Poor decisions and victim mentality...

Over the last few months, I've been doing a lot of thinking about victim mentality, and how it has manifested itself in my life and my brain. After my rape in the Coast Guard, I very much slid toward the "promiscuous" reaction of most rape victims, and at the time (and now) I viewed it as a sort of cleansing, "washing away" of the memories of bad touches with new, good ones, or at least ones I chose, and so, in a way, trying to take back control of my body. I also realize now that I was in (and still am, in many ways) a vulnerable frame of mind, that was easily taken advantage of by people who didn't particularly give any bit of a rat's ass about me, and were only too happy to "dip the wick" as it were with not even the hint of regard or anything toward me. Now I seem to be going through a "fuck it, I don't want anything to do with guys physically" phase, and I'm not sure if that's even any healthier. Obviously, I'm at less of a risk for farther traumatizing episodes, but I really feel damaged. Like, broken... never to be fixed. That one event has now colored my whole life, and how I interact with people (or don't for that matter) that I feel like I don't even fully remember what it was like to go on a date, or be in a bar, without scouting for the nearest exit, and looking for ulterior motives constantly. Will I ever be okay again? I don't feel suicidal, but I do feel like isolating myself from human kind, and how can that possibly be healthy? Most of the time, I just try so hard to be normal, and interact in normal ways, that it starts to feel like I'm okay, until something triggers me, and I just completely melt down and lose my shit, and turn into a ball of rage and tears and fear and anxiety. I was asked recently (by a guy... 42 years old, actually, and someone who I had thought... til that point anyway was a decent human being) "When do you KNOW," as in at what point in a relationship or friendship with a person do you know that you two are destined.. or connected... or whatever the fuck he thought he meant. Like, SERIOUSLY????? I got over my disney brainwashing "one day my prince will come..." "soulmate" bullshit a long ass time ago. I will never have a "soulmate" nor do I fucking want one.

This post has derailed somewhat. My point is, I look back at all the people I have had a relationship with, or fucked, or I let fuck me, or whatever with, and feel ashamed. I have made so many poor decisions, and let men I didn't know, or trust, do whatever the fuck they wanted with me, not because I didn't know how to say "No," but because the one time I did, over and over again, it didn't matter. It wasn't heeded then, so why would it be heeded now? In a sort of self-propelling prophecy, I stopped giving a shit about myself, because I felt that no one else did, and I feel like that (obviously, or not so obviously) compounded the problem exponentially. I discovered my self worth that night on January 1st, 2007, and it didn't exist. I was meat. If I refused to fit into his cubby of "girlfriend/lover/madly in love with him" then, dammit, I would be forced to mind, as soon as I was drunk enough to be tractable. So now, I look back on it all, and in a way, realize that I let myself be raped over and over again, because I no longer had the courage to say no, and in some way I felt that I deserved it. Congratulations, Coast Guard, you told me it was my fault often enough, I finally believed it, and now, when I realize what a mistake that was, I want those years of my innocence back. I may not have been a virgin in body when I joined the service, and was stationed aboard that ship, but my trust in my fellow humans, particularly the male sex, has been removed so violently, and so cunningly, I can't ever get it back. I don't even trust most women anymore either, because of the catty, bitchy, petty, jealous rumors that my "shipmates" started on my behalf. People talk about attempted suicides all the time as "begging for attention" but when my self destructive behavior was (obviously, at least to me, now) in the forefront, no one helped me. Even when I begged for help, literally and figuratively, I was shunned. I was considered a whore. "Morale gear"
And when I tried to help prevent it from happening again, to new girls to the ship, they thought that I was jealous of the male attention. I feel like I have shriveled and died on the inside, and it doesn't even show. There is nowhere I can escape to, it follows me, always. Soulmate. HAH! You have to have a soul for that.

So now, about once every two weeks, I meet with a VA shrink, and try to explain to her what's wrong with me, but I have a hard time telling her what's really wrong, because, for one, I don't fucking know her, and for another, if I take it out of it's box in my head, and examine even the tiniest bit, I become useless for the next solid week. Crying jags, the whole nine yards, because the only way I learned how to deal with it was to stuff it down, and try not to let it effect me, otherwise, I can't function. The stupidest part about that, is that since I spend so much of my session either bitching about my sister, or talking about my financial worries, and pretty much dancing around the entire issue, that in itself causes the box to open on it's own, usually out in the VA parking lot, in my car, and I end up struggling to drive home safely, in a sort of shell shock. How can I possibly open up to someone I've barely met? How can I possibly share these painful memory shards with anyone? I've tried so hard to NOT advertise my vulnerabilities to everyone I meet, and now she wants me to focus on the most awful shit I've ever gone through, and (paraphrasing...) "Hurry up" since I've made it clear that I'm leaving in March to California for school, so since she only has until then to treat me, I apparently need to speed up the time table for her. WTF????

I'll admit, a lot of this is stemming from staying up all night, and thinking, plus watching some kinda fucked up movies, but I just wonder. It's already been four years now. Will I ever be okay?

Bones, goodbyes, changes, and new beginnings.

So as I type this, I cry. One reason is because I'm a total sap, and just finished watching the last episode of Season 5 of the show Bones. If you need a summary of it, just fucking google it.
The other reason I'm crying is because it brought to me deeply a reminder of all of my new beginnings, and old endings with the Coast Guard.
It also made me realize a lot of psychology of myself.
I'll explain.

When I got out of high school, and worked as a waitress, I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do, but I knew something had to change.
A momentous occasion in my life was when I was 8 years old.
The "formative years" as it were. We (my family) split apart, and moved to Texas.
The father that was only partially present in my life up until that point was now gone completely, and the replacement father figure was my cousin, Joe.
I went from having a dearth of discipline, to an (perceived) abundance.
You see, Joe was raised as an army brat. His dad, my mom's uncle, Ilo, served in the Army, and was a World War II P.O.W. veteran.
Joe, following in those footsteps, enlisted in the Army Rangers (at a time during our country's history when the majority of men his age were drafted, etc.)
HE VOLUNTEERED.
He served in a war that was unpopular, and caused him life long physical, mental, and emotional trauma, and out of all that, became one of the most wonderful, loving, positive, influential people in my life. He is a god damned hero.
He would never perceive himself as such, which only proves to me that he is.
He is the type of man who suffers silently, and fights demons daily and nightly.
This is the man who helped raise me.

When I decided to join the Coast Guard, he was so PROUD of me.
I thought, in a way, that I was copping out. I would never go through the horrible things he did, true, but I was joining the pacifists of the military, and yet, my HERO was proud of me, so in a way, I was proud of me too.
I worked out with him, leading up to boot camp, and he drilled me on my eleven general orders, my phonetic alphabet, the works, to prepare me for boot camp.
When I left for boot camp, yes, I was terrified at this new world I was joining, but also proud, to be part of a family tradition of serving.

When I had my worst days in boot camp, like the day I was reverted back one week in training, giving up the bonds of respect I had earned with my present company, and simply wanted to give up, or die, since that was how mortified and worthless I felt, I continued on, because I wanted to make Joe proud of me.

When I was going through mental and emotional hell, with what seemed at the time, no recourse out, when I honestly, dear reader, wanted to kill myself to end the anguish I was going through at the time, the only things that stopped me; THE ONLY things that stopped me, were two thoughts. The first: I don't want my mom and my twin to never know what happened to me. The second: Joe got through worse, and I can get through this too.

Now, I'm getting out of the Coast Guard, and going back to civilian life (for very valid reasons, listed in a previous post).

I find myself betrayed, by the "honorable" and "proud" service that I was so honored and proud to take part in, that trained my cousin, and made him the wonderful man that is so proud of me.

I don't feel I've earned it. The honor, or the betrayal.
I wanted to change, that's true, and I assuredly have, for better and worse.
I wanted to feel apart of a bigger whole, that I would have pride in serving, and instead, that "service", that "system" closed it's ranks against me, and left me feeling that I was no longer worthy to wear this uniform. That somehow, through my wanting justice for myself, instead of keeping my mouth shut, I should no longer be allowed to serve.
I know in my brain, that is not the case.
In my heart, it still feels that way, and I feel like I failed to be a good soldier, a good sailor, that I failed to function in the face of far less horror and difficulty than Joe.
Yet he tells me every time I talk to him, how proud he is of me, to keep my powder dry, and watch my six o'clock.

I feel undeserving of his pride.
I feel ashamed to wear this uniform.
I feel naive to have thought that I could function in a military world.
Chewed up and spit out, unwanted, and unworthy.

New beginnings? Sometimes I feel that way.
Right now, I feel like a dog slinking to the shadows, tail between the legs, having been beaten.

Melodramatic, I know, but it's how I feel right now.

Updates and panic....

So Thursday and Friday I was sick, had a fever and all that. Felt better on Saturday, my friend Puck came and picked me up, and I went to his birthday party at his beautiful house in Oakland. Real quaint, little zen place, 2 bedroom, 1 bath, living room, kitchen, and really cute little backyard. Just the sort of place I would love to have.
I realized that I have a day over 2 weeks, then I'm out of the Coast Guard!
What a long, strange, hard road it's been these last 4 years.
I've loved, and lost, and struggled with demons. Cried, and raged, and fallen into a pit of self pity, then climbed out again.
I have SO much that I need to do between now and then.
Clean up housing, get house hold goods to help me move my stuff, check out of housing, get my driving permit again, get temporary registration for my car, so I can drive back home to Texas.
Then, when I get to Texas, I'll have to figure out what the hell I want to do with my life.
I feel like running screaming!!! My anxiety level is through the roof, and I have a really hard time keeping my mind on task at work.
I mean, everything I do here is a joke anyway, but now I feel like I should at least find a good stopping point, finish the projects I've been tasked with, but it's really difficult to do, since my mind is already on my immediate future and all the stuff I have to do.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, I've been in contact lately with a very handsome friend of mine, that I was stationed with on my old ship. He's French.
I had the biggest crush on him while we were stationed together, but he was married, so I never acted on it.
Now I've reconnected with him on Facebook, and turns out, he's been divorced for the last 2 years. Apparently it was really ugly. She cheated, and was really emotionally abusive to him, and it turns out, he had a crush on me too, just never said anything, because, again, he was married.
So now he's not anymore, he's stationed in Staten Island, NY, and still has a while left there, but he hopes to get stationed in New Orleans next (he has family there)
So he'll be closer to Texas. Also, I'd really like to go visit my family in Paris, and he has family there too, so maybe we could go together. (Cheesy and romantic, I know) We text and message to each other in French. *le sigh*
I seem to be waiting for something, or someone, I just don't know what or who, all I know is that I'm tired of chasing. It's my turn to be chased now.
Or as I saw in a quote "The only thing a woman should chase is her vodka."
LTM (Laugh to Myself, because no one really Laughs Out Loud"

My head feels like an overinflated tire....

So I have a fever, I keep coughing up incredibly disgusting lung butter, and my head feels about to explode. (or rather, asplode)
I slept for about 24 hours yesterday, and I still feel like crap.
I also woke up to discover "Aunt Flo" decided to stop by for a visit.
Fuck My Life.
Not really, I just feel really crappy, and I'm missing out on one of my best friend's birthdays (that everyone seems to be canceling coming to)
and I just want the headache to go away.
On the plus side, I'm going to be getting the hell out of California, and heading home on June 2nd!!!!
Hooray!!!
I'll post again later, when I don't feel so much like ass.

Apologies good reader...

So I finally realized how completely depressing and negative my last two posts were. Again, apologies. I am actually incredibly happy, because as of June 2nd, I will officially be out of the Coast Guard as a veteran. Hooray!!!!
My Ma is flying out here to California, and we will be recreating our first drive to Texas (when I was 8), but this time without Morgan, (my twin) and with me as a grown woman. We will be stopping by L.A. to visit my Aunt Patty, and cousin, Greg, then on to Yuma, AZ, to visit my great aunt Margie. From there it's off to Albuquerque, NM to visit the Daddio and my step mom, Terri, then to El Paso to visit a childhood friend (stationed in the Army) then off to Austin. I can't wait!!!
On May 29th, at my favorite dive bar, I will be celebrating my termination with the Coast Guard. I plan to get VERY drunk, and sing lots of karaoke.
I'm especially looking forward to seeing and snorgling my kitties (we have 6), my puppies (we have 2), and our bunny.
Once I get home, I will be throwing a "Welcome Back Whitney" kegger at my house.
Just to give you a hint as to how I feel about having to go into work every day,
I have a mug for coffee at my office. It has a quote from Davy Crockett on it that states "You may all go to Hell, and I will go to Texas."
Yee Haw!!!!!

Sickness...physically and metaphorically

So today I played hooky from work. Or rather, I had food poisoning. Who knows, maybe it's just the fact that the thought of going to work and putting on my uniform makes me physically ill. For those of you who read this, and have not served in any branch of the armed services, you probably won't really understand. Here's a little inside information:
Three and a half years ago, right after I had conveniently forgot I had a Blog, I was transferred from cooking school to a 378' cutter (read: big ship) in Alameda, CA.
I was on board for the week trek from Kodiak, AK, back to home port.
Then followed approx. 3 months or so of in port time, then we got underway (went to sea) to Central America. Now I had, while in home port, stupidly and with a certain amount of naïveté, started dating one of my coworkers (a BIG no-no) but, then after about a month, came to my senses, and broke up with him. Told him "I'm not willing to risk my career for you, we can't date anymore until one of us is no longer on board ship."
Since he turned out to be evil, he started stalking me, and then eventually, once we got underway, assaulting me, trying to make me kiss him, etc...
Then we pulled into Panama. December 31st 2006.
I was invited by my boss, along with the rest of the cooks, to a resort about an hour and a half away, to relax, celebrate the new year, etc.
I went, and creepy-ex stayed on the ship, since he was cooking that day.
Legal drinking age in Panama is 18. I was 19. Bonus!!
I got very drunk, ex showed up (in front of our bosses) dressed to the nines to "woo me back"
I told him off, and went to a party with some locals I had met, and got EXTREMELY drunk.
Last thing I remember from that night is getting back to my hotel room, and passing out on my bed, with all of my clothes on.
I woke up the next morning, with no clothes on, my ex curled around me, and I can physically tell that I had sex the night before. I just don't remember it.
Needless to say, I freak out, and kick him out of the room, with me in tears.
I tried to put it out of my mind, packed up my stuff, and rode a van back to the ship.
Got changed, went to the wetting down ceremony at Hard Rock Cafe, Panama. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wetting-down)
I left that early so I could go back to the ship, not only was I not in a "festive" mood, but I had to cook the next morning.
Took a cab, (yes I am leaving out quite a bit about the cab ride, I'm too tired to go into all of it, ask me if you're interested)
Got to the ship, went to my rack, pulled the curtains closed, and passed out. (I had a lower rack. See pic: http://www.scottwaltervideoproductions.com/mediac/400_0/media/Scott$20Navy$20009.jpg)
Let me explain something. No one else was in the berthing area. They were all at the party. Also, after 2200 (that's 10pm for you civilians) Males ARE NOT ALLOWED in the female sleep area (aka berthing area)
I was awakened at around 3am to someone trying to climb in my rack with me still in it. Now, frequently if someone with a top rack is too drunk to get into their bunk, they will attempt to get into the bottom bunk if it is unoccupied. THAT is what I thought at first when I woke up.
I was wrong. It was my ex, trying to squeeze into my rack to rape me AGAIN.
I managed to push him away, and out, and he scrambled out of there, while I cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, I got up (I still had not showered at this point) and went to prepare breakfast for the officers.
We got underway at around 9am, I served breakfast, and went to my special sea detail (what our job is when we leave the pier...Mine was putting the national ensign up the mast, called the "steaming ensign", since we only fly it on the mast while we are at sea or "steaming")
Came back to the wardroom pantry (the little tiny kitchen for cooking for officers) and proceeded to try to get ready for lunch. In the process, I accidentally cut myself while chopping, and that being the straw that broke the camel's back, promptly burst into tears.
I then went and hid in the head (bathroom) attached to my berthing area, and proceeded to sob uncontrollably. A senior female on board came in, asked me what happened, and the proverbial dam broke. She took me to talk to the command, to file a statement officially. (at the time, I was very grateful for her helping me, later I found out she apparently told her own version of the story and spread rumors about me, painting me as the "whore of babylon" to most of the ship....I hope that when Karma catches up to her it HURTS.)
I then made my statement to my boss, then to an officer I trusted, then to the XO. (that's executive officer...i.e. 2nd in charge onboard.... one of the BIG cheeses)
Imagine that every time you re-tell the story, you get to relive it. OVER AND OVER AGAIN.
Summation:
The perpetrator (my ex) got a slap on the wrist, taken off the ship, sent to his DREAM billet, in key west, FL.
I got to stay onboard the ship (no, I was not offered a chance to leave)
and was isolated, threatened by his friends, propositioned several times by many of the guys on board (turns out, mostly due to CUNTWHORE's rumors)
and understandably traumatized by further abuse.
No rape kit was done. No medical exam was done until over a year later.
Now I am off the ship (have been for a year, but had to put up with 3 more years on that ship before I had a total breakdown, and was finally able to get psychiatric help)
The Coast Guard has deemed me unfit medically to continue serving.
I was convinced (by a slimy CG lawyer) while I was still EXTREMELY vulnerable, and didn't know my rights, to sign away my rights to prosecute.
So now, I'm out of the CG in about a month. Good riddance, and I'll start a new chapter in my life, however....
Every day that I have to put on my uniform, a uniform that once meant to me "protector of the small and downtrodden"
"guardian"
etc.
The command that was supposed to protect me, didn't, and instead they just protected the perpetrator with the "good ol' boys club" and beat me down further.
It makes me physically ill.
What a fucking joke THAT is.
However, I am trying to maintain a positive attitude now, so I leave you with this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBy4QXAAil8
Trying to make it my new outlook in life.

Friendship, and how my views have changed...

So I recently ran into a friend of mine's blog, and remembered "Ah ha! I have one of those.... or rather... I used to."
Many many moons ago.
Rereading some of those posts from just a few years ago is somewhat depressing, how simple and innocent I was then.
Not to sound so jaded and bitter now, it's just that I feel like Alice looking through the glass, and realizing the bright technicolor side was never real, and the darker, harsher side IS, and I must stay there
I have a tale to relate, and any comments would be appreciated (that is, if any of you who read this are still out there)

My "friend" (and I use quotations for a reason)
is on most accounts a good guy, if somewhat nagging and self important at times.
You see, we became friends while being stationed on a ship together, and there being a dearth of like-minded (read: intelligent) people, we would sit on the fantail (ass end of the ship) and smoke, and talk, and be sarcastic. Rant, rave, philosophize, etc.

When we would pull in to a foreign (or domestic) port, he and I often paired up as partners in crime. We both had a passion for good jazz and blues, liked whiskey and Guinness, and in fact, he introduced me to the fun of the pub crawl.
Let me state, at no time was our friendship ever inappropriate, nor did either of us wish for anything more, it was simply a kindred soul/older brother I had found. Shelter from the storm, etc, in all the hectic, awful things that had been happening to me. I have been to Hell and back, got the postcard, the t-shirt, and my soul has been tattooed with the spectre of my experiences.
However, every time we pulled back in to Alameda, CA (which was our home port)
I would never see him. Not so much a "fair weather friend" as only an "ocean friend"
Now, I understand, he is married, has a dog, etc, however, I always felt abandoned.
Like I said, I thought of this man as my adoptive brother. We used to chat and talk for hours on the ship, on this, that, and the other. We went through EMT training together, and when drills were called, we were always in the sickbay on board, taking care of wounded (or rather, fake wounded) hanging out, trading stories, etc. He is a writer and a poet, and would sometimes (VERY RARELY) let me read some of them.
And yet, once we were "home," (which for me never really existed... I have since moved into military housing, which is better, but not by much, and been able to NOT live on board a ship, or couch-surf at my uncle's house in Berkeley)it was like I didn't even exist to him. I've never met his dog, I've been introduced to his wife ONCE. I've never been invited out for drinks, or to play pool, BBQ, NOTHING. I never had many friends in the Bay Area (at least not true friends)
{I have more recently found some that have very nearly adopted me (which is wonderful and comforting, and slightly irritating sometimes... as true family should be)}
back to my parable....
So I was only able to have a friendship with this person, pretty much when no one else was around.
Flash forward a few years:
Now I am on a land billet, He is also.
We work in the same building.
I now see him, somewhat regularly.
He has quit smoking, is now a judgmental health-nut.
He rides a mountain bike and "loves the pain"
I wonder. Why did I think this person was my friend?
How fucking deluded was I?
What was I to him? A joke? A "project?"
What?
Now I'm getting ready to get out of the Coast Guard. My going away party is May 29th, in Alameda, CA. At one of my favorite dive bars.
I invited him, and when he finally responded, it was only to bitch about Alameda, and how trashy and uncivilized, etc. that it is from the rest of the GLORIOUS Bay Area.
Fair enough, true, the Bay Area can be amazing, and neat. I would love to hold my going away party at a beautiful, but little known vineyard somewhere up in the wine country, however, if I did so, NO ONE WOULD COME TO IT.
I can think of two, MAYBE three people who would actually make it, not to mention expense, ride home, etc.
I will have my going away party at a MOTHERFUCKING dive bar in Alameda. It's cheap, there's karaoke, the bartender loves me and has helped plan it, and written it in on the calendar.
I have already had several people RSVP, and we will BBQ, drink, sing, party, and give me a damn good send off.
It's too bad he's not the friend I thought he was, because THAT GUY would have had a blast.