Sore Spots and Rough Patches

I've been through a lot in my life. I've suffered heart break and disappointment, enjoyed true friendships as well as false ones, openly relished joy, and quietly harbored grief. I've worked hard for goals only to come up short, and had opportunities I didn't deserve fall in my lap. At twenty-six years old, I can honestly say that I've had a very colorful, though not always pretty life. But, with a confidence and determination I haven't felt in awhile, I can say that life is mine. I have no shame, and I have very few regrets.

In the few weeks since I've written last, the turmoil within myself has quieted some, and the confidence and acceptance of my choices has solidified. I am single. But, I'm not alone.

I love people. It was one of the things that made me a very good waitress years ago, and that innate ability to strike up a conversation with perfect strangers has served me well in countless other circumstances as well. The Army is no different. With the thousands of service members on this post from all branches of service, as well as countless US civilian employees, and local national tradesmen, there are as many opportunities for interesting exchange as there are colors of the rainbow. It took me four months and a breakup to even notice.

When I was with Chris, I walked with blinders on a lot of the time, afraid that a conversation with a stranger would somehow make him jealous, or that he would disapprove. Looking back, I know it was foolish, and I kick myself for so many opportunities missed. After all, isn't humanity the root of why America is in Afghanistan anyway? Isn't that the basis of any mission? The protection, liberation, education, of some form of humanity??

We have a small (and what would be called "rustic" at best by stateside standards) spa here on post. They do the basics -- hair cuts and color, manicures, pedicures, waxing, and massages. I know, it sounds so frivolous in a combat zone. I was shocked when I heard of it, but was not long taking advantage of it. Every week since we arrived here, I go to the spa on my day off. I get a massage (and for only $30 for an hour, its quite an inexpensive indulgence), and occasionally a pedicure, as combat boots can be killer on your feet, and the massage is a great way to relieve what seems like never ending stress from this job. It's my little break from the madness, and my savored weekly indulgence.

Almost every week on my day off, I have had the same masseuse. I don't make an appointment, as my days off I make a point to keep blissfully free of time hacks and schedules. But, as luck would have it, Gulmira, a cute little Asian woman from Kyrgyzstan always seem to be available. I remember when I first started going to the spa, I struggled to converse with the women that work there, as their accents were thick, and their English quite broken. But, as time has gone on, I've come to communicate with them better, and can engage in light friendly conversation on my visits now. They try to teach me their languages -- at any given time, Uzbek, Kurd, Russian, Daari, Pashtun, or Mongol can be heard. Needless to say, I find it all very confusing, and can't seem to hold on to much of it. But Gulmira is patient while she laughs at my confusion, and attempts to translate what the other women say. Somehow, they all understand one another. What must it be like to live in an area where you have to learn so many different languages just to get by?

This past weekend, as I lay on Gulmira's table for my full-body massage, she did something very uncharacteristic of her. She poked me in the ribs with her index finger. I flinched, surprised, and turned my head to look at her. "You getting skinny, ma'am. What ever is on your mind is no good. You very, very... what is word? ...tense. You very tense when you see me. And you getting skinny. I see your bones. In just a week!"

I blushed and found myself wanting to apologize, but for what I don't know. Gulmira, noticing my discomfort, patted my shoulder reassuringly. "It is a man? Yes, yes, a man. Only man do this to a woman. Do not think of it. It no good for you. Now relax, and I fix." And obediently, I relaxed and let her work her magic on my muscles, and marveled at the perception of a practical stranger.

It was then that I realized that single didn't need to translate to alone. There is warmth in people everywhere, if you have the strength to look past yourself and see it. Gulmira, bless her, did more than massage my sore muscles. With her simple observation and kindness, she eased the ache in my soul.

That night I had the first restful sleep I've had in weeks. I slept for 13 hours, and awoke feeling refreshed and whole, in a way I hadn't since I arrived in Afghanistan.

My heart is not fully healed, by any means. I've slowly thrown out the letters and cards he sent me, and taken the pictures down from the walls. Each act was like a knife in my chest. It would be a lie to say I don't miss him, but the man I miss was also a lie. So, I guess it breaks even. But every day I am stronger and more prepared for the next, and every day I lean more toward laughter than tears, and anger instead of guilt. Every day I find myself looking at what lies ahead, instead of looking over my shoulder at what I left behind, and being increasingly optimistic. I never could stay sad for long -- its against my nature, and I'm so very thankful for it.

Restless

It's funny how a twin-sized bunk that I've never shared with anyone can feel so huge and empty now that I've suffered a loss.

Sleeping is proving to be a problem. Last night, after I got out of work in the wee hours of the morning, it took a double-dose of melatonin to get me to drift off, and even then my sleep was fitful and restless. I dreamed... and while most of the content of them is gone, the emotions the dreams left behind roll inside me. I can't seem to quell the storm.

I know this is normal. I know that trouble sleeping, loss of appetite, and difficulty concentrating are perfectly normal under the circumstances. But it still makes me feel like I've lost my mind. I hate it.

I've been trying to channel some of my restless energy into finding alternate locations to road trip to while home on leave. Hawaii isn't happening. Chris booked the hotel, and though we've lost the money for that, I can't go there alone after we planned it together. It would be more painful than I deserve. Plus, I need to go to PA to collect my things from his house. There isn't a lot there -- the majority of my material life is piled in boxes in my storage unit. But there are some things -- the refuse of a broken joint living space. And my truck is there. My precious Betty, that I feel the need to get behind the wheel of. I think the symbolism of that I need more than anything else right now, because I feel so out of control of my own life that I'm struggling to function.

I have no idea where I'm going to stay. I have no idea where I'm going to go. I need to put my life solidly back on my terms, and I have no idea where to start.

But, the end as always is just another beginning...

We're Like Fire and Gasoline

I love him. But, as so often happens, love can't always conquer all.

I am not going to into details as to what happened to bring about the demise of my relationship with Chris. From an outsider looking in, it will appear to have happened shockingly fast. But deep down, I know it was a long time coming.

There are truths about myself, and about our relationship that I didn't want to face -- events, opinions, and circumstances that I blamed on my deployment and bad timing. They were all things that I was totally convinced I could make up for, things that I was certain would be overcome and compromised on. Ah, the hope of the heart blinded by love...

Lyrics to a song keep floating through my head:

Baby when we're good you know we're great,

But there's too much bad for us to think

That there's anything worth trying to save...

I wish I could put into words how I feel right now. Naive? Disillusioned? Let down? Utterly crushed? None of what I come up with does justice to what this is like. But writing... it helps sometimes. So, here I am, at the keyboard, on yet another sleepless "night" in Afghanistan.

We sat in the cab of his truck, snuggled up against one another, as tears ran down my face. I was leaving for the unknown of deployment, and it finally really hit me that I could lose him -- lose everything. The fear of that shook me to my core -- and for a woman not easily shaken, the fear of picking up the broken pieces of myself was the only thing more terrifying.

"I'm so worried you are gonna get tired of me -- tired of us. That you'll find someone else while you're over there and forget about me." The lights from the dash illuminated his face as he spoke, highlighting the frown lines of concern.

I sat up, and wiped my tears away. We couldn't both be scared. I put my hand on his cheek and turned his face toward me. "Chris, there are only three things that could ever make me leave you -- that could ever make me walk away from us. Cheating. Lying. And if you are ever stupid enough to hit me." I was quiet while I let that sink in. "Stay inside those lines, and you've got nothing to worry about. You're all I'm ever gonna need."

That was October of last year, and I meant every word of what I said. However, life isn't always so cut and dry. He never hit me. He never cheated. And the lying... well, that's a matter of perspective and opinion, I suppose. I realize, looking back, that there were some other things I should have put on that list. Something about trust, and selflessness would have been good. And acceptance of my friends. The willingness to let me keep some of my independence. But, again, I was blinded by my love, and really thought those three things were all that could get me to leave. I was wrong. And I suppose for that I owe him an apology, because even though my intentions were good, my execution was lacking. The best laid plans of mice and men...

In the Army, news travels fast. It's like high school, only with real world drama. The support from my comrades has been overwhelming, even if there were several "I-told-you-so's" tossed in. My mother, as has happened so many times in my life was the exact voice of understanding and support that I needed today. And my dear friends from home have, as always, stepped in without being asked -- despite having been slighted in recent months. That alone made a very distinct point resonate loud and clear with me. Deep down, I know I've done the right thing. It hurts like hell, but the best lessons in life often do, I've learned.

He and I are like fire and gasoline -- when mixed will burn like the fires of hell itself, and when it has exhausted itself will leave black charred remains where the tinder used to be. Luckily, we both got out before it totally consumed us.

Nothing to do now but sweep up the ashes, try to heal the burns, and learn to live with the scars.