Home, Not Home, Home

I get the feeling the military loves fucking with SO’s emotions or our mental health.

I’m pretty sure they get a kick out of it.

Wonder if they’d like a kick in the balls. Sounds like a good idea to me. Mhmm, a really good idea to me.

So, everyone that’s read some or all of my whiny, personal blog knows that my sailor had recently gotten home. Back in December. It is now…. March. Forgive me. I actually had to look.

Here back in late Jan, my wonderful man came and visited me. Had an amazing time. My family got to truly meet him and they like him. We spent too much money in Barnes & Nobles. Had a good time.

Back to the current month. March, what a wonderful month. St. Patrick’s Day, an excuse to pinch people and not get hit in return. Parades around the city just for the Irish holiday. The month that shows that spring is coming.

Unless you’re in the military. Then they will send you off again. You don’t get parades if you’re in the military. Spring doesn’t matter to your captain. There are no seasons on your nuclear carrier. Only weapons of mass destruction. Pinching people lead to fights regardless of the Irish tradition of the homeland. Remember, you’re in the military. Those things don’t apply to you anymore.

He had only gotten home a few months ago and now getting ready to leave again on another deployment. It will be months of underways before he leaves again, but a deployment nonetheless.

I read in a book once that out of a four year active contract, a married couple will see each other a total of MAYBE 1/10 to 1/7 of the contract time. Sounds about right to me. Amante has a year and a half left. After the deployment, he’ll be done. That’s five years of contracted work.  I’ve seen him three times. I haven’t done the math, I don’t want to out of the possibility of becoming depressed. But I know it’s low.

 

The military gives and takes.

So love what you get.

I love him.

Hooyah

Okay, looking sideways

I have always liked to think that I am open minded and look at things pretty well from many points of views. I can easily say that at 20 years old, I don’t look at the world from a 9 year old’s view.

After a rough day at the pharmacy, my family is great about try to help me chill out or relax. This time, it was my 9yo cousin. Such a sweet, sassy little woman who wanted to paint nails. I am NOT the type who wears nail polish because I know it will stay for maybe two days and then look like trash. But…. It made her happy and I wanted to relax with my family. Nail polish it was.

She was always interested in what had happened at work with me. Asking if there were any crazy or mean people. If I had sassed my boss that day. If I had made any stupid mistakes. A small way to gossip about my day and she enjoyed it as I vented.

“How long have you been dating Amante?” (If you haven’t caught on by now, this is what I call my sailor in my blog). She had asked. I had no idea why she was interested in my relationship, but I decided to humor the conversation. A nine year old couldn’t go very far with it, I figure. 

“Two years ish.” I smile, starting our second coat of paint on our nails. I hated that she decided I would wear pink polish. I was not a pink person. I was plain and liked blue or grey.

“Why hasn’t he proposed to you yet? Is he stupid or just slow?” She asked, not smiling as if it were a joke. I could feel my mouth drop. I was completely wrong. She took it farther than I expected.

“Well, it’s just not a good time for either of us.” I try to work my way around her. I know she’s smart and am now worried she will find a way to corner me.

“Why can’t you see him more? I like him.” She looked up at me sad, leaning against the bathroom wall as we sit on the floor.

“Because he is in the military. He has a job to do with them and it’s up to them when he can go places. And I like him too.” I smile back at her.

“That sucks. It’s fifty fifty. It’s good that he’s serving our country, but bad that they won’t let him go home much. It’s stupid. Still good he’s doing his job.” She went back to painting on glitter. Her nails looked like a total mess, but to a kid, they were beautiful. I would tell her the same and then try to help her a bit.

 

Talking and listening to a 9 year old, I realized that maybe I haven’t been as grateful as I can be. As I should be. I don’t want to cut myself down and feel guilty for not so far, but it is definitely a thought I’ve bee having lately.

I love him. I love my sailor as he’s back out on underway.

Hooyah

Maybe a taboo topic?

So, in my last post, I had said that I was busy with school and work. Lord is that true. Beyond true and TRUST ME I will tell you about it. I love talking. If my followers and random clickers didn’t catch on.

But….

There’s more.

Recently, I had admitted myself to an inpatient hospital. I am now diagnosed with depression and anxiety (both clinical). I am now on what is called an SSRI, known as Prozac to many people. I have been dealing with anxiety for my whole life, it seems, but I didn’t think it was this bad.

Panicking at work over the smallest mistake, dwelling on it hours after it had happened or even after I had clocked out.  Replaying the work day to see what I could’ve done better and cursing myself for not doing it in the first place.

School was a whole other level of darkness for me. School is a passion. The thing I live for and know I need for my goal, but… I struggled to believe I was smart enough. Good enough. I struggled to believe I would be accepted into a nursing program. I struggled to believe I would ever get the degree I’ve wanted since I was 13.

I know bringing this up in a relationship blog would probably invoke the question of if he brought on some of the anxiety of stress too. He had asked too.

It’s not him. It could never be him. It’s the hard hits of loneliness that I have talked about before that add to the struggle. I hate to tell him that, but I know he relates to a point.

I hated going to the hospital. It felt like a defeat in itself. I kept thinking I should be strong enough to handle my own shit. But I couldn’t anymore. I needed help. Whatever it took, I needed help.

 

I wanted to write about my mental illness because it is sometimes seen as a taboo in society. BUT in my world, the SO’s world… it’s unspoken torture we help each other with or just by ourselves. The pressure to be seen as strong, patient women (or men) makes it hard to talk about the already estranged topic.

 

If you need help or want to talk to someone, the site I suggest it called seven cups of tea.

https://www.7cups.com/member/

A very good site to talk to a random person. No one has to know you, you can be anonymous if you want. It is super helpful. If you need further help, there are therapists on there as well.

Trying Something New

We had a decently known poet come into our school, play his autobiography movie for us, read one of his own works. It made for an interesting English class. I liked the man, I have to say, for someone who has never been a friend to poetry, I liked the man.

Epic, haiku, ballad, etc etc etc…. None of which I felt I could be successful with.

Rhythm and sounds and syllables all counted into one piece of a type of beautifully written work of art. If only I was that smart.

To make my first sound alike feels impressive even to me. Only more I wish I could possibly see.

Maybe only guessing and hope of a checkmark or smile of approval, wishful thinking upon this. I’m so used to hitting the miss.

Perhaps it’s not that bad after all. Only when your mind goes blank and it seems to crumble and fall. That’s when you know you’ve given it you’re all.

How songwriters and wordsmiths make it seem easy and light. I can only stumble from all of my effort of constant might.

A sudden ability to make this is surprising and fun. It might as well be the coffee or tea that I drink in the morning sun.

 

Perhaps meeting a poet I have honestly never heard of before has changed my view on things. I never wanted to try on my own free time. Only as a challenge did I decide to try again and see if it would work. Maybe my English teacher will be proud of me. Maybe she’ll never see and only have a sense I’ve done something great. Another attempt at something new.

 

A real scary possibility

Just like how we all have nightmares, some come true. Some don’t.

I would hear how service members would come back home with PTSD and scream in the middle of the night, reaching for a gun to protect themselves from the memories that haunt them.

I have never encountered this before though.

Many times, have I talked to a shipmate of my man, listening to how he tries to ignore those dreams and memories. He had been deployed before and currently on this deployment with my guy. He refused to tell his wife, in fear that she would go to someone and report it. This sometimes forces these servicemembers out of the military. That was a fear of his. How did he keep it from her when they shared the same bed? He had gained enough control somehow to wake up silently. She never knew he never slept through the night. She still doesn’t.

“What if you come home with PTSD?” I had asked my sailor. I know it’s a real possibility. I wanted to know how he wanted me to handle it if it did come home.

“Just be with me, I guess. I think I’ll be fine.” Says every military member ever, including mine.

Trusting that no matter what happened, I knew we would be okay. We are always okay. We have honestly become dependent on each other emotionally and spiritually. We must be okay.

But only one phone call. A few words make that small fear and question come back to mind. What if he comes home with PTSD? What am I supposed to do to help him? I have never needed to ask myself this.

He laughed as he told me he saw the pilots from his ship blow up a suicide bomber go for one of the US’s tanks. Saying “He should’ve been faster”…. “It was like a movie”… “All the guys were cheering in the victory we had”….. “It was funny”.

Of watching something blow up, of killing people.

I have only been scared of him one other time. He was pissed. He was seriously angry out of the need to protect when I told him I had been abused as a child. His face over the camera turned to someone I barely knew and it was like he packed his emotions to the side to become a killer the military raised him to be someday. I told him I had to go and he was begging me to stay. I was scared and didn’t know how to deal with him angry. He has never gotten angry with me. Frustrated, of course, but never to the point I was afraid.

He wanted to murder the man who had hurt me as a child. I couldn’t blame him for his angry, I just didn’t know what to do with it.

But now, he’s laughing. He’s not angry or pissed or even upset. He’s simply amused by the death of a person that could’ve killed a ton of our warriors.

His shipmate said he was the same way on his deployment before returning home with PTSD and now he is mentally destroyed from it.

 

As a nursing student…. As a person who would die to save someone else…. As a person who has chosen to study to save and life people…. As someone who wants to go through pain and a long recovery to donate bone marrow….

This is a hard thing for me to accept.

I have accepted the distance. I have accepted the lack of communication. I have accepted not hearing his voice for months. I have accepted that I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. I have accepted that I don’t know when he’s coming home. I have accepted a lot and am ready to accept a lot more in this life. I have accepted him and his world.

But this is something I struggle to accept. I don’t know how to accept it.

I know long story short, it’s continuing to give me and my family our freedom. But I am conflicted as to how to really feel. My job is going to save lives (or try) and his job is to take them in the name of our country.

We both knew what his job entailed. That the possibility of his bombs (“His babies”) would create damage. We never talked in-depth about it. He knew, I knew it would cause me to have conflictions. I won’t leave him for it. I love him. I couldn’t leave him.

I just don’t know what to think. Or expect when he comes home.

Motherly Advice

His mom.

Let me start with the fact that I love this woman and sometimes my sailor believes with all his heart that she likes me more than him. He jokes that I have replaced him with his mother.

I love being able to call her at six in the morning and even though she’s still working on her first cup of coffee, she is still happy to hear from me. Or ten at night, exhausted from the day and still smiles when my number pops up on her screen.

This time though, I lettttt her savor her coffee and called at seven thirty. I missed her voice and happy sound. She lives a few states away from me.

Having her pick up the phone, I prepare myself for whatever reply I get about my situation. I wanted to talk to her about my sister. She sounded happy to hear from me.

Finishing telling her what was going on and the possibility of a change in future plans, she sighed and gave me a decent reply. One that gave me comfort and support, but I knew she was a little worried too.

My man (her son), didn’t know where he stood on supporting or liking the idea. He was hesitant to even talk further of it, but tried talking me out of doing it since I haven’t finished school yet. He was smart and trying to think about our future. Which I find adorable, but this is a big deal. I prayed and prayed that he would support me, be there for me. I don’t want his money, just kind and encouraging words.

Telling all her this and how we had both agreed to wait on children of our own, I could imagine her dancing inside from hearing her son wanted to have kids. She had brought it up with me before and I pushed her to not think like that. Not ready for that.

She said that I needed to calm down and just wait to see what happens. To not jump to thinking it was already happening. Saying that she hoped that if it did happen that my man would support me and stay with me, as she loved me and didn’t want to see me leave. Saying that she wouldn’t want her son with anyone else.

I love this woman and her support through everything.

 

 

 

 

Outside the usual issue

I have a sister. I love her, but our past is rough.

It’s come to my attention that she has a new man while not being on birth control and this makes me want to shit myself. I had to off-handedly raise my mentally ill mother and sister after we (my sister and myself) were sexually abused as children. My sister never stepped out to try and pull herself together after this ordeal. Going to court trails for years made me into a different person.

My sister used it as an excuse to give up and to justify her bad and negative behavior.

Back to the thought…. If my sister gets pregnant….

That child won’t be safe or well in whatever “home” my sister 50/50 tries to give it.

 

I have decided that if she gets pregnant, I will be going to court for custody. I will not let that child be hurt the way my sister hurt me (physically and emotional). I want to give that kid better than the small social security check. I can provide with the job I have that she’s never had. I want the best for this child. I pray to God that she is infertile. I wish no harm to my sister, I just can’t wish her something that will cause another human being to be hurt either.

I haven’t brought this up with my sailor. From our former and recent conversations, he wants to wait til after my degree for kids. I get that, but I won’t let that kid be harmed. I’ll do it by myself (with the help of other family) if I have to.