Dark

My husband has been gone so much for work, it feels impossible to talk to him.
How do you just open up about having been suicidal to someone who wasn't there or even reachable at the time?
How do you turn on the faucet to pour out emotions and stories that happened when the one you love and are trying so hard not to hurt or run from was away?
He's in bed, asleep. Despite my questions, and my attempts to talk today, I feel like my words were wasted. If he has feelings on any of what I'm going through, he's not showing them to me, and he's certainly not talking about any of it.
I hate that I make him deal with this, with me.
I feel like I'm slowly drowning in a tar pit- slow, dark, hot and never-ending.... and oh so eerily quiet.

Two Days Of Me

It's Monday evening, and the first day of the workweek has drawn to a close.
It's been a mostly positive weekend, though full of overwhelming stimuli. We went to a movie Friday night- my first time in a theater since I got my service dog about a month and a half ago. It went very well, though she won't be sitting/lying on the floor next time, as she likes eating the icky popcorn off the ground. We went to see the Harlem Globetrotters on Saturday night. I was sure I'd lost my mind even trying that, but, between a service dog, medication, my husband, a good friend and his girlfriend, we made it through it fairly well. It was my third time seeing their show, but it was almost as funny as the very first time. My husband and our friends loved it, and it was their first time- overall, it was worth the effort, and I didn't completely lose my mind.

.........................................
And, now there's this......
Getting out of the Army has been something I've generally viewed as a positive the last couple months, maybe more. It's been a big part of who I am for the last few years, and it never really occurred to me that it would ever hurt to lose that...
Until I read this.
The military is opening up THOUSANDS more jobs to women.
You know, all those jobs I wanted to be able to do, but couldn't, because I'm  a "girl".... yeah, I could do them now, if only I wasn't broken beyond repair.
My heart is breaking in a way I didn't know it could.
Being part of the division colorguard, being aid station NCOIC and standing up a non-existent aid station as a SPC with three years in the Army, the 270 PT score and hopes for a 300....
That woman is dead.... No, that SOLDIER is dead.... And she's never coming back.
My heart is breaking.
There's nothing I can do about it.

Recovery?

Being in outpatient therapy is scary.
Scary.
I said it.
It drudges up so much, and makes you look at every. single. emotion.
It's like everything you've felt is suddenly under a microscope and you can't avoid looking at every detail of it now.
Today, our group moved through three different rooms. I was surprised when I realized it was stirring up anxiety in me. I was shocked when I found out I wasn't the only one.
Anxiety.
So much anxiety.
Soooo much anxiety.
Sunday night, my roommate came home very drunk and very angry.
He started yelling at me about my dog, and just kept yelling. I started to black out, and left the room. I spent three hours in an anxiety attack. Three hours. Three HOURS!!!
So, the boyfriend and I are moving out of the house and back into the barracks, and taking our dog to his dad's house.
I hate the thought of not being able to live with him, but I know it's the right choice right now.
That night brought up so much for me, and made me understand so much more about myself. Once I started to come down from the anxiety a little bit, I started talking to my boyfriend about how much I hate it when my home is taken away from me, and how it's always happened. I never had a home I felt really safe in, and even the better ones were taken from me, one way or another. I've never really had a true home. As he and I talked about that, I realized this was also the reason I was so eager to get married. I wanted a home. I wanted a place I felt safe and that wouldn't get taken away from me. I told him that, and he promised me we would have it.
I love this man. He stayed by my side the entire time I was going through that anxiety attack. He did everything he knew how to comfort me, but never once questioned my emotions or my reaction to it all. My dad thinks he's a saint. He said that.
I keep thinking about my fiance- the one that died over a year ago. The one I broke up with only months before he died of an asthma attack. The one I hadn't seen in years (I was stationed in Korea when we got engaged, and were in a long-distance relationship the entire time, but had been friends for years before) and who I hadn't come to see when I first came back to the states. The one who I still have so many questions about... I loved him, and I still do. My gut told me something was wrong though, and I never have gotten any real information on anything he told me. I don't know if everything he told me was a lie, or if all of it was true. All I know is that he promised me the world, and I believe he loved me, even if I don't know what he believed. I had loved him for so long, and had wanted to be with him for so many years. When it finally happened, I was practically blinded with happiness. When I started questioning things, I don't know if it was fear of commitment or just that something didn't feel right... I don't know what to believe, and I can't ask him. I have never felt more guilty than I do about him. There are so many pieces that just don't fit, and so many things he told me that other people know nothing about... It hurts so bad to think of how I might have hurt him... and it hurts even worse thinking that it all might have been a lie...
I don't know how to get past this...

Rest in peace, no matter what the truth is....