I recently had a professor for whom I have immense academic respect and personal adoration, comment on how he'd noticed a change in me after I came home from Iraq. He'd had me for a history class in 2007, then again in 2010 when I returned to finish my degrees. The academic in me wishes I could erase the memory of the less than impressive student I was then. Though I doubt this particular professor and I would've achieved such a rapport had I been different, given his shyness and socially awkward nature. This comment stuck in my mind and I've been mulling it over since. Granted, I knew there had been life-altering changes made down in my very soul. Those in my innermost circle know parts of the story. I didn't realize that as a woman, as a student and as a person, I'd changed so much to the outside world, though. Only Brian really knows the measure of the dark, haunted path from which I've emerged. And I count him twice on my list of blessings. He's literally and figuratively carried me when I couldn't stand on my own and lovingly put me back together after I've fallen apart.
I have, and always will, think that enlisting in the military was the best decision I've ever made for myself. In 2006, at the age of 20, I didn't know anything about myself or about the world. Do any of us, really? I joined the USAF Reserves, with the goal of furthering the law enforcement career I'd started in Pensacola, working in the Intel department and aiding in the capture of child predators. I would end up with a machine gun in a Humvee turret, thousands of miles from home, and loving my job. I mean, where else can a 5'3 girl be such a badass??? I couldn't fathom who I could or would become, and I certainly didn't expect the core of steel I found inside me. I know that my experiences pale in comparison to others. My soon-to-be brother-in-law served in the United States Marine Corps and was in Ramadi during the intial push. Heavy shit. But I also know that for me, the year 2009 changed everything.
I remember, with remarkable clarity, seeing the frosty air pass over the wing of our plane as we decended into Ireland that January dawn. The sheer beauty of that sunrise will, I hope, be with me for the rest of my life. In that one moment I was both humbled by the majesty of the sight, and shaken with the thought, "It's real. I'm going to Iraq. What am I doing here?" I reflected on the life I'd led up to that point, semi-charmed, priviledged and sheltered. The life I was heading into, hard, dangerous and exposed to countless, unknown dangers. I came back a solemn soul. Where there had once been a reckless, flighty girl, I found a grounded, determined woman. I didn't know it when I got home, but there were darker days ahead.
I moved to Minneapolis, MN on a whim that fall, barely a month after my return, because my strongest support system during that deployment, were the members of a unit up there. I'd been separated from my home unit due to my many qualifications with weaponry, surveillance experience, medic training and sheer determination when set to a task. I would be one of the sixteen Air Force personnel authorized to leave our base on patrol, none of whom were from my original unit. I'd formed deep, lasting friendships and I felt only those guys really understood me, what I'd become. What I didn't bargain on, was that they would go home to their families, and I would be so alone. That winter was a brutally cold one, even by Minnesota standards. I lived off of my deployment savings and odd jobs. But I mostly stayed inside, gloomy, cold and sinking deeper into a depression I didn't see coming. It wasn't until I looked at my recycling bin one day, thinking I'd need to find more room for the wine bottles I had in my hand, that I realized I wasn't ok. The decision to return home was a hard one. I felt like a quitter, like going home would mean admitting defeat. But sitting in my cold car, looking out over a frozen lake, in a quaint little town that I still miss, I heard a song. I began to cry. Uncontrollable, deep cries that shook me to my core. Within a week I was home. I packed my car full of essential clothes, my beloved dog and all his gear. I packed the rest in an ABF shipping container, and drove 23 hours straight, only stopping for food and gas. I arrived in Mobile at 9 am and thought to myself, "I'm home." A couple months later, I drove to the VA Clinic, went to the window and said, "I'm an OIF veteran, and I need help." And the healing began.
There was a trial and error period, trying to figure out the right medicine/therapy combination. I don't wish that on anyone. The depression would make me face demons both physically and emotionally. I faced a childhood abuser that haunted my adult dreams and found the words to tell him what he'd damaged. I would find a safe place to forgive myself and a sense of inner peace that I'm still in awe of. There are still bad days, ones that I have to force myself out of bed. But, I am pleased to say I've been in control of my anxiety and off meds for over a year now. I have a therapist that wears hawaiian shirts and swears like I do. The first session I had with Doc, he told me something profound that's stuck with me ever since: "The stories we carry from our childhood, aren't our stories. They're the stories of the adults around us. And fucked up stories, mean fucked up adults."
I don't share these words lightly or easily. But I needed to do it. The road to who I am now hasn't been easy. I'm the first to share my joy and a smile. I love reaching out to others to spread the happiness I find in life. There is much more there, though. I'm much more private about the personal devastations that have made me appreciate each moment. This is the first time I've put these words out into the universe to an as-yet unidentified audience. I don't know if they'll be read. But writing, rewriting and reading them has been cathartic. I'd intended this post to be about all the other things going on around me and how impatient I am for the next chapter... But maybe next time...
Callsigns: Lurch and Dumbellina. One of my favorite drivers, he avoided pot-holes...
