FTA

The apartment and I are battling it out. I'm not sure which one of us is going to win. While I actually have the energy to clean, I'm feeling a bit intimated. The good thing is that I haven't let the laundry just sit. I wonder if the neighbors are tired of my washing vibrating the house on spin cycle.

It is so good to be home. My own bed -- which will have clean sheets on it soon -- felt so good. Sleeping on the couch at my parents' was definitely getting old. Mom and Dad's place might be comfortable and familiar, but this place is mine.

Now if only I had a Wolf to go along with it...

Soon. As soon as the Army tells me I can have him back.

home for the holidays

I must still be jet lagged.  Rolling out of bed at six o'clock when your body thinks that it's eight o'clock is not much fun.

Wolf, Tink and I flew to Colorado for the holidays.  That was Wolf's big Christmas present: plane tickets home.  And, home we are, despite cancelled flights, flying on standby, lost luggage and a very long car ride from the airport.  I don't think I've ever used the phrase "thank you so much" as many times as I did in a twenty-four hour period -- for everything from putting us on standby, getting us on a flight, switching seats, getting us a hotel room, and assisting us with our wayward bag.  Much better than being rude with airport personnel who are already overburdened with the mess of displaced people who are everywhere but where they should be.

But, all is well.  We're here, and everyone important is happy to have us here.  I might not be at my home for the holidays, there might be tons of family drama and people to meet, but this is definitely much better than spending it in the sandbox.

Going Home

I am taking the train home tonight with mixed feelings.

The man I used to work for at the planetarium passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. His heart just stopped. Twenty minutes later they got it working again and while his body was living, he was long gone.

He and the planetarium were some of the things that kept me going while I was deployed and again while I was at Walter Reed. During the deployment I would call about once a week and he would tell me everything that was going on. Even though he was very much against OIF/OEF and would go protest downtown every week, he was very supportive of the actual Soldiers. He always told me how proud of me he was.

Although he was married, he and his wife never had any children. But, as I once told him, we were his kids -- the planetarium techs, the students he tutored, and many more, I'm sure.

I'm not going to lie -- there were some things that I stumbled across or happened that made me feel rather anxious about being around him. Go ahead and call me paranoid, but I'll just blame the PTSD. The last time I really spent time with him was New Year's Eve. I'm still not sure how I feel about that.

But I can tell you that no matter how much my feelings are mixed, I am going to miss him very much.

the desert hasn't left me

I may have left the desert, but I don't think the desert will ever leave me.

It's been almost eleven months since the MEDEVAC. Most of the sand has been scrubbed out of my boots and uniforms. My friends seem to have settled back down into routines that civilians would deem normal. I enjoy the lack of several, sometimes strict, restrictions that I had lived under a year ago.

But, it's not uncommon for me to view the world through a veil of memories from the desert. Drifting snow reminds me of drifting sand. The sound of thunder takes a few seconds to register. And the recent summer rains? Mudstorms, hard packed sand, flooded streets and walkways -- not to mention the association to a few bad memories. The landscape from quick news clips of Iraq look all too familiar. Even the mental pictures I have of Ky and Aramis have a desert backdrop.

Honestly, I thought summer would help. I thought that having a lifestyle closer to what I was used to pre-deployment would help. I thought that being around friends and family would help.

I went away and came back a different person -- for better or worse -- and I don't think I'll ever be able to look at the world they way I used to.

home at last

I've been home for nearly two weeks now. It's been a bit of an adjustment.

Until I'm done with the military or treatment, whichever comes first, I'm still active duty. My primary place of duty is the VA clinic in town for appointments. If I'm not there, I'm at the job site. No outside employment. Not allowed to go back to school full time. I call my platoon sergeant every single day, my case manager multiple times a week, and I'll probably be talking to the social worker about once a week. There was no more than a day off of working and appointments when I first got home. No travel outside of a 200 mile radius without putting in leave. And don't dare ask for a pass -- it's probably not going to be approved anyways.

I know that I shouldn't complain. I'm home, I'm still getting paid, and I am not spending a cent on medical treatment. It's just not the idea of home that I'm used to.

My family -- well, most of them -- have been awesome. There was a problem when my brother came to visit and our parents stepped in and dealt with it. The holidays are going to be a bit interesting, and not in the good way.

Going back to campus was easier than expected. Bossman was so happy to see me. Someone had mentioned that he probably was lonely, with most of the gang graduated or otherwise busy. One of the professors assured me that I was no different in the eyes of the department and that as far as most were concerned I did my time and came back. Which is always reassuring.

Even though I know it's not possible, part of me wishes that it was like how it was before I left. Life moves on. And that's okay.

The goal is to get better, not to roll back the clock.

the good, the bad, the ugly

The Good:
-The sound of rain is still surprising.
-I'm no longer terrified of the metro. (Just don't add crowds.)
-I've remembered how fun it is to step on the really crunchy leaves.
-I will be home for the holidays.

The Bad:
-I still carry the tiny anti-anxiety pills. I hope I don't have a drug test any time soon.
-I have been awakened in the middle of the night by someone else's PTSD-related nightmares. More than once.
-I can tell when he's dreaming about Iraq, and I know when to wake him up.
-I don't know if I'm ready to face the not-so-supportive members of my family. I don't know if I can politely avoid talking about my issues and treatment.

The Ugly:
-A knock on the door makes me scream. It always startles everyone involved.
-He will not leave the room unless he has to after I go home.
-I'm afraid that I won't be able to go out alone after I leave.
-He knows what the roll of tape is for. I think it scares him.

coming to terms

In a way, I've come to terms with being in a psych ward. Yes, people have called me crazy both in jest and maliciously. My reply? I'm not in denial about it and am receiving treatment. Which is more than a lot of people can say.

My family doesn't know much about what brought me here. They know I was MEDEVAC'd. They know I'm being treated for PTSD and depression. They know pieces of what happened. I don't think I can bring myself to tell them the whole story and I'm not sure how long I can get away with that. For now they're happy that I'm coming home to continue treatment.

A few months after I start the treatment at home, someone in my treatment team will have to make a decision about my disposition. Do I get a permanent profile and go back to duty or do I go in front of a Medical Board to plead my case and possibly chaptered out? It's not my decision -- I really don't care how it goes so long as it's done in a way that I will never be deployed again. My normal drilling status as a Guardsman expires in late July, and after that I have two years of inactive status where I can be (and a lot of people are) pulled for deployment.

There will be no reenlistment. My Army career will end with this -- the hospitals, the doctors, the probing questions, the introspection.

Believe it or not, I'm okay with that.

at what cost?

-Why did you volunteer?
-Better me than someone that didn't want to be there.
-That's the best answer I've heard.

Even though I did end up at Walter Reed and didn't come home with everyone else, I still think I made the right choice. That I picked the right plane. That I gave it my all, that I did my best. I am not ashamed of being here -- I'm ashamed of what happened. But there's not much I can do about that now.

Sometimes I wonder if I would have stayed as long as I did if my sergeant had paid attention actually did something, anything. In retrospect, it was Sergeant Major that was trying to throw me a line, trying to help me. Always asking "Techno, what's wrong? Do you want to go home?" But it was not about going home. It was never about going home.

I wanted to stay. I almost made it. But at what cost?

feel so detached

I had a dream the other night that I was being MEDEVAC'd again. Only instead of going from Germany to Walter Reed, I was going in the opposite direction. Across the ocean, closer to the desert that had been home for so many months.

This doesn't feel real. The hospital, the daily meetings with doctors, the pills -- none of it. I think a part of me is still expecting to wake up in my tiny space etched out of the beehive of a barracks we were living in. When I look outside, it isn't a barren landscape of sand, scrub, Army-issue tents and drab buildings that greets me. Outside is green green grass, tall thick trees, and gray squirrels darting back and forth.

If this is what I had been missing so much, why do I feel so detached?

leaving them behind

The hardest thing about leaving the desert was leaving the guys behind. Although the reality of it was they were already gone in one sense or another. That happens when the Army dictates where you're going to work, when you're going to work, and what's involved in that job. Your life is in someone else's hands. Just a part of life out there. A part I don't miss much.

I think of them often, regardless of where they are now. Is Driver still having nightmares of his convoy being attacked and his friends killed by insurgents? Will his driving in the States be rather eventless? Has the base where Aramis is stationed been mortared lately? Can he sleep with the jets taking off constantly? Who has Ky's back now? Who is going to be his shoulder to lean on? Do they even think of me?

It's funny how three flights and three weeks changes your world completely. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, but it's for the best.

Here's the question that bothers me the most: is it harder to be seperated but in the same time zone as Wolf and my mom or to be an ocean away from Ky and Aramis?

I'm still trying to figure that one out.

trying to heal

I am in the same time zone as my mother, and I have refused to see her for two weekends in a row now. My parents are coming next weekend -- I can't delay the inevitable.

I jump at my own shadow. At car horns blowing unexpectedly. When someone comes up behind me.

My hands shake. What were once smooth movements, mindless things to do now are jerky and take more concentration. Writing. Typing. Using a mouse. Eating with chopsticks. What's worse is that I'm not entirely sure if it's from the medication or something else.

It's not unusual for me to see injured veterans here. Some have more than one prosthesis. Some are badly scarred. Many casts, many wheelchairs, many canes.

When the plane landed and liaisons, chaplains, medical personnel and unloading crew where pouring in, someone asked me what happened to me. Why am I here. It's a question that's following me everywhere these days.

I don't want to talk about it.

And this is not how I imagined my return to the States.

four winds

Dear Army,

Please stop taking my friends away. But thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet them in the first place.

Too bad that once we leave this place we will be scattered to the four winds.

less than sixty days left in a combat zone

Despite the heat, the sun is still setting early here. It's still rather warm but tolerable to be outside. On any given night as Aramis and I walk around our little neighborhood of sorts we'll pass games of sand volleyball, sober karaoke, groups of people doing complicated-looking line dances, some random guy strumming his guitar, smokers milling around outside of buildings, couples huddled around laptops, friends having a good time. It's times like those that makes it easy to forget that yes, I really am in a combat zone.

On the other hand, there are numerous reminders of where I am and why I'm here. A sprawling cavernous tent hospital, complete with its own frequently used helo pad and armory. Drills, alarms, giant voice instructions, body armor and protective masks. Explosions that make me want to crawl under my desk and hide. The occasional metal-metal click of someone reassembling an M16. Weapons in the chow hall, the PX, the gym, the MWR. Sandstorms that stop convoys. Bases that run out of food. And that blasted fence.

I have less than sixty days left in this place. It's both nice and strange to be able to say that.

this alone is motivation

See this little guy? That's one of my baby cousins that I keep writing about. He's grown a lot since I took this picture of him, about a year ago.

Sometimes he doesn't understand who is on the other end of the phone or why this stranger keeps asking silly questions like "what have you learned in school?"

Sometimes I wonder if he will remember all of the stupid games we used to play and silly things we did together. Will he remember staying up late at night, sipping warm milk and listening to Brazilian music? How I played with him, building up a hidden stash of cars until he discovered my trick? Nights of "show Techno how you brush your teeth!"? Whispering nonsense in his ear while out and about?

Mostly I hope that he'll remember me. I can't wait to see his big goofy grin.

saying goodbye, again

Yesterday at lunch I said goodbye to two of my girl friends. Their tour is over and it's time for them to go home. No more gut-spilling cigarette breaks, no more snarky comments about those around us, no more swapping camera bodies and lenses or comparing photos, no more nights of bingo playing each other's boards and complaining about the callers.

I think it'll take a few days to sink in that they're gone.

Dear World

Dear World,

Please take note of our return. Give us a hero's welcome, regardless of whether or not we feel we deserve it. Shake our hands, give us a hug, let us know that we were missed, that we are wanted, that we were cared for, that we are welcome.

Please take us back into the fold. Help those who are seeking for work find it. Do not look at our job applications, our resumes and think that we have no "real world" experience. Some of us have more than you think. Have you changed the popped tire on a rather large semi truck trailer in less than 30 minutes? Have you had to discuss and compromise when the lights will turn out in the barracks? Have you ever taken a weapon away from a tearful comrade, and then sat and talked to them? All of these are very real world experiences, no matter how mundane -- do not brush them away lightly. Help those who are trying to further their education work the system. Remind us of deadlines, refresh us on procedures, point us in the right direction. Resist the temptation of thinking that we are someone else's problem. We are not a problem, but we do need your help. And when we call you Sir or Ma'am, know that we mean it. Help those who have left their families behind reintegrate, no matter how big or small, how traditional or not. We left behind our spouses, our partners, our parents, our grandparents, our aunts and uncles, our siblings, our nieces and nephews, our cousins. Things have changed. Teach us, show us these changes. Please give us time to readjust. Calm us when we wake up in the middle of the night screaming, listen to our stories, have patience when we become frustrated with life at home. Know that we missed you dearly, and no words can ever explain that feeling.

Please help us heal our wounds, obvious or not. Do not linger on scars, on missing limbs. On the other hand, don't handle us with kid gloves when we need your help -- we will not shatter. A kind word and a good conversation can go far and mean more than you imagine. Remember that some of us have seen things that you could only imagine. Know that some of us have had nightmares or have cried ourselves to sleep. Be mindful of how a fireworks display or a door slamming shut can make us think that danger is near. We are human, and we are not invincible to all of the hurts in the world.

Please respect us, whether you agree with what we do for a living or not. We are important to someone. We have lives, jobs, families. Some of us volunteered to leave home, some of us did not. There is no difference between the two groups -- we went, we did our duty, we served our country. There are many of us who signed on the dotted line before September 11, and plenty who took the oath afterwards. Refrain from claiming that we should have known what we got ourselves into or calling us cold-hearted killers. Open your mind and try to imagine what our day-to-day life is like -- or better yet, ask us.

Do not forget us. We haven't forgotten you.

thinking ahead...

Just a few more months here. And then back to the so-called real world.

In the meantime, I'm looking at my bank account hard. Do I have enough money to go to China on a school trip? What about a few weeks in Brazil? Backpacking through Europe? Oh, and will I be able to afford a car and everything that comes with it? And books and fees for my first semester? Will I have to pick up another job or will unemployment be just enough? I might be able to pull it off, with my rainy-day fund intact. Or maybe I'll realize that I'm being just a little too ambitious.

There's other stuff that is bouncing around between the family back home and here. For awhile there has been talk of Driver moving. As in moving in with my parents and myself. It's scary, it's exciting, and I have no idea of how it's going to turn out. I've already written about our concerns about him driving back in the States. Add to the weaving and "I own this road" philosphy here that is normal for him to the fact that he's never ever driven in snow and I'm just anticipating trouble. Once we return, winter won't be too far away. Also, I know I'm going to run into the school of thought that cohabitating is bad/sinful/not a good idea and I have no idea of how to handle that. One of my guy friends is already calling Driver completely psycho just because of the moving plans. There's a method to the madness and it's not really anyone's business. There's a lot of research that needs to be done before the move: jobs, schools and covens, oh my. In the meantime, I'm crossing all of my fingers and toes hoping that it goes well.

And university! And my job in the planetarium! I can't wait to go back, even though I have to wait until months after my return to the States. The student crew that I'm used to won't be there. They'll have graduated and moved on to the Life After College. I have no idea of what other student employees will be there. Work will be strange without PhysicsGeek and EngineeringGeek. I'll probably have to study extra hard in my French classes just because I've let my brain rot and not kept up on my language skills. The same for my programming classes. I wonder if I'll go back to calling my professors "Sir" just like how I did after basic training.

Four more months. Just have to hang on for four more months of the hot desert sun and colorless sand.

re-entry shock

Wolf made it home, safe and sound. And promptly got nice and drunk for the three of us. Now it's Driver and myself that are moping around camp. Every once in awhile -- usually when we see or talk about something that reminds us of him -- Driver will exclaim "I miss Wolf!" With luck, we'll visit him after we return to the States.

One of the things Wolf's departure brought up was each of our concerns about re-entry shock. Driver and I both have to go through a demobilization process. Wolf, because he's Active Duty, just went straight home. No gradual return to "normal" life. Just get on the plane and go home, enjoy yourself, don't get in trouble, report to your next duty station once your leave is complete. On the other hand, the two of us will be held on a military post before being released to civilian life. No rushing off the plane and straight to our families. No big parties right away. Nothing other than the same ugly mugs that we've been living with, working with and socializing with for the past year. Only at that point we'll be in the States.

But once they do cut us loose is where our concerns begin. I'll start with one of the very basic and nearly essential parts of American life: driving a car. I haven't been behind a wheel of a car since last September. And even then, I was struggling -- I tried to leave my driveway with the ignition turned off. In case you haven't tried it, it doesn't work so well. Driver is a different story. He drives all the time here, but just because the nature of his job we're both afraid to let him drive in the States. When he drives during a convoy they are weaving all over the road. If he drives like that once we're in the States, he's likely to get pulled over under the suspicion that he's drunk.

The list goes on: losing all structure to one's life, losing support networks, reconnecting with those at home, paying for food, paying for gas, dealing with civilians, finding a job, going back to work, going back to school... you get the idea. It's a little overwhelming.

How in the world are we going to pull this off?

just amazing

Driver and I are going to see Wolf off tonight, and it's quite a sad thought. At lunch we sat in the sun, munching on pizza, enjoying each other's company. The relationship the three of us have is wonderfully strange and strangely wonderful. Wolf will be missed.

If it wasn't for being in the Army, being over here in the desert, the three of us would never have met. It's funny how Mother Army throws a bunch of people together and you seek out the ones you want to spend time with. And it's not nessicarily people from the same walk in life. Wolf, Driver and I are all from very different parts of the country and have very different backgrounds. We all found each other by accident, bumping around in day-to-day life here. At home, in the States, it's likely that it never would have happened.

Just amazing.

group effort

Tonight is the big lunar eclipse that the guys from Circle and I have been waiting for patiently for weeks. The dust storm finally cleared up just in time, and hopefully with the proper settings, I should come back with some nice photos. Unfortunately, it doesn't start until after eleven o'clock here and won't end until o'dark thirty in the morning. We'll be up all night.

Meanwhile, Wolf is getting ready to return to the States. His room is nearly bare. He's moping around when he thinks that no one is looking. When I asked him about it, Wolf just said that he hates leaving friends behind. He will be missed, whether or not he realizes it.

Before Wolf leaves country, Driver, Wolf and I have all discussed going to Mental Health to see my doc as a group. While Driver was on the road, Wolf saw all of the ups and downs. And when I'm feeling up, I either forget or glaze over the downs. I think part of me is afraid that I won't get the help I need because I'm not presenting a full picture of myself to the doc. I lied to her, I lied to Driver, and I tried hiding it from Wolf. I am only hurting myself.