Conflicted

Tonight I heard some terrible news: a guy from my church who was serving with the Marines in Afghanistan was injured by a roadside IED. He lost both legs and a hand. He may not survive. I know this guy personally. We attended church together for years. When I heard the news, I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

Right now, many of my friends on Facebook are circulating the story, asking for prayers for his recovery. They're saying nice things about him, like how he was a nice guy and a hero. I should probably be doing the same. But I can't. I certainly hope he can recover, or maybe find peace in death if that would be better for him. But I can't, in good conscience, say things I don't mean.

Certainly, with my husband serving in the military, I consider this man to be a brother in arms, and I respect his service and sacrifice greatly. But I never thought he was a nice guy. He's not someone I would normally look up to as a personal hero.

On a personal level, we couldn't be more different. I remember when we attended the same college cell group at church. At one of these meetings, we had an outdoor party where we played volleyball and other games. This guy (we'll call him Chris) was all over the place. He took the games far too seriously, getting angry and berating people when he thought others weren't playing their hardest. When we didn't keep score, he got frustrated and stormed off. He was also vain, always showing off his muscles, his car, and his gorgeous girlfriend of the week. Having to put up with him was highly irritating to me.

He also had a bit of a run-in with my brother a few years ago and more recently poked fun at my sister-in-law for marrying him. To be perfectly honest, Chris could be a real jerk to the people he didn't care about. He did try hard at times to be a good Christian, which I respect. But I never had a positive impression of him. I wish I could admit this openly to my friends, but I don't think it would be appreciated right now.

In truth, this is my grieving process. What happened to Chris is unimaginably horrible. No matter my personal feelings about him, he did not deserve to be injured or lose nearly half his body. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not on anyone. It kills me to think that this young man who was once so athletic and passionate about sports will probably never walk again--if he even survives the next 48 hours. The news report said he also sustained injuries to his pelvis. That means he may never father children or even be able to have sex again. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. Having a husband and family is the greatest joy of my life.  I can't imagine the pain of someone missing out on that opportunity.

I hate this war. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I hate what it's doing to my generation and my country. I hate that it turns healthy young men into paraplegics. I hate that it takes parents away from their children. I seethe every time I read another story of a young woman losing her husband or lover to this conflict. It needs to end now. Don't preach to me about military objectives or democracy in the Middle East. Don't talk about terrorism and the need for national security. No security is worth this price. There are other ways. We need to find them.

This is my message: Not everyone serving in the military is a wonderful, likable person. Some service members are jerks. Some are racists. Some are alcoholics, gamblers, misogynists and cold-hearted cynics. Not everyone in the military joined out of patriotism. Some of them would get out of the service tomorrow if they could. But what they sacrifice on the battlefield is still just as real and as painful as the noble ones who are in it for all the right reasons. In that way, Chris IS a hero and worthy of all the appreciation his country can bestow upon him. I just wish our country didn't make heroes in this manner.

A Lull in the Music

Hello, my dear readers. It's been a while since I've written. I've been extremely busy writing for my new client, who has put together a website on economics. I've been writing lots of articles on Adam Smith, Karl Marx, and economic theories of all kinds. I feel like I could publish my own textbook at this point.

Lots going on in the world, too. Occupy Wall Street. Wow. This is the kind of stuff I dreamed about years ago. I just wasn't sure if I'd ever see it. Oh, and in case there's any question, I absolutely 100% support these protests. If I didn't have a child and a husband to care for, I'd be right out in the streets with the protesters, sporting my own array of placards. The corruption in our government and financial institutions has simply reached a level beyond belief, and it needs to change.

Also, I just found out that a friend of mine from high school is in cult recovery. She joined a Christian discipleship program that everyone thought was legit, but it turns out the program indulges in a great deal of physical and spiritual abuse. I couldn't help but feel appalled at the situation. I get outraged when I hear of someone corrupting the gospel that I love so much. This friend of mine is a wonderful person, too, and did not at all deserve to go through that. Shame! Shame and fie!

At times like this, I feel like I should do something to get my voice out there and speak against the world's abuses. But what? I've thought of perhaps starting another blog or writing some articles, but I haven't really been focused enough to do it. On top of everything, I've been ill. A couple of weeks ago, I was having some tests done to investigate a medical problem I've been having. Then I had to go to the ER yesterday and found out I have an infection and early signs of pneumonia. So I've been sitting around for the past week watching my house deteriorate into a hazmat zone while hacking up a lung or two.

Better yet, in two weeks my entire family will be arriving at my house for Thanksgiving. Oh, joy!

Tough Week

This week has not been easy for me emotionally. I've been thinking quite a bit lately about my past, specifically my childhood and my experiences with my family. What started me thinking is that my mom is coming visit me in VA. I love my mother dearly and am looking forward in a big way to seeing her, but being around her tends to make me anxious. My mom has a habit of asking direct and pointed questions, the answers to which lead her to make suggestions that she expects to be followed. I'm a relatively structured and disciplined person, but my mother is at an entirely different level, and she has trouble understanding why I can't think and function as she does. My shortcomings in that way result partly from personality and partly from my battle with depression. Going about things slowly and approaching life in a more laid-back fashion is how I manage my stress. Otherwise, my head might explode.

There's another reason I'm feeling irked: my dad's birthday and Father's Day are both approaching, and as I discovered today, my feelings toward my father are not favorable at the moment. You may remember, dear readers, that just before last Christmas, a family crisis arose involving my parents. Well, certain actions of my dad's caused that crisis, and as I stood in Target trying to pick out a Father's Day card, I realized I am still angry at him. The hurt is so deep that I almost can't think of him as my father. I know in the past I have talked on this blog about how much I love my dad and how he cared about me and protected me growing up, but I feel like some of that was a form of denial. I stood in Target today sorting through cards that said, "You're the greatest dad ever!" and "Because of you, my life is amazing!", and I wanted to scream and walk away. None of it was true, and I couldn't in good conscience even buy a card that read, "I love you very much." Don't get me wrong: I still love my dad. But I'm so twisted and frustrated inside that I can't even lie to him for my own sake.

I hate feeling this way. It's so damn awkward and infuriating. I love him, but I hate him. When I hug him, part of me means it and part of me doesn't. Part of me wants to forgive and forget, but part of me can't get past the pain. It's very possible our relationship will always be this way. So, once you accept that something may never be normal, how do you proceed with it? I need to figure that out.

Mean

Last night, something interesting happened. I posted an invitation in my Facebook status asking people to tell me anything they wanted to say to me. A childhood friend that I haven't seen face-to-face in years (since I was 13) sent me a message apologizing for being mean to me in school. The crazy thing is, I don't remember her ever being mean to me.

However, I do remember several other people being mean to me in school. I attended a private church school for several years in a very small town, and most of the people I went to school with were also my neighbors, family, and playmates. (The school had about 30 students ranging across several grades, so we're talking very small.) For some reason, my "friends" often chose me last for games, left me out of their group conversations, or whispered behind my back. Maybe it was that my parents taught at the school and my dad pastored the church, which made me the "teacher's pet". Maybe it was that I wore thick glasses and had unruly hair. Maybe it was that I didn't have nice things or a lick of fashion sense. Maybe it was that I made exceptional grades despite staring out the nearest window half the time. Maybe it was that I was socially awkward from being raised in a home where I was expected to act like an adult all the time and didn't know how to interact properly with my peer group. But the meanness still hurt, and I didn't realize how much it hurt until my friend apologized. What hurts the most is that the people I remember being mean will probably never apologize.

I realize now that this is a bigger issue with me than I previously thought. Now that I'm an adult with my own family and measure of success, I feel relatively accepted and respected by others. However, for years I felt angry at my extended family for their lack of concern and support. Just before my study abroad trip to Japan, a particular aunt asked my father why he was letting me go abroad. I was 22 at the time--hardly a child needing my parents' permission--and I had earned two scholarships that covered all but $1,000 of the $16,000 trip. There was never an offer of congratulations from anyone in my extended family: no phone calls, no cards, nothing. It was pretty much the same story when I graduated from college and when I got married. I once sent $200 to help two children in my family; their mother was in jail and being prosecuted for fraud, and their father (a good man) was ill in the hospital. No one even passed along a thanks. I'm sorry, but I just can't understand how people can act that way. It's unconscionable.

Since all of that, I put it out of my mind and determined to get on with my life. But some pain is still there. Will it ever go away?

Navy Blues

This week, I'm hating the Navy. Normally, I'm fine with military life. It's been pretty good to us. When my husband and I married over three years ago, we pretty much had nothing to our names. Now we have a house, two new cars (one paid in full), a high-def television and furniture. But the Navy has been ticking me off lately and adding to my stress.

First of all, they can't handle a simple task like filing paperwork unless a generous amount of kissing up is involved. Back in early November, my husband applied for reenlistment, which comes with a pretty hefty bonus that will pay off our other car and rebuild our savings account. Well, the reenlistment office lost his paperwork. Twice. And then when my husband went to request his medical records to submit with his reenlistment package, he was told the records were lost. It took a week to find them. In the middle of all that, the guy in charge of reenlistment went on vacation for two weeks. Then when the paperwork finally went through, the office lost the approval notice and had to file a request for another one to be rushed in. When my husband asked about his reenlistment status last week, he was told that it should go through IN APRIL! Other sailors on the same ship have reenlisted and received their bonuses, start to finish, within a month.

So now that the holidays are over and we won't be seeing the bonus money for a while, we're managing our finances pretty tightly so we can pay off some bills and save some money. Except my husband's coworkers have some very sticky fingers and keep taking my husband's stuff, which has to be replaced. At first it was little things, like pens and thermoses. But last month it was my husband's virtually brand-new Navy parka that he had bought to keep from freezing to death on his mile-long walk from the parking lot to the ship. (As far as military clothing goes, it's about the most expensive item on the rack.) This week, it was the nice pair of boots he bought six months ago that should have lasted for another year. He actually had to get off of duty yesterday to go buy another pair. My husband receives a $300 clothing allowance about twice a year--which hardly begins to cover everything he's required to have--and the two items recently stolen from him are already in excess of that. You'd think that with morale being a concern on his ship right now that the people in charge would do more to discourage and punish theft, but it seems they couldn't care less. In fact, they recently had all the sailors in my husband's division give up half their assigned lockers so the lockers could be available for another use. So now these sailors don't have a secure place to store even half their stuff.

And then it gets worse: some first class petty officer thinks he should get special treatment because of his rank, so he demands the best duty shifts, which gets my husband (a second class) assigned to the worst shifts. The chiefs in charge often don't assign work until after lunch, making everyone stay late to get the work done, then scream at the sailors for being lazy and incompetent. The insanity just goes on and on, and I'm getting pretty sick of it. My poor husband comes home discouraged, exhausted, and depressed. Some days I feel like I can hardly take care of myself, and then I spend all day taking care of our son and all night soothing my husband. Sometimes, it's just too much. FTN

An Eve of Mourning

It is a new year. Normally, I would be celebrating. I like new things, including years. It's a chance to leave the past behind and make a fresh start. It's a time to make new goals and look forward to exciting possibilities.

I sorely wish that were true this year.

Shortly after Thanksgiving, the past came back to bite my family. The fallout has been devastating, and the situation continues to unravel, even if slowly. At times when I think it couldn't possibly get any worse, it does. Right now, I honestly don't know if I could be any more frustrated. Grief has me in a vise. All I want to do is sleep and stare at the walls. I'm lost in an anxious fog. I'm powerless, and I don't know how to cope. If it seems I have been remiss in my writerly duties, this is why. My mind can hardly form a thought.

The only bright spot has been my son, who knows no grief. He is getting close to his first birthday now, and he is rapidly transitioning from babyhood to boyhood. About a month ago, he came off the bottle completely and started taking liquids through a straw. He feeds himself with amazing dexterity, and will eat just about anything. He can play peek-a-boo with me by raising and lowering a blanket in front of his face. We can spend the day playing games, and he loves every minute. He is here, in this form, for such a time as this. I don't know how I'd stay sane any other way.


He simply embodies happiness.

Eventually, I will have to make a decision about my family as far as what my relationship with them will be. That decision will depend on what happens in the next few weeks and months--and what I work out in counseling. As of now, though, it is not a new year for me. It is just the turn of the calendar, a strike of the clock. The sense of newness has been tarnished. Forgive me.

Angry Again

I should have been asleep three hours ago. I know I'm going to wake up so exhausted in the morning to deal with my 9-month-old son, and I'm going to be miserable most of the day. That's how it always happens when I stay up late.

But I'm sooo freaking angry right now, too angry to sleep. You see, I've torn my house apart looking for the year's supply of contact lenses I just purchased a month ago, and I can't find them ANYWHERE. I can't find them because my husband packed them when we were moving from the apartment. He doesn't remember seeing them, or what box or bag (if any) he put them in. The same goes for the really nice Oakley sunglasses I also just purchased. And the brackets that attach some of the shelves to our set of bookcases. And I'm not sure he cares.

I'm also not sure he listens. For his occasional requests to "Talk to me; talk to me," I don't think he remembers a word I say. The last time we moved (from SC to VA), I complained about his packing methods--which are, shove everything into a box or Rubbermaid container and move it. No labeling or organization involved. Then he spends the next two weeks asking ME where everything is since I'm the one who has to put most of it away. This time, he moved some of our stuff in trash bags. I warned him that doing so could cause confusion about what was actually our possessions and what was trash. So I'm now convinced that my contact lenses and sunglasses are taking up space in a local landfill, because there's no trace of them anywhere in this house.

I'm so sick of always trying to be the better person. I try to work on my personal flaws, but the effort doesn't appear to be reciprocated, and I'm tired. He sees that I'm unhappy and asks what he can do to make it better. I've got an answer: listen when I say shit and act accordingly. And while you're at it, act like you give a damn.

Why I'm Angry

I've done much soul-searching to try to get at the root of my anger. For the past few months, I haven't really understood my anger. Sure, I could recall instances in my life that have made me angry, but I'd eventually conclude that I was over the hurt and had forgiven all parties involved.

But now I'm not so sure. I mean, in 99% of those instances, I feel like I have forgiven all to the best of my ability. But the anger is still there, ready to spring up without a moment's notice. And today, I'm going to be brutally honest and tell you, dear readers, why I'm angry.

I'm angry because for nearly 20 years, I've felt forced to live in silence about a wrong I suffered during my childhood. I'm angry at my parents who have basically pretended, in the years since I've told them, that said wrong did not occur and have discouraged me from talking about it. I'm angry that they did not offer to take me to counseling, even though they knew I was hurting. I'm especially angry at my mother, who once implied that the wrong was not what I had said it was.

I'm angry that I've had to bear the weight of this wrong almost entirely on my own. I'm angry that there has been, up to this point, no safe forum for me to discuss this wrong, even in counseling. I'm angry at the law that says certain wrongs discussed with a counselor have to be reported to the authorities. I don't want to report anything; I just want to deal with my issues! I'm angry that no one seems to understand that.

I'm angry at the nasty, manipulative bastard who turned my best friend in high school against me to the point that she hasn't spoken to me in years. I'm angry that I never stood up to him and allowed him to treat me and my other friends like crap on his shoe. Just thinking about this guy makes me want to put my fist through a wall. A concrete wall.

I'm angry because I feel like I'm the only person in the world making an effort to heal, change, and forgive. I'm angry that I feel obligated to change while others remain the same sticks-in-the-mud they've always been. I'm angry at the times I should have stood up for myself and didn't.

I'm angry because I have to raise a child in a world that's full of evil, injustice, lies, ignorance, and violence. I'm angry at all the selfish pricks who take advantage of the innocent every day.

I'm angry because I don't feel I have a right to be angry. After all, others live in situations far worse than mine.

I'm angry because I don't have the kind of control over life that I want to have. I just want to wake up one day and be the right person, full of grace and serenity, but that doesn't happen most of the time. Sometimes I roll out of bed just to realize that I'm back to square one. That makes me angry, too.

I'm angry that I'm 27 and still dealing with some of these issues. I'm afraid I'll still be dealing with them when I'm 37. Fear angers me, and I'm afraid I'll always be angry. I pray to God that won't be the case.

Thanks for reading.