Musing no. 23: Memories of Hooah.

A year ago today I got back from Fort Sill. It’s probably the most ridiculous thing, being sad about coming “home.” Training was my home. That’s where I felt most powerful, most respected, most apt. Hell, even for being one of the tiniest in the battery, I know I was one of the best. I knew all my stuff, trained at night, ate all the food I needed to sustain the strength, tried to get the sleep I needed. I was usually up first to do my hair before everyone. I helped those I can–strugglers, slower ones, the ones that cried at night after being yelled at during the day. I quietly agreed, even if untrue, when my Drill Sergeants told me I did wrong even if I wasn’t–like when I was accused of smiling at a male even though I was freaking squinting because of the sun, yeah we got crap for that. But I did my best. I wanted to be one of the best. I pushed myself to be the best. I did extra work. Hell I carried others’ heavy rucksacks more than the males did, because no one wanted to touch the females’ things–not even their rifles (when they were at sick call etc., we had to bring their crap anyway). And later on, that would take a toll on me. I got injured, because I kept going and didn’t know when to quit. I got hurt in training, but that made them want to get rid of me, because I was not built for it. After 8 weeks of training and being one of the top scorers for females, they wanted me out.
But what was the most challenging when I was away was fighting for my right to stay. I wanted to stay. I wanted to heal up, keep training, do my part, come back to NYC and be one of the first female medics in my unit–a National Guard infantry unit, the “Fighting 69th.” That didn’t work out now, did it? How can you defend ourself when the person prosecuting you works with the people who are supposed to defend you. You lose. 
So they send me back. And here I am, with fractured L5 facet joints, and a stress fracture on my right sacrum. Fun. And everyday I live with that pain. Sometimes I have to take pain medication all day because of it. Sometimes I lose my appetite because of it. Sometimes I’d rather stay in my room and sleep because of it. I can’t go running the way I used to before I enlisted. I can’t stand one way for more than 5 minutes. I ache like someone hit my back with a 2×2 if I went and took a nice long walk. I sleep for 6 hours, but I wake up every 2, because I have to keep moving my body and it hurts. There have been instances that I would be in so much pain, I’d lose my breath. But that doesn’t matter at this point. I’m just tired of the pain, and I have been doing everything I can afford to help ease it–acupuncture, therapy, cortisone shots etc..
Don’t take your bodies for granted. Go work out. Go run. Hell, go walk in the park. What I’d do to be able to do that without pain! 
Also, to those who keep telling me I’m not a veteran, I know. Good job, you did your part for your country telling us that. Nobody ever said I was one. Chill yo butt. Ain’t nobody got time for you. Go suck a duck. 
To my friends and family who have been nothing but supportive and loving, I appreciate you. Please keep doing what you do for me to others. You guys are sunshine and everybody needs a little ray. Being here in my–yes MY country, coz I earned tf out of that citizenship–country without any close family in proximity– shoutout to my Seattle Family–with y’all support helps a lot, even if we all have our own things going on. 
Okay that was a really long rant, and I doubt anyone would read a long long post. But anyway. Go enjoy this day. It’s beautiful. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful. Heartbreaking because this was the day I felt so defeated last year. 
But I’m coming back. 

Musing no. 21: Broken-hearted 

Oh the Broken-hearted.

Spent their time pouring affection onto people who don’t reciprocate, or recognize that their feelings are genuine; that they just want someone to pour their heart into and love. 

And now they’re stuck hurting because people can’t love them the same way they expect. They expect. Don’t expect. 

It’s difficult when you spend a lot of time letting people know you care, that you’re always there, that time will pass but your emotions will be the same. And now you’re slowly going insane. Because they can’t do what you’ve intended for them to do. It isn’t fair to them; is it, to you?

We break our own hearts by handing them to people who can’t do the same for us.

No wonder some of us numb ourselves. 

It’s so easy to say, “don’t give up, love will come.”

It won’t. It never will. Some have to pursue it, and other times it just stays still. 

So then those who are trapped with nothing end up hating. Being miserable. Projecting hate onto those who don’t understand why. And yet we all sigh, we all sigh. 

So I’m tired. I’ll just be still.

And I personally accept the fact that I should just watch idly by. And not pursue. And not wait. And not expect, and not hate. I don’t know if I was made to have a mate.

If I end up alone, I guess I’ll be fine. 

No one wants to end up with a crazy; no one wants to be just mine.

Musing no. 20: Emanating

Any emotion one feels emanates. 

You can see it in my eyes. You can see it on my smile. Whether it be joy, sadness, pain, or excitement, you feel it by observing.

And yet all I feel is a void that’s missing feeling. It’s numb. It lingers from inside your chest, out into your arms, your forearm, your wrist. It takes over your hand, and your fingers feel warm at the tips. I feel it, and I hate it. 

My dad was right. I need to stop being too happy because everything will be balanced out with pain. 

But now I can’t genuinely enjoy joy, or peace; I await the arrival of sadness and chaos. How morbid. Don’t be like me. 

I have 5 layers of blankets. It’s summer. It simulates a hug. Simulates comfort. An embrace that I may not ever find. By inanimate objects that can’t rewind. 

Don’t be stuck in my mind, it’s no fun there. Everyday is a struggle to have fun. Everyday is not a fairytale. Thanks for telling me that, &$)@. 

I’ll just go to sleep. Sleep usually fixes it. Usually. Fixes. It.

Musing no. 11: Are you awake?

Hi, it’s me.

Today, I feel like I’ve lost my fight. It’s okay, I’ll finally have peace. I remember feeling this when I was 14. Nobody believed me, because he was blood. Relatives would never do that. Nope. Let’s still help him go to school. Let’s still feed him when he’s hungry. Let’s ignore the fact that our daughter is wanting to kill herself because this human-imposed “purity” was the basis of that of a fulfilling and honorable marriage. But let’s help the enemy instead.

I feel it again today, unfortunately. And this time, I’m by myself. No one listens to you anyway, so what’s the point in surrounding yourself with people who have no care except to promote their own well-being, when you’ve been selfless this whole time? When you’d drop everything in a heartbeat, travel to them in short notice, but you’re just a passing hobby that gets too complicated. So bye, “it’s not you, it’s me,” yet again. Laugh it out. It’s going to be the case anyway.

She’s always handing her heart to people who would receive it, but not give anything back.

You’ll pass. you’re just a game. Try to explain it, and you’ll go insane.

Just wake up. It’s all a bad dream.

 

Wake up, you’re by the river stream. Pick the right choices from there. Don’t pick that box up. Save your money. Don’t buy that knife. Don’t cut your hair. Be beautiful. Keep singing, never stop. Don’t drink that.

Keep reading.

 

Is it something you’d die for? I doubt that’s passion, that’s just sacrifice and a justification of what’s “right.”

Does it make your heart beat fast, dilate your pupils, excite you, beckons you where you get distracted for hours on end, without tiring? That’s it.

Wake up. It keeps you awake. Find something that makes you want to stay away.

Don’t go to sleep.

Rage against the dying of the light.

Musing no. 10: Don’t ask me how I’m doing.

You don’t listen anyway. 

I say, “I’m fine, everything is well. I haven’t had an episode in days!” Just to make you feel like you’re doing your “job” as a friend.

But when I don’t respond, or just look at you, you know there’s something wrong. Of course you change the subject right away, because what the heck did you get into, asking me how I was doing, right?

Ugh.

Why do we ask people, “How are you? How have you been?!” If we aren’t genuinely interested in knowing how they are doing? Why do we say self-serving statements in order to prevent us from looking indifferent and clueless–when that’s exactly what we are?

Well, I don’t know either. 

Don’t ask me how I’m doing. 

Look into my eyes, maybe. Understand that there’s pain. Understand that it’s not easy. Understand that even if I go La-La Land all the freaking time, I’m not okay. I’m trying to be positive and find the good; I find the good even in those who think they’re no good. 

Listen to what I’m not saying. 

Then you will understand how I’m really doing without you asking questions that don’t warrant an honest answer.