Hi, I'm Zia and I'm an alcoholic...

Last night, I finished my first three steps of my first round of the 12-step Alcoholics Anonymous process.
It's something you never actually stop doing, so this won't be the last time I see step three- and, really, steps one through three are things you must do more or less daily to maintain your sanity anyway. Maybe some people don't need these sorts of things to remind them how to live, but I sure do.
I'm a third generation alcoholic, and a survivor of Munchhausen Syndrome By Proxy. I have survived rape, molestation, physical, mental and emotional abuse, as well as five and a half years in the army. I have been in therapy off and on since I was two- I wish I was kidding about that- and been in-patient, out-patient and treated patients (I was a medic) and yet the AA program has done more to help my sanity (what little there is) than any other type of therapy I've undergone. Medications never made the bad stuff go away or showed me how to cope, they just numbed me enough that I no longer cared what was happening. For some people, medication is the answer, and for others, it is the only way.
This wasn't true for me.
I go to at least one meeting a day- and I don't expect that to change.
Ever.
No, seriously, I'm not being dramatic here. AA is the place I go to check in with people who get what I've been through, and get that it's time to live today, not yesterday, not tomorrow. I don't have to tell the whole room everything I've been through- the vast majority of us seem to have had some experience with some really, really dark places and experiences. My sponsors (a married couple who prefer to co-sponsor) and a few select friends are the only ones in those rooms that know what I've experienced. I haven't felt like telling the entire room of people I see every day- some whom are friends or at least friendly, some who come and go or simply aren't people I've spoken to- just what I've experienced. Having survived sexual assault, I already feel like this crap is tattooed on my forehead. I don't really want to advertise it anymore than I feel it must already be advertised.
Oh, and I was sober more than three years before I came to a meeting. I was CONVINCED I didn't have a problem because I had done this on my own- only the drinking was a symptom of my brokenness, not the problem in it's entirety. I heard one friend say "I drank because I had feelings. Then I stopped drinking and the feelings were still there." This is EXACTLY what I experienced. All those horrible things the alcohol (and, later, medication) numbed me to never went away. So here I was trying to avoid the horrible side effects of medication and the AWFUL outcome of my drunken escapades and STILL I was trying to deal with ALL THIS STUFF all by myself. Nobody understood what I was struggling with, nobody got why I couldn't just let it go or get over it. True, I have PTSD- there's no doubt in my mind about that. But the alcohol made those bad things not so bad- until I sobered up and realized what new problems I'd added to the lot.
AA didn't help me quit drinking- but it has helped many, many, MANY people do so. AA helped me live. I'm never going to be "cured", and I'm probably never going to stop feeling safe enough in those AA meetings to want to go every day- and I hope not. Because, even though the memories, the pain, the experiences are still there, even though I'm not cured and not ready to rejoin the life I want so badly to lead, I am living today, today.
What the hell else matters?

What Is Up With This?

Now that the latest crying jag has subsided, I can write.
I spent the vast majority of the last two days crying. Then I got a hold of some friends and spent the evening and night with Rockabilly and C, so that I wouldn't be stuck in my head. It worked- partially. I had a mental image I know to be a memory, with a name attached but no face, and a general idea of where I was living (and, thus, what age I would have been) when whatever it was happened... I'm not even sure if anything DID happen, I just remember this one image, and I can't figure out why it's coming up now.
Today, I get a text message from Mr. Wonderful Mexico today asking to meet me- I got completely blown off by him yesterday and most of the day before, and didn't know why, but I was struggling with loneliness something fierce so I hung out with other friends. I sure didn't expect to hear from him today asking to meet up. So I met with him- and he called it quits. Let me explain- I have hung out with him three or four times, talked to him quite a bit, feel very safe with him, and like him an awful damn lot, and today he tells me I'm too young (the same age as his ex-gf, 14 years younger than him) and that I'm wonderful and beautiful and could have any man I want- except, apparently not.
I can't explain why this hurts as much as it does. I haven't been seriously invested in this relationship, well, it's not even a relationship... But I cried like I haven't over any relationship that immediately.... I said I had no place to try to change his mind, but it sure sounded like that's what I was doing anyway.
I don't understand why this hurts. He still wants to be friends- which is, technically, all we really were anyhow- but it feels like a major betrayal, and I cannot comprehend why it hurts so damned much.
I'm tired of crying, but I'm more tired of being alone than anything else in the world.

Like A Scared Rabbit

I just want to run and never come back.
I want to give away, sell or leave every single thing I own, pack up my Jeep, and go.
I don't know where. I don't have a home, I don't have family, I don't have anything or anyone.
I just don't want to be sitting in this house, in this miserable town, feeling like I'm just waiting on an inevitable death anymore.
No matter how hard I work to stay out late, keep myself around people, stay busy, stay distracted, I always end up coming back to this house, alone, quiet, submerged completely in the misery in my mind... I don't want to do it anymore, and running seems better than going back to the 'just give it up and die already' mentality.
Maybe it isn't.
But maybe it is.
I want to run to that little house in Louisiana where I had a good time, felt safe, even though I could never forgive the man that lived there for what he's done since. I want to find a small house in the country or a small, small town, and move in- somewhere they don't know me, where I won't run into any exes, or wonder if an ex will show up to rescue me from the pain, or if anyone even wants me there.
No, let's be honest, I want a damn Norah Roberts novel- the girl from out of town that moves into a small, pretty town with the intent of making a fresh start after a severely broken heart, and winds up meeting the man of her dreams and falling in love and happily ever after.
This place will never be home.
I would rather live out of my Jeep than continue to live here.

Single Handed And Friends

So, my sponsors had to help me get my heat going at home- Winter has finally hit here in the Sun City, and boy did I forget how much I hate the cold!
I let Rockabilly Boy know that we needed to end things, mostly because he just wasn't looking at it becoming anything, and, really, what do I need to get all tangled up in someone who doesn't see that I'm worth more than that? We're still friends, and, frankly, I like that better. I don't have to worry about if I'll get to see him (cuz I'm NOT arranging my schedule around a significant other's!) but we still see each other every few days at a meeting or with friends. He's fun to hang out with, so it works and hasn't gotten all awkward yet.
I'm meeting more and more people through AA, which is interesting and strange at the same time. One guy I've met twice and is SUCH a wonderful person, I just wish he'd stick with sobriety for the long-term so maybe he'd find happiness (not to mention he's really good looking and VERY sweet) and it'd be nice to see how that'd go.
I've hung out with a very handsome Mexican gentleman (not Hispanic- don't get all PC on me, the dude was born in Cidad Juarez, for hell's sake!) a few times, and he just had surgery, but I'm looking forward to seeing if that goes anywhere- he's been a good friend to me a few times when I needed something as it is, so either way, I'm happy.
For the first time, I'm not entirely wrapped up in finding someone, though. I really enjoy being around some of these people and, yes, I do miss having someone to disappear for a weekend with, and someone around in the evenings, but I do alright by myself. I have a group of friends I really enjoy being with, and, well, I'll live. If I don't ever find anyone to share my life with, I know I'll be alright.

Accountable

I didn't grow up "normally". I had one of those "difficult childhoods" people say make the most interesting adults.
Well, we got the interesting part right, huh?
Anywho, I talked to one of my co-sponsors (a married couple) yesterday, and made plans to have dinner with her and her wife today. Shit must have just gotten real, because it's finally hitting me- I want to run. Even though AA has made me feel a million and ten times better, even though I have no intentions of relapsing, I am terrified of the thought of someone holding me accountable for my every action- because it's never been done. How the hell do I just get used to something like that? How do I adjust to being responsible for telling my sponsors who I'm dating, sleeping with, hanging out with, what step work I've done.... everything? They're only there because I asked them to be, and, still, I'm terrified. This is a total repeat of every relationship I've ever been in, and it never occurred to me that accountability was something I resisted like this- I was so good at it in the military (until recently)....
This is hard.
I'm also seeing a guy, really good looking, so much fun, and also sober, who still very much has his walls up from the damage his last relationship did to him... We've gone around about not taking it too fast, and it just is what it is, and not needing to label it. He's told me if there's someone I want to start dating I can let him know... But we enjoy each other's company, and we spend as much time together as we can get away with. I like him a lot. He hasn't opened up to me much, but I understand a lot of his reasoning for being cautious about that, too. There's something really, really special about him, and, even if it doesn't turn into a true relationship, I'm really grateful to have him in my life, and to get the time with him I do. Maybe sometimes that needs to be enough- even if it is hard to remember when you're lying in bed alone, wanting that intimacy that comes with shared emotion. Then again, maybe learning to slow the F down is exactly what I've needed all along- and, if it turns into something in the long run, all the better.
ONE
DAY
AT
A
TIME

Change Over!

Last night, I realized that, as much experience as I have with folks with disabilities- not to mention my own- I don't want the limits of working at a school. I had considered two different career paths for quite some time now- special education and cosmetology. How the two of these interests can co-exist so strongly within one person, I'll never know.
However, I want flexibility, and I want to have fun. I have no doubt that I would very much enjoy working with children with disabilities, but, really, the restrictions and limitations on how I'm able to do that- when and where, particularly- are not something I'm interested in figuring out how to manage.
I want to go to school for cosmetology. While I don't doubt that it's a fairly well-saturated industry at this point, it's something that I've already had a decent amount of experience with, and something I do truly enjoy- and the possibilities provide enough flexibility and variation that I don't think I will manage to get bored. It helps that the school is rather short, and will not be quite as stressful as attempting to get a four-year degree, when I'm not even sure how I'll hold up to an eight hour day.
I still intend to learn to sign fluently, as I can't imagine that wouldn't come in handy every now and again, and the fact that, really, I just want to learn that. But I can take that course at a local college, I'm sure, aside from actually taking on a four year challenge. Cosmetology classes are also more readily accessible in terms of start dates than traditional colleges are.
So, as I learn how important fun can be in my life and to my happiness, I change direction once again and move towards what I believe will make me truly happy in the long run.
I missed going to an AA meeting yesterday, among drama with my service dog, and will be picking it up again today, and attending a meeting at noon. I'm also debating over getting my roots touched up professionally or doing it myself as I have been- doing it myself is certainly cheaper- though I may spring for a professional manicure-pedicure, since I haven't gotten one in months now, except for what I've done at home.  

Circles and Squares

Step One: Admit we are powerless over alcohol, that our lives have become unmanageable.

This.... is almost too obvious for words at this point. My life has been unmanageable for so many years now, and here I was just assuming that I just wasn't smart enough/strong enough/good enough to deal with the things that everyone goes through.
And maybe, to some degree, that's true.
That, however, is not the entire problem.
I was still trying to live the life I lived drinking, except sober. Or maybe I was just back to that life.
I quit drinking because I began to behave like my mother- making excuses, justifying actions I wasn't positive were the right ones, and ruining relationship after relationship, always in the same way.
I can't go to the bars---  no, can't is not the right word. I can, and maybe I'll even be able to avoid drinking while I'm there. That is not the life I want, though, and it's not the right life for me. I don't want to surround myself with people who get drunk as a release, because I've been there, and it's an excuse to do what you wanted to do sober but didn't have the balls to. Maybe this isn't true for everyone- I am neither judge, jury nor hangman- but it's true for me, and what I see when surrounded by folks drinking bears an awful strong resemblance to my behavior when I drank.
I don't want to even be sober in that lifestyle- I don't want to be excluded and included at the same time, it's too messy to try to balance that. People making toasts with shots over my head because it's an "alcohol" thing. Having people completely forget to grab that (free) water when they were busy getting a round for everyone else. I don't want to spend that time there, not like that. I don't want to just be a built-in DD for everyone, because that's all I feel like. I'm the babysitter, the one who keeps everyone out of fights, makes sure we all get home safely, who makes sure everything is taken care of- but I'm also the punching bag. I'm the one who's not drunk when someone is disrespectful or belligerent, the one who remembers the insults the next day, the one who doesn't have an excuse to sling one back and expect it to go away by morning. I don't want that life, anymore. I would rather be dancing on tables and passing around guacamole and wearing that stupid Spongebob hat we found, playing board games and taunting one another, yelling and screaming and getting all jacked up on Mountain Dew than deal with one more miserable night of trying to keep up with everyone's alcohol-soaked sagas and mood swings, and of feeling responsible for a bunch of grown ass drunk folks. I don't want to be that person anymore. I allowed myself three and a half years of touch-and-go with alcohol, of craving, of excuses, of frustration and fury and fuck it I'm DONE with that!
< / Rant >

Wet On Dry Land

Folks who frequent AA call people who try to sober up on their own without meetings, etc. going "dry". Sober, but not really much else. I sobered up three and a half years ago, while I was stationed in South Korea. April will make four years.
Friday night, I spent time with the people I've come to consider my family. As per usual, they decided to go to the local VFW chapter, and began drinking. I drank water. Shots were done around me, toasts made over my head and if a round was bought, I was not thought of. As per usual.
That day, a no-contact order had been put in place by my commander against yet another of my male friends, and I was asked why I have male friends. Apparently a single military female shouldn't even speak to a married man for fear their wife takes it wrong. The house in my hometown that I was planning to move into fell through. I spent the entire day in the office, with I don't know how many panic attacks, and filled out, no lie, six different leave forms, in addition to the three I'd already submitted.
By Friday night, I wanted a shot. No, that's a lie. I wanted THEM ALL. Every shot, as many as it took to get me wasted plus six dozen more, please, bartender.
For the first time in years, I voiced this. And one of my friends got up to get me one.
I wanted it.
After three and a half years of sobriety, I was ready to throw it away. I wanted that drink.
I ran out the door.
I drove back to town, setting up a place to meet an AA-going friend on my way.
I attended my first three meetings-in the same day.
More than three years after quitting.
I came home.
I have spent the weekend in a house with three men, and no alcohol. Last night, after the last meeting, we made pizza, root beer floats, gorged ourselves on snack food, played board games that quickly turned into dirty jokes, and taunted the hell out of one another. We're pretty sure the sheriff that was behind us in line at the grocery store thought the three clowns laughing their assess off and buying $110 worth of snack food were high.
I have never had this much fun drunk.
Then again, I'm pretty sure I didn't know I could have this much fun with a bunch of sober people, either.
Life is changing.
If there's anything I want to take away from this, though, I really want to remember to trust the process- or maybe at least learn to.

Today's Leap

Today's video about living with and (hopefully) surviving CPTSD.... and the med board process. 

Complex PTSD [Video Blog]

My explanation of life with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Sudden Death

In the last half hour, I have gone from goofing off and singing along to Dwight Yoakum's Fast As You to feeling as though I'm drowning in the fear that's been absent these last few hours.
I've been sober three and a half years, April 21st will be four, and yet I've been craving alcohol worse than I have in at least six months lately, to the point I've seriously considered starting to drink again, even though I remember how hard it was to quit, and how much I hated who I was when I was drinking.
Right now, my fear is taking over- I don't know what triggered this today, I wish I did. All I know is that I'm terrified I'll never be able to remain in one relationship or one place very long. I'm scared I'm doomed to be one of the "broken" girls who moves endlessly from relationship to relationship, all doomed, all just waiting to end. I've never been what most would consider a "good girl"- I've always been reckless and wild, but I'm scared there's always going to be that division between me and "those" girls... The ones who marry one man, have children, and spend the rest of their lives with them, the ones who can trust a man completely, who can trust anyone completely, and control themselves and their fear enough to keep themselves and their man happy and together.... I'm not sure I'll ever be one of those girls.
This is PTSD, even as I sit here and recognize the symptoms, the habits, the all-or-nothing thinking, the hopelessness... Even though I can identify them, I cannot make them go away.

Drama And Doubts

I wonder if there's anyone who doesn't doubt themselves- seriously.
I made a choice to ask someone to leave my life months ago, and, even though everything that's happened since tells me that it was the right choice, a part of me still questions it. A lot of me is shocked that my best friend would rather leave to go live elsewhere than to get his crap together and remain a part of my life. Then there was him running back to his old ways despite the promise he made that he was different, and never wanted those people in his life again. I suppose it's for the best, but it's still a serious trip sometimes realizing that he could give up so easily when we'd become so close.
And now I'm staring down the barrel of some of the biggest changes of my life, and there's so much "new" it's startling- and so many people who I'd expected to be there through anything have proven that was never the case.
C is gone, S is gone, several people who I felt more obligated to than safe with have had to be asked to leave my life... This is a brand new start, but who knew brand new had to wipe out so much old?

Turkey

So, C is a ego-maniacal, self-centered, clueless, phallo-centric prick.
But, since he spent the entire day... what day was that? I don't remember. Anywho, he spent the entire day drawing out a break-up via text message- which he blamed on his career. Before he'd even seen me.
So, yeah, that was a waste of time.
Funny thing? It pissed me off- not hurt me, just straight up pissed me off because he was such a coward about it. I mean, really, what does that say about my taste in friends?
Anyway, thankfully, my local biker family still had my back, and I went crying back to them (no, I wasn't ACTUALLY crying- jeeze, he's not worth all that!) and they welcomed me with open arms- turns out, they kinda saw this coming.
Po, my going-through-a-divorce, middle-aged-and-would-kick-my-butt-for-saying-so friend/family dude stayed at my place Saturday night so my niece could have her bed for a change. The conversation Sunday morning, when he finally managed to get my eyes to open, went something like this.
"We've been up for a while."
"Have you taken the dog O-U-T?"
"Yup. We smoked a few cigarettes and took a dump on the front lawn."
*looking at my dog* "I thought you quit smoking months ago!"
Po: "You shoulda seen the look on the neighbors' face when I took that dump right out front, man!"

....Bizarre, yes. We're still cracking jokes about this that people look at us like we're stupid for. We don't care. We're both going through shit, and if the thought of a 40-something year old man with grey hair crouched on my front lawn taking a dump makes us laugh, dammit, laugh we will!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, Boss Man has been on leave for over a week now, but mine still hasn't been approved. So I have no idea when I'll even start clearing post, or when I can expect to be able to move or leave the immediate area. All I know is the army stuff is wearing me out in a very big way.
The silver lining to this is that the more time I spend away from the army, the more I realize that I am able to get better. No harassment, no threats, no insane sanctions on my personal freedom and I start feeling much less like a dangerous, cornered animal and more like me.

Love, Family, Relationships..... And Me.

In case you missed that, I didn't grow up in anything resembling a healthy nuclear family.
Abuse, manipulation and lies were pretty much the standard set, although, somehow, neither my sister nor I seemed to pick up the "family values" set down for us by our mother.
So, at nearly twenty-seven years old, I'm learning how to be part of a long-term relationship, part of a family, and to actually really, truly love people, flaws and all, for the very first time.
Nobody ever could have put into words how hard this would be.
Television makes it look so EASY to fall in love- sure there's always the stupid outsider who tries to break them up, but other than that, they KNOW they're meant for each other, and don't ever get truly tempted to just give up because they're TIRED of trying. That's all that seems to happen in real life. Once, I believed that any relationship could work if both people wanted it enough. Now, well, I have a much, much harder time ever wanting it enough to go through half of what I've been put through... not to mention the hurdles I've actually had some part in.
And now, there's C. One of my oldest friends, someone I've been madly in love with for years, who hasn't shown me anything that made me think I stood a snowball's chance in hell, and now we're together-ish, I guess??? Oh yeah, and I'm moving eight hours away from the life I've been building to be with him- granted, a lot of what I've been working on is transferable, but, seriously, that's a LOT of risk on my part. Which, at the moment, I would say he doesn't understand in the slightest.
NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST!
I know I'll feel differently later, once I calm down and he pulls his juevos out of his throat to explain whatever it is going on in that twisted little brain of his, but right now, I'm MAD. PISSED!! I didn't get a response from him most of the day (which I did a damn good job of sucking up and dealing with, considering all those insecure little bitches playing ring-around-the-sanity so consistently) and then he's out at the bar with friends, which doesn't really bother me, but he has little to no interest in actually talking to me, but says I have his full attention, then tries to talk me down off of any topic of real importance.
WTF, DUDE?!
I open myself up, after five years of being convinced YOU didn't think I was good enough (okay, so that's basic Freudian projection, what the F ever, I didn't know that THEN, JERK!) and laid it all out on the table and- voila!- you suddenly- FINALLY!- said you felt the same- and, no less, HAD ALL ALONG?! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!
Now, though, I'm just supposed to suck it up and accept all of this as natural and normal and not-questionable-or-scary-at-all and completely ignore the LAST FIVE AND A HALF YEARS OF SHIT?! WHAT PLANET ARE YOU LIVING ON?!
So, here's Miss Zia learning to actually believe people aren't ALL waiting to walk away and/or use her, and she's just supposed to have an easy time with all of this? Leave. The Crack Pipe. ALONE!
C is coming to visit this weekend. At one point, I was mad enough- albeit not entirely logically mad- that I considered telling him not to bother. And part of me wants to, just so MAYBE this boy will get a CLUE about what the hell he is asking me to DO here!!!!!!!!!! But I'll regret it if he doesn't fight me on it. And I hate the fact that I get why he can ignore my emotional moments- sometimes, that's just part of dealing with my crazy messy emotions. Ignore them. BUT NOT ALLLLLLLL OF THEM, JERKWAD.
Seriously? Some might be based on nothing but hormones and bad f'ing juju, but SOME OF THEM ARE STILL VALID AND NEED TO BE ADDRESSED.
OF COURSE I want/need to talk about this crap with the man I'm planning- not just considering, PLANNING- to move across f'ing Texas to be with, but Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!! He's got to be too stubborn to want to talk about this crap with me.
Whatever.
Jerk.

Modeling and Mayhem

So, I did a shoot with my friend over at M.A.R.H. Photography on Saturday. He's currently working his magic on the already-incredible photographs, and I'm looking forward to getting more of them back. Seriously, if you're in the El Paso, TX area, he's the man to contact for photographs- I don't know how many times I've seen pictures he's taken of me that I immediately said "REALLY?! That's ME?!" to. He's a lot of fun to work with, and he's bilingual, too.

This one was his "holy grail" shot- he was THRILLED to get the gorgeous car and one of his favorite models (or so he says) in shot like this. I was having fun, and just thought this was a great picture. Again, WONDERFUL dude to work with.
It wasn't any surprise today when I found out that my departure from the military was delayed just a bit more (again), so at least the freak-out was minimal. My anxiety has been SUPER high these last few days, especially when dealing with anything even remotely military- and some things/people not.
I got into an argument with one of my guy friends last night after he posted something referencing something or other "whore"-related. I picked a bad time to bring up the subject, as my anxiety was already very high, but it will never not bother me when people use a term like this. I'm loud, crazy, and often angry- but judgmental is a trait I work hard to avoid- but never claim to fully manage to dodge. I'm not perfect, far from it, and I get that.
But words like "whore" and "slut" are so hateful and judgmental at their very core that I don't see how there could ever be a true purpose for their existence. One of my female friends, one of several who prides herself on being a slut and who sees freedom in living as such, pointed out that whore literally means someone who gives sexual favors in exchange for monetary gain. Good point, but I'll stick with prostitute. It gets the point across equally as well without being primarily derogatory in nature.
Another good friend of mine said, and I quote: Everyone knows that sluts are just women who do as they please, and please they do! I love her. So much. She rocks.
I will never. NEVER. NEVVVVVVVVVVEEEERRRRR call another woman a slut or whore. I refuse. It's a useless, patriarchal, judgmental attitude that comes with those words, and I refuse to allow my niece or any other young girls see me judge another woman- there's enough hate and judgment in the world, I won't add to it so far as I can help it.
As a two-time rape survivor, I don't care who you choose to sleep with, how many people you choose to sleep with, when or where you do so- so long as you're honest and respectful (including being safe!) with everyone you're involved with, I don't think it's anybody else's place to know, care or judge.
Slut-shaming is wrong.

Dysfunction

Considering changing the name of my blog to "Another Dysfunctional Not-As-White-As-You'd-Think Girl".
Or something.
My Facebook status is currently set to "Don't worry. It's not MY blood." (Thank you, Bloggess, for giving me phrases like this to replace my usual sour snark with. It is very much appreciated. At least by me.)
Because it's Sunday night, the man I love dearly is passed the F out, an eight hour drive away and all my insecure little girl voices are running laps in my head shouting out random possibilities to see which one can freak me out and make me give up on sleeping.
EVER.
I've had not one but TWO exes try to guilt-trip me into going back with them this weekend, and, surprisingly, neither were of the variety I was ever married to.
My service dog is curled up behind me on the couch, my tattoo artist/friend is dealing with his baby mama, my photographer/former co-worker/friend is having a bad night of his own, my best girl friend is working (and roughly five months pregnant), and my cat is laying at my feet sleeping better because I'm not sleeping at all.
Bastard.
I've already taken one dose of my valerian root-passion flower extract/supplement combo which has managed to get me to the point of at least picturing getting all stabby on those insecure little bitches in my head, but not enough so that I've managed to shut them the F up.
I once joked (half joked) that I'm going to re-name Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder "Post-Tremendous Shit Disorder" because it just seems to get the point across to the ignorant fucks in my daily life much more quickly. Rape, child abuse, abusive relationships, etc., etc., et-f'ing-cetera have taken their toll, I had no say in it, and I would have preferred combat to living in this day-to-day crap unsuccessfully. Life-or-death I can handle. Your garden variety stupidity, stress and ignorance, not so much. I don't really give a F if my bills are paid on time, because I know from experience that I can live without electricity, without gas, without whatever- to include a roof over my head. I tend to prefer not to, so I pay my bills. That doesn't mean the idiot telling me I'm screwing up my entire life because I "don't want to get better" and live the life he's chosen for himself is worth the oxygen he is currently stealing from people who would be a much better use of it.
So, yes, I'm getting all freaking stabby tonight, because I know the brand of stupidity I will be forced to deal with tomorrow all too well, and it doesn't seem to be getting any easier.
And no, I'm not sure if the anger issues are part of my personality or the Post-Tremendous Shit Disorder. I can't separate the two anymore. Thank you for asking- NOW LEARN TO USE YOUR F'ING BLINKER, DICK WEED!!!

Home?!

So, the struggles of PTSD and attempting to get out of the army alive have been put on the back burner for the weekend.
Yesterday, my whole life was turned on it's head after a conversation with a very old, dear friend revealed that I'm not the only one who has had romantic feelings and hopes in that particular friendship. Suddenly, life seems a lot clearer, if not especially easier. I discussed this situation and my newly rediscovered intent to move back to the place I was living before I joined the army with my closer friends and, of course, the man I was dating. Yes, was.
Never in my life, until this moment, have I been among the category of people who have "dumped" one person for another- but I assure you the word dump is an accurate description, because, no matter how nicely or gently you do it, and no matter how pure your intentions and reasons- that's exactly what it feels like. It's a crappy feeling.
So, today, I struggle between being very happy that I finally have the man that I have adored for over five years now as a long-term part of my romantic life, and feeling guilty that attaining that happiness required me to hurt someone else's feelings.
The strangest part of it is that I'm enjoying struggling with a conflict that doesn't make me question my own sanity and ability to function. This isn't a PTSD thing, for a change, and this situation doesn't reflect any of my past struggles in any way- it's just a situation humans find themselves in once in a while.
Ultimately, though, the struggle is handled- there's little to nothing left I can do to soften the blow on anyone hurt by all of this. I did the best I could, and still am. I am very happy that I have this chance with someone I know so well and care so much for, in a town where I have several other friends, and where I'll be able to go to school to teach special education. Also, a friend of mine has contacts in the modeling world up that way, so, even though this will require a move on my part, it has some serious benefits that I cannot deny, even if it weren't for the amazing romantic situation.
I spoke to my wonderful friend for about three hours on the phone earlier, and I despise the telephone, but it was so good just to hear his voice, to be able to talk to him about life and our plans and what we've been dealing with. He's wonderful, and he's always been one of the best friends I've had, even when our friendship became strained at some points. I'm really, really looking forward to finally looking at those gorgeous brown eyes and knowing that I'm not imagining what I see looking back at me.
Feels like a love story, and I am so grateful.

Family????

I've never had family.
Yes, I've known people I was related to by blood, but the ones in that category I ever felt like I could really "go home" to if I needed to are long gone now. I've never had that relationship with either of my bio parents, and my relationship with my stepdad was much healthier and happier, though strained for very different reasons, in very strange ways.
Sitting here and wondering if I gave up too soon, if I wasn't as right as I thought, even if I wasn't wrong, maybe I wasn't completely justified in my actions at that particular point....
But I'll never know, because gone is gone.... because some parts of your past will never be willing to return, or maybe they're not supposed to, I don't know...
I'm lucky to have what I do now, and yet, all I can do is look back at my past and wonder if I'd do it all again, knowing what I know now. I just wish the answer was yes.
How do I look at my closest friends, and know that walking away from them is WRONG- that these people are FAMILY and they would not give up on me no matter what, and yet know that this is knowledge I didn't have to be able to apply it not so terribly long ago???
How can you ever move forward when the past is so painful, and still clinging so much to your very soul? I don't want to lose what I have today, I don't want to lose the hope I have for my future, but my past just hasn't really left me yet.

Setbacks

Just when I was so close to being set free from this military life, I get knocked on my butt again.
My paperwork sat on someone's desk for two weeks, got improperly "finished" today, so I was sent back to get the same paperwork done all over again- only to be told, oh by the way, we added something else to the list of things you need to submit that paperwork you submitted two weeks ago, so you have to come in two hours early tomorrow and hopefully you can get everything taken care of, because right now you're not good.
Oh yeah, then there's that memory that keeps popping up like some bizarre cross between a stabbing pain and an addict's craving for a part of my past I'm barely even beginning to understand. I have it so good right now, why is this tugging at me when there's nothing to be done, and no way to fix it? I'm hurting so badly and I don't have the first clue how to even explain it to MYSELF, let alone rationalize it out loud. It was a very long day, I am hurting, I am tired, and I don't even want to deal with myself right now.
I got a new tattoo today in a somewhat-effective attempt to dull the impulses- a bullet-riddled heart. I'm sure there will be people who give me the "Why would you get THAT?!" bit for this one- but, really, I have a corndog tattoo. My body is the last thing I'm going to stress out about. It's a vessel for things far more important, and, really, maybe if I can see these memories and feelings, maybe I won't need to go through them inside anymore.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
But maybe.

Failed Transactions

The lady on the other end of the phone told me she'd cleaned out all my failed transactions so that I wouldn't have any more problems with my ATM/Debit card.
As I sorted out the problems and bills, a song called Modern Day Prodigal Son by Brantley Gilbert came on my radio.
I began to cry before I understood why.
I cried because I haven't allowed myself to trust anyone enough for them to become my family. I cried because I don't have a home to run back to. I cried because I've worked harder to protect myself from losing the two things I never had than to build them.
I cried because I have the chance to do it now, to not blow it this time, to have a home and a family, and I've already come so close to turning away from them.
I cried all the way home from the bank, in uniform, scared and overwhelmed at all the things that had just sunk in. I'm sitting here now, shocked that I'm not still crying. I'm almost numb now, mostly from being totally overwhelmed, I suppose.
I have a chance at a family and a home- people who won't mistreat me, people who I can- and have- corrected when they do something that hurts me who will fix their mistakes and neither of us have to walk away because of those mistakes. Forgiveness- that's what that's called. Acceptance. Love. How have I been so blind all this time not to realize what I was lacking?
So, I guess it's time to clear out all my failed transactions, too, and start fresh, one way or another....

Daring To Hope

Life has gotten very scary lately, and, I think, is about to get a whole lot better.
I have recently met a wonderful man, one who is almost exactly what I would have dreamt up for myself, but so much better than I could have imagined. He is older, stable, wonderful, and doesn't seem to have a lick of trouble dealing with the likes of me or my particular brand of stuff.
For the first time yesterday, I visited his home- but this wasn't just another house in a cul-de-sac with a white picket fence. Outside the city limits, ten acres, horses, dogs, a cat and a guinea pig. His bills are paid, he has a job, he has enough experience in life to know what he has, and what he wants, and we get along awfully well. We actually met through mutual friends- and this time that phrase isn't a cover story for a guy I met online but don't want to have to explain that about. He's also a biker, though, for those who are familiar, not a 1%-er, but part of a more family-oriented club. He's also near my university of choice.
This feels like a dream- so much so, I find myself very, very scared to allow myself to believe it could all be true. I have been very cautious about trusting him, or believing that maybe he's as on the level as I am, but I think I can start now...
Life is interesting, isn't it?

My Cold Day In Hell

I've been pretty stuck the last year or so- things have moved forward, but at a PAINFULLY slow rate.
Until today, I didn't even think I was CAPABLE of accepting that I do, indeed, have a disability. My disability does not require a wheelchair, crutches, a seeing eye dog (more on that later) or any other physical assistance.
It does require me to be very, very careful with myself, to take a MAJOR step back when I stumble on something new that puts me into a meltdown, to forgive myself on a daily basis for not being able to do simple things I swear I should be able to do- and alone.... I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. I have seen/done/been through/experienced/learned a LOT. I have had friends who were in what most would consider the most brutal portion of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, saw things over there that I can't even describe without wanting to cry- and two of these guys have looked me in the face and told me they wouldn't trade pasts with me for anything. Today, though, I am happy to be alive. Coming from someone who spent a week in the ICU when it all got really, really out of control for a while, that is a VERY big deal.
I don't have just one story as to why I have PTSD- some people do. I don't have any reason to think my symptoms are likely to just vaporize or even get a heck of a lot better.... but the fact that, today, I walked into the bathroom in a public place (I don't like public places, either, as agoraphobia is a stressful part of my symptoms) and didn't kick myself for going straight to the big, spacious, safe handicap stall. I heard the door open and heard myself explain in my mind why I wasn't wrong for using the handicap stall- a rehearsal of sorts, for the ever-lingering fear of confrontation by people ignorant to invisible disabilities. As I'd been out with my biker family, I wasn't able to have my service dog beside me, and she alternately creates and dispels a lot of unwanted questions. As I've been working hard to transition out of needing her constantly (which is a much, much harder task than one would immediately assume, I might add) this was a mostly-welcome opportunity for me to give it a shot. I really, really hate crowds. I made it through, though, and, when the lady that came into the bathroom after me opened a conversation I didn't want to have- there wasn't one I would have initiated myself at that point- I was rewarded to have it be a surprisingly positive one. It ended in a compliment about my skin and the fact that the motorcycle club had just given certificates of appreciation to some local vets for the Veteran's Day holiday.
I have two really wonderful married friends, K&K, who have two wonderful teenagers, M&M, all of whom I have known a couple years now and whom I love very, very much. K&K are the funniest, most honest and completely country interracial couple I've ever met. There is no "I'm mixed" or explanations- just straight up he's-Black-she's-White-they're-happy. M&M are from her previous marriage, and both are very, very attached to KDaddy. They still see their bio dad frequently, but both seem to take the attitude that they accept it but don't have to like it. They're both good looking, intelligent, funny, honest and very-together kids.  They have become my family. Not in a claim-you-as-my-sister type of way, but in a true, can't-deny it way. i spend almost every weekend there, MGirl gives up her bed happily for me to use it, and I am never focused on stress or fear there. I just am home. We all look out for one another, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disproportionately spoiled there.
And now I have a boyfriend, too.
For someone with as many trust issues, and as much discomfort as I find in being obligated to anyone, finding this balance with people who will remind me as often as I need that they aren't leaving me, they aren't giving up on me or changing our friendship because of my issues or bad days... This is HUGE.
The boyfriend has been through some things, too, and, between him and K&K, I could NOT have survived the last week financially or emotionally. I've been really, really lucky, and I am really, really proud of myself for not insisting that they go away while I have my issues. I couldn't be happier that these people are in my life the way they are. I am truly blessed to have all these things fall together that I never thought could- I truly feel lucky to be alive today.

Special-ity

So, at nearly twenty-seven years old, after five years in the US Army, a helluva lot of experience, and many other jobs.... I've finally figured out my purpose in life, and, more specifically, what I want to be when I grow up.
I want to be a teacher.
I don't want to be just any teacher, though- I want to teach children with special needs.
I'm not a mother- I cannot conceive children the natural way, due to a very particular kind of abuse in my own childhood. I was born to two parents, who were married, healthy and stable for all intensive purposes. That's how it was then, but so much has changed.
My mother remarried a lawyer with post-polio-induced quadriplegia, who turned out to be the most stable adult in my life. His little brother had been born with Down Syndrome, but managed to dodge the crippling wrath of polio. They were the two most incredible men I've ever been blessed to love.
I have been diagnosed with non-combat related Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have a complex, chronic variety- and some of it stems from the reasons I have my own experience with foster care, frequent hospitalizations and special education. I have a service dog who is very friendly, very pretty, very sweet, and the reason I continue to have hope.
I love children. I've been a nerd my whole life- and never enjoyed school because I didn't learn the way "NORMAL" kids did. I have hated that word my entire life- normal. Ugh.
My uncle was the happiest person I know- and I'd put money on the fact that he couldn't have defined the word normal if it would save someone's life.
My stepdaddy was the smartest man I know- and he was visibly different, and had no qualms about putting his, er, "quirky" sense of humor  on full display every chance he got. He simply lived- no questions, no arguments, no excuses. He drove his family crazy from the relative comfort of his wheelchair, until his mother pushed him to go to school- with no use of his hands, arms or legs. He did, and learned to type with a long metal stick with a rubber tip. He also scared the daylights out of the children who attempted to get just a little too close to his face staring at "the strange man in a big chair" and smoked- a lot. That man was out-of-control funny, and always lived as he believed. He's still my hero.
I had a large number of labels, medications, treatments, doctors and tests as a child. LARGE! Shortly before my 21st birthday, and two years after an "elective" tubal ligation, I learned that all of these labels were wrong. I learned that the 37 medications I'd been on were all unnecessary and the words I'd once found comforting- "It's not your fault"- were actually a tool of dominance, and not of nurture.
And, many years and experiences later, I am more independent, responsible and mature than many people twice my age.
I have had the blessing of coming into contact, in some way, shape or form with people with Autism Spectrum Disorder, Post-Polio Syndrome, deafness, Down Syndrome, various auto-immune disorders, various levels and types of Post-Traumatic Stress and Traumatic Brain Injury, Cerebral Palsy and various other physical, mental, emotional and behavioral disorders. These are the people who see different aspects of the world than just what the media puts on display, the ones who have lived the life based on treating others as you would want to be treated- because these are the people who's experience of being treated as they'd treat others is substantially magnified each and every time they interact with someone who is not part of their every day life, and even sometimes when they are.
I want to be surrounded by the only people I really feel I belong with, my community- those of us with visible and invisible disabilities, those of us who have struggles that nobody would expect or understand unless they were part of this community or were very close to us. I want to help others, especially younger people who still are learning their abilities, strengths, weaknesses, differences, and, most of all, potential.
My first special ed teachers still stand out in my mind- they were far more open to explaining the diversity they'd experienced to us than any other teachers we had, be it racial, experiential, or anything else within reason. I was the only girl in my class- I was in the "behavioral" special needs class- and my teachers and I had a unique relationship because of that. I was the wild card who inevitably told the boys to shut up and listen. I was the one who got payback for being tripped, tackled and taunted when the teachers "just happened" to be looking away.
I want the opportunity to help someone the way I was helped- and to be around the children who understand what it means to be themselves and accept others as they are.
So, I know what I want to be when I grow up. Go figure.

PTSD Means

So, last night was really, really bad for me.
I have tried very hard to take care of the people in my family, but I'm to the point that I think it may be time to accept the fact that blood and family simply are not the same thing.
I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I wouldn't think I'd need to explain this to most people, but showing up, unannounced, to the home of someone with this sort of scar, particularly after dark, is, well A BAD IDEA.
I have weapons in my home. I won't go into detail, but a weapon is a weapon, and a black out is a black out, and the two combined are very, very, VERY dangerous.
Don't show up to the house of someone with PTSD unannounced, with a bad attitude, stick your foot in their door, demand to come in or otherwise be an idiot. It will be a miracle if you walk away breathing, let alone with all your limbs in tact.
A miracle occurred on my front porch last night.
And miracles are pretty much once-in-a-lifetime, don't you think?
Little Mama is pretty much the most undependable person I've ever spoken to, and I have backed way off with her. She blew off our plans without comment the second night we'd made them (she slept for four hours and didn't bother to get back to me until twenty minutes before I was to pick her up the first night- I'd already made other plans by then) and today she emailed me telling me her phone is broken, and apologizing for not texting me the last couple days. NEXT!
Baby Boy is back out in the field and we haven't gotten to spend time together, though I'm far more confident about her as a person than I'd expected to be. She's young, but she's intelligent and honest and, really, that's more important to me than a lot of other things.
I'm really not stressing getting into a relationship, and, as what I can only hope are my hormones are making me weepy and incredibly mushy and inconsistent the last few days (I cried at the wedding scene on The Big Bang Theory for hell's sake.... Shit just ain't right!) it's probably for the best.
I am, however, isolating a bit to avoid further confrontation with people of blood relation and those I actually want to spend time with right now...

The Scoop

It's so strange to me that every time I see the word 'bohemian' on this world wide web lately, it's some sort of reference to a particular style or design... The definition I'm most familiar with has little to do with fashion and more with an all-around lifestyle:  a person, as an artist or writer, who lives and acts free of regard for conventional rules and practices. (New window.) 

Having recently opened my mind up to polyamory, (new window) as well as coming to not only understand but truly appreciate the difference between bisexuality and pansexuality- that is to say accepting that my attractions and interests aren't limited to stereotypical gender identities of male and female, but expand to include all possible gender identities, and that my taste in people truly is based on the person, not the gender- my world has shifted it's shape in recent months, and appears to be continuing to do so.
A little back story for you; my earliest crush in memory was on a woman, a friend's mother, actually, though I can't remember ever considering telling anyone that. At twelve, I came to understand that I wasn't "normal" in the eyes of society, and at fourteen, a year after my first experience with another girl, and months before actually losing my virginity, I "came out" to my mother and several friends as being bisexual. Nearly thirteen years later, my mother would still swear to you that it's nothing more than a phase I'm going through.
Now, so many lessons later, I know I'm beginning what seems like a whole new life. I have my own place, am divorcing my second husband- and the remains of that are so Sonny-and-Cher it scares me-, I own two vehicles, have the coolest dog ever and a cat who's convinced he's a dog, and, well, I'm starting to feel less like a flawed burden in a contorted, scarred body than I am a real, live woman and all that entails.
In short, it's taken me nearly twenty-seven years of life to accept who I always have been.
Go f'ing figure, right?
I've started actively looking for women to date for the first time since... well, ever. In high school and for a few years after that, it wasn't even an effort to find women to see... But now?? Yeah... Not so much.
Anyway, sexuality is such a small part of it, really. Five years ago, I couldn't have braided anything- end of story. A ponytail was high-maintenance for me, no lie. Now? I own at least three flat irons, a blow dryer, a curling iron (possibly two), three different kinds of hair brushes, a couple dozen makeup brushes, more than twenty different shades of eyeshadow, concealer, blush, several shades of lipstick, at least three bottles of liquid foundation.... hell, I have satin sheets AND a number of items from Victoria's Secret!!!! Aren't you proud of me?!
I'm still the "tomboy" underneath it all, but just because I enjoy playing in the mountains barefoot doesn't mean I can't rock lace, leather and high heels- sometimes all at once. Being heavily tattooed, I've even managed to pull the modern-vintage pin-up look off. 
I'm currently talking, in some way, shape or form, to three different ladies. I'm not in a relationship, but I'm definitely exploring my options. The youngest of the three reminds me of the ex that scared me most, though was, publicly at least, the easiest to be with- very stereotypically masculine in nature (I don't care for the terms masculine and feminine to describe people, but I don't know of another term that would explain my perception of her at this point), laid back, cool, short hair, slender, and not terribly fragile or soft in appearance. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and... well, despite my initial nerves about talking to someone who bore a resemblance to a past mate, I really like her. We'll call this friend Baby Boy as, biologically, Baby Boy is female, though tends to identify more often with masculine pronouns.
Then there's Little Mama. She's pretty, soft, funny and sweet- but also unemployed, living with her parents, has a child and no car of her own. No matter how much I like her, my nerves are more than a little rattled at the thought of opening myself up to get used in a situation like this. I have found my feet, and gotten myself to a point where I'm happy and secure, and would be really, really pissed the hell off if I wound up with someone who drug me down as I attempted to help. Little Mama and I seem to be almost avoiding one another- we haven't spent time together, and it seems one of us always has something come up. I'm not sure whether to see this recurring theme as a "sign" that I just need to put myself first and not risk it here, or whether things will fall together and be fine eventually.
Then there's Tenure. She's in her early forties, with a ten year old daughter. She's beautiful, funny, and outspoken, and she terrifies me. She intimidates the ever loving hell out of me. I've only spoken to her a little bit, but it's just so overwhelming and I really, really don't want to hurt or piss off this particular woman.
Amidst all of this, I am learning to allow myself to be pretty and enjoy the things I always thought were reserved for the dainty, pretty, fragile flowers like Audrey Hepburn ("Sonny"'s favorite actress, no less) and, as such, were simply too upscale for more Bettie Page/Janis Joplin types like myself. I allow myself to decorate my home and cars in bright colors, to wear makeup and get my hair and nails done professionally, to enjoy candles, baths and soft, sexy music... And I'm learning to realize that, really, these are things people who don't know me too well always kind of assume I'll dig anyway. Not being a particularly quiet soul, I suppose the hips and long hair suggest more femininity than I'd allowed myself to acknowledge before this shift in my thinking. Now, I lay between satin sheets, with a vanity dresser holding my makeup and jewelry up for display, my closet full of bright colors and high heels, pin-up posters on my wall and hot pink curtains over my windows. 
I don't have this figured out just yet, but I suppose understanding that I'll NEVER really have this all figured out is a pretty big part of the big picture.... So, this blog is my story of becoming a woman, growing up (mostly against my will, mind you), tattoos, high heels, makeup and, well, me.