understanding that I show them.
I ready to stand up for myself and my well-being. I maybe “fucked up;” but under these scars is a woman who deserves to be loved and treated with respect. It’s time to trust myself. It’s time to believe in myself. It’s time to stop making excuses.
Many years ago, a woman I was dating told me that another woman told her to be careful with me. My ex was told that I was a “predator.” I can remember the bewilderment and utter rage I felt. The woman spreading the misinformation did not have the first clue about me or my life; yet, she felt the need to attack my character. While over a decade has passed, I’ve never forgotten how it felt to have my name dragged through the mud.
A few weeks ago, I found out that another woman was bad-mouthing me to a newly acquired friend. This woman was seemingly horrified that another person had formed a connection with me. While I don’t know what was said, I can guarantee that the misinformation was based on her own insecurities and short-comings. I wonder if this woman told our mutual friend any of the positive experiences we shared. Did she share the fact that even though we were essentially strangers, I agreed to take pictures at her birthday party for free? Did she share the fact that I offered to pay her cash for the services she provided through her employer so she could personally profit? Did she share the fact that even though she blatantly disrespected me by flirting with my then girlfriend, I merely removed her as a part of my life rather than reacting?
In both of these situations, I did not do anything to justify having my character attacked. And both have left me feeling disheartened and quite frankly angry. Did tearing me down, make them feel better about themselves? What was the purpose?
To my haters, please ask yourself these two questions. What do you gain by attacking my character? What about my character makes you doubt yourself? Also, if I have behaved in a manner which warrants rumors, please have the courage and decency to confront me rather than talk behind my back.
This arrangement is dedicated to the Survivors of Sexual Assault
“[Referring to rape] It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it.” ― Daisy Whitney, Mockingbirds
On April 10, 2003, I awoke to the sound of the shower. Where was I? Why was I naked? What happened?
How could I report “it” when I didn’t even know what “it” was. That evening I told myself that whatever happened was my fault. I had to put “it” behind me and push forward. It was time for me to focus on my Airman Leadership class; once again I would graduate as a “Honor Graduate.” And that’s what I did. I buried “it”deep down inside.
Over the next year, I felt so much anger. I was so pissed off at the world. And I found myself resenting everything about the Air Force. What happened to the overachiever? The perfectionist? Was I giving up on my dream of becoming a commissioned officer? What was wrong with me?
I volunteered for a 45-day deployment to Rhein Maine, Germany. My hope was that I would remember everything that I loved about serving our Nation. Unfortunately, the 45-day deployment turned into a 53-day, psychotic inducing series of events.
Two days into the deployment, a fellow NCO started to flirt with me. As a female in the Armed Force, it wasn’t anything new. “Boys will be boys”, right? The flirting didn’t feel harmless. And I wondered how many times I would have to deny his request to “give me a massage” in my room.
I did not realize at the time but the “harmless” flirting triggered memories I had buried the previous year. 5,300 miles away from safety, I realized that “it” had happened. I realized that “it” had a name: rape. My acknowledging of the rape was significant. Yet it would not be part of the trauma I experienced in Germany.
I am not a victim of sexual assault. I am a survivor. No amount of inner strength erases the questions that I had when I woke up to the sound of the shower. After the rape and as I endured multiple bouts of psychosis, I often wondered, “How could this happen to me?”
Today I have a phone appointment with my psychiatrist. Over the past few days, I have contemplated what to say. The obvious is that depression has cloaked itself around me. It’s a struggle to function outside of work. I often escape reality by closing my eyes as I sleep away the day. And then comes the shame of wasting my time. The shame of not being strong. The shame of feeling dead while my body continues to function. The shame of having so much to be thankful for; yet, feeling like none of it matters. And then we have the medication paradox. When we lower my medication, I feel so incredibly raw. My emotions stifle my lungs and it’s hard to breathe. With medication, I feel so incredibly numb that nothing seems to matter. Is there a middle ground? Is there a way to live without feeling so disconnected from life? Or is this just how I will continue to function as an individual with PTSD? Barely living. Barely breathing.
“Emotional pain is not something that should be hidden away and never spoken about. There is truth in your pain, there is growth in your pain, but only if it’s first brought out into the open.” —Steve Aitchison
I was scheduled to leave Frankfurt, Germany on July 31, 2004. I checked in my luggage and obtained my ticket/boarding pass. The relief I felt as I handed over my boarding pass quickly vanished. Somehow my ticket had been canceled and I would not be allowed to board the plane. Fortunately, I contacted the individual responsible for securing transportation for arriving and departing members. This individual’s name is Jaime. Jaime was able to purchase a ticket to depart the next day and lodging off base. Jaime assured me that he would not get into any trouble and that the MEO (Military Equal Opportunity officer) would protect him. Jaime and another member of the deployment squadron drove me to the lodging without informing anyone else that I was still in Germany. Jaime told me to rest, not to go back on base, and to take the hotel shuttle back to the airport in the morning. I should have listened to him.
I ran back to the base which was a few miles up the road and made my way to Jaime’s room. I needed to ask him one simple question: what was said behind my back about the informal sexual harassment complaint I had filed? I was told that I was seen as a traitor and all I did was complain. I was told that my room and office had been bugged and everything I had said and done would be used to prove that I was mentally unfit. That the goal was to get me kicked out of the Air Force. My heart broke into a million pieces with each word. I thanked Jaime for telling me the truth and left.
I returned to my room with a broken soul. I knew I had not broken any rules or regulations. I knew I followed protocol when I reported the sexual harassment. What did I do wrong? All I knew was that I could not face my family if I was going to be dishonorable discharged from the military. I couldn’t return to my unit and be seen as anything less than an overachiever who loved the Air Force. Betrayal, despair, confusion, and a severe lack of sleep lead me down a very dark road which ended with suicide. I picked up the phone to tell my Mother goodbye one last time. When she answered she was crying. My Mother told me she missed me and just wanted me home. As I put down the phone, I knew I couldn’t end my life.
The next morning, August 1, 2004, I boarded the plane. As the plane ascended, I started to write down everything that happened during my 53-day deployment. The lack of sleep, the betrayal, the fear, confusion, and reliving my experience created the perfect storm. This perfect storm was the switch between sanity and psychosis. As I was leaving behind one nightmare, I did not realize I was slipping into one which would last for two years.
When the lights of Albuquerque became visible, “This War Is Over” started to play in my mind.
Take off my shield Carry my sword I won’t need it anymore Find me a sky Give me my wings Frozen and broken but free
Tell them I’m all right I’m coming home Tell them I’m all right I am alone This war is over I’m coming home
Take off my shame Bury it low I won’t need it anymore Find me the sun Give me it whole Melt all the chains in my soul
Tell them I’m all right I’m coming home Tell them I’m all right I am alone This war is over I’m coming home
Take off my pain Carry me slow I won’t fight here anymore Tell them I’m all right I’m coming home Tell them I’m all right I am alone This war is over I’m coming home
I will never be able to make sense of what happened in Germany. I will never be able to forget the torment and fear that is called psychosis. I will never be able to forget the shame I felt when I was denied re-enlistment. But I will also never forget that somehow in all of the confusion, I found the strength to fight for a medical retirement. I found the strength to ask for help when the psychosis was too much to handle on my own. I know that strength started the moment my Mother told me to come home. And the strength continued with the love and support of my Parents and family, my friend Mark, Theresa, and La-Tressa, and so many other amazing people. I am so grateful that I found the strength to keep living.
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