A Break From Reality… Or To It…

As a lot of you have written to me have noticed, I have taken a break from my ABCs series. And from so much more than that.

Lately, I have been wanting, and taking, a break from life. From reality. Or maybe I am just starting to face it. I don’t know.

I have so much going on in my life right now. I have turned inward. I am not sure what is important. What is a priority. What is worth letting go of. What is worth fighting for. I am mentally, physically and emotionally spent.

But did I fight the good fight? Did I win? Did I lose? Did I win by losing, or vice versa? I don’t know.

Maybe it isn’t yet time for me to tell my story. Maybe it is time for someone else to.

I feel like, in the words of Kelly Clarkson (yeah, I know), I’m already gone.

The ABCs of Being an Army Wife… N

What’s next?

In life, you have some idea of what comes next. For the most part. But we can’t see it all. Unless, of course, you are co-hosting with Dionne Warwick.

There are the obvious things. Birth, aging, kindergarten, school, career, relationships, maybe kids, more aging and then death.

But other than birth and death, the rest of the order is rather a surprise. There is the timeline of events that is the norm. And then there is the timeline of events that is MY life.

Even with all the ‘Whoops, how did that happens’ in my life, nothing prepared me for this new life as an Army wife.

Because now, ‘next’ is three different things. It is what you expect to happen next. It is what they tell you what will happen next. And more often than not, it is what atually does happen next.

When I married B Daddy, we both new that our life in Grand Junction was coming to an end. Recruiting duty was up in less than a year, so we would be sent to a new duty station.

For you convenience, the Army gives you about 6 months notice before you move, to incluse your dates and places.

So. With recruiting duty set to be over in August of 2008, we expected new orders sometime in February. And lo and behold, we actually got them. Unofficially. We were going to Fort Irwin in California. Smack dab in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Or as I like to call it, “Nowhere”.

Briefly.

Less than 2 months later, those orders were changed. Since The Powers That Be decided B Daddy had been on vacation for the last 2 years. Obviously, The Powers That Be had never been on recruiting duty. Vacation my ass!

Enter new orders again. And again, unofficially. This time to Fort Bliss in Texas. Unwilling to believe I was going to be leaving my mountains and color and smog free life for a chance to reside in “Hell Paso”, I went in to denial mode.

There weren’t real orders. We didn’t have them, in paper, in our hands yet. So I made no plans. Time rolled on. Life kept moving. And our end date for recruiting got closer and closer.

Still, no orders.

Do we schedule movers? Do we get on the housing list at Bliss? Do we start looking for new care for the Colonel? Do we prepare for another tax season in Colorado? Do we throw a 5th going away party? Do we light fireworks in the desert one last time with the Roses?

What do we do next?

We wait some more.

And then finally, in August, the month we are supposed to me leaving, we get orders.

We arrive at Fort Bliss, settle in and begin to wonder what comes next. Deployment. And next? And after that? And then?

We always wonder what life will bring. With the Army, I just wonder what next week will bring. One thing is sure, whatever it will bring, it will change at least three times before next week.

Out of the Darkness…

Almost.

I have been in a very dark place lately. Not because of anything that anyone has done or not done. It is in my head.

And it can’t get out.

I have dealt with depression most of my life, and have pretty much just sucked it up. It made some of my life a living hell. After years of dealing with it on my own, and not very well, I finally got help in the form of therapy and drugs.

The darkness has never gone away completely, but had been reduced to a shadow, as opposed to the eclipse it had been.

Admitting that I had been living in an emotional eclipse was hard for me. Although I am just shy of 40, depression was something that was considered a flaw. It meant there was something wrong with me. I was, in some way, a failure.

Or so I thought. So I hid it. Hell, I just hid period.

And the darkness grew. And I was suffocating. I felt like I was drowning inside my own head. I began to panic over nothing. Cry over everything. Care about little.

I went to the doctor because I scared. I thought I was literally losing ground in my head. I wasn’t hearing voices. It was nothing like that. I just wanted out of the darkness.

The doctor, and the drugs, helped me find light. There was no aspect of my life that didn’t improve. I felt better physically. I was emotionally light hearted. I enjoyed life again.

And out of the blue, years later, the darkness came back.

But this time, it manifested itself in ways that affected not just me.

It came out in petty ways. Jealousy is not an emotion I am very familiar with. But lately, I have to remind myself, demand of myself that I not be jealous.

As a recovering anorexic, I have always been overly self critical. But never this brutally. My self worth became non existent. I was convinced my friends were trying to avoid me. I became convinced that my husband regretted marrying me. I began to drown in self pity. My pity parties were like the Roaring 40’s.

My self pity got incredibly intense. While I never truly contemplated suicide, it crossed my mind. I wanted out of the darkness. Then I realized how many people counted on me to do things and be there. And believe it or not, I got angry. Not at myself, but at the people who were counting on me. I became self absorbed and selfish. And full circle, I was back at self pity.

I scared my friend. I worried my husband. I terrified myself.

My friend was harsh. My husband was harsher. I was harshest.

My friend loves me. My husband loves me. I love me. All of these must be true, because otherwise, the harshness would not have been necessary.

The darkness is still there. But the stars are out. Little pin points of light. I am not Little Orphan Annie. The sun will not be out tomorrow.

But there is a 40% chance of sun.

And that is pretty damn good.

The ABCs of Being an Army Wife… M

What better way to continue this series than with ME?

But not in the way you think.

One of the hardest things I have discovered since becoming an Army wife is trying to keep my identity. I mean I still am who I am, but I also am not.

At least not to the Army. To the Army, I am CPL Bocker’s wife. If I need to make an appointment with the doctor, my medical records are under B Daddy’s social security number. If I want to to talk to housing (or perhaps rant and rave at them), I have to show a power of attorney. If I call on post, they ask if I am the servicemember, or just the dependant. Really?

I even have to behave myself, because if I get in trouble, I can’t even get in my own trouble. It goes on B Daddy’s military record. He even gets credit for my shenanigans. That is total horsepuckey! Yes, I said horsepuckey. Blame my mother.

I am no longer just me. I am B Daddy’s dependant. It is as if I no longer exist on my own.

I love B Daddy. But why can’t I just be a person? Instead of just a person. I love being B Daddy’s wife. But must I be just CPL Bocker’s wife?

My name is Cassandra Lynn. It says it on my birth certificate. It doesn’t say Just Cassandra Lynn.

I struggle to keep a balance between being the spouse, the dependant and between still being me. By the way, I will let you know if I ever figure out how to do it.

In the meantime, I keep my job, I keep my BFF and hope for the best.

Growing Up

Is there ever a time that we do? I mean mentally.

I wonder if there will ever be a point in my life that I am not petty. Irrational. Jealous. Stupid.

Because I know that it is a selfish response. And it can hurt others, even if that is not the intention.

Since I moved away from Grand Junction, my home of 18 years, I have discovered that I am experiencing these feelings more and more often. Not because I enjoy them. It is the opposite. They make me not like myself.

It doesn’t matter that I try to keep it to myself, because I still know I am feeling that way. And the more I keep it to myself, the worse it seems to sound when it comes burbling to the surface.

The feelings always emerge about really dumb stuff. I left behind a lot of people. Some of them were very close and special to me. Yet that irrational part of me keeps thinking that time should stand still without me. They should not make new friends. They should not do things without me that we used to do together. In effect, they should not enjoy life without my wit and wisdom.

Not very realistic, I know. What makes it even more unrealistic is that I was the other friend. The new friend.

So how do I get past it?

As I have said before, I am as strong as I never was. I am perfectly imperfect. I am logically illogical. And now I am learning that I am selfishly unselfish on top of it all.

Super suck.

I want to be Wonder Woman. Without the invisible plane and bullet deflecting bracelets. OK, so I do want the bracelets. I want to be Mother Theresa. But with sex. I want to be human without acting human. I want my life to progress without actually changing. I want to have gorgeously shaped eyebrows without actually waxing them.

In other words, I want to be unrealistically realistic.

The ABCs of Being an Army Wife… L

Learning. It starts at birth. And as much as we like to think we know everything at age 16, we keep learning until we die. We learn everyday. From everyone. Sometimes we learn good stuff. Sometimes we learn stuff we should have forgotten 10 minutes ago.

Live and learn, right?

One of the first things we learn (and forget) is how to share.

The Loverlies is a group of ladies who met on a message board. Their common denominator is they all have babies that were born in January, 2007. They became friends online, and then in ‘real life’. They chat, they have their private board and they meet up once a year for good times.

I am not a Loverlie. My BFF Rach is.

Being an Army wife means moving. A lot. So it can wreak havoc on making friends. So when you do, it is usually a fast, frenzied friendship. You bond in ways that most people can’t fathom.

Rach and I only met in 2007. By early 2008, I could not imagine a closer friend. By late 2008, I was gone. And yet, in less than a year, we knew more about each other, and are more loyal to each other than I ever would have expected. Our families merged. Short of hubby swapping, we share everything. Like I have mentioned before, who else but a true BFF would remain a BFF after all but throwing said BFF down the stairs?

The other side of Army wife friendships is learning to trust your friendships. I moved to Fort Bliss in November of 2008. I met new people. And back in Grand Junction, Rach had new friends. Both of us had petty ‘That is MY friend, back OFF!’ moments. I was jealous. She was cheating on me with other hookers! But being the person I am, I never said anything. I simply stewed. Little did I know, Rach was doing the same thing.

You are wondering what the Loverlies have to do with this?

Each year, Rach leaves to go have Happy Hooker time with them. And not me. For a long time, I yearned to be invited. I wanted to have girl time, away from kids and husbands too!

And then I didn’t.

Not because my friendship was faltering. Not because I loved my bestest hooker any less. But because I loved her more.

I have learned that the only friends you want any control of are the ones that you can’t control anyway. The ones that truly count, you don’t need to be with 24/7. You want to be, you can be, but you don’t need to be.

Everyone needs Loverlies. People that you get away to. That you share a bond with. My BFF and I share a lot. Close to everything. But if one person fulfilled all corners of our life, we would never leave the house. I no longer yearn to be a Loverlie. Instead, I look forward to the blackmail photos that inevitably come after each gathering.

B Daddy is my husband. I couldn’t do this without him. OK, so I wouldn’t be doing this without him. Rach is my BFF. And finally I have learned that I can do this without her. Because I know that when I need her, she is there. Hooker boots and all.

Being an Army wife has taught me how to share. Imagine that.

The ABCs of Being an Army Wife… K

Karma.

Karma, karma, karma.

Big or little, good or bad, it goes like this: Every action has a reaction. Well, everything except for playing bongo drums when B Daddy is sleeping. No reaction at all. Notta one. And all Army wives know why. Say it with me. “If you can sleep in a Bradley, you can sleep anywhere.”

Anyway.

I am a big believer in karma. I am afraid of spiders. Because I don’t like them. I don’t like to share my space with them. But will I kill one? Nope. Why? Karma baby! Because I stomp one tiny little spider, and we all know what happens. While I am sleeping, it’s rather large distant cousin gives me the eight-legged stomp.

I believe in karma because I have to. I am scared not to. Because what if I don’t believe in it, but then it really exists? Kind of like Santa Claus. I was a worry wart as a kid. I had inner struggles with myself over Santa Claus. What if he existed, then didn’t leave me presents because I didn’t believe? What if he wasn’t real, and then when I had kids, I never gave them Santa presents, because I really thought he was real and then they had horrible childhoods?

Yeah. That is what I spent my childhood thinking about. I also thought those yellow reflectors down the center of the roads was braille for blind drivers. Just deal with it. At least I am a well adjusted adult.

I am not the perfect person. I am far from the worst. I am sure I do plenty of things that, in hindsight, I don’t want done to me. But I try really hard to be a nice person. I know, ‘nice bitch’ is an oxymoron.

The main reason I try to be nice is not really because I want to be, but because I am scared of karma. Not only do I believe in cosmic paybacks, but I think they come in tenfold.

As such, karma is unviersal. It does not care if you are black or white. Big or small. A private or a general. A private’s wife or a general’s wife.

Which brings me to my question. If karma exists, why does it seem that people’s behavior deteriorates with power? Does power make karma less painful?

I know this happens in all walks of life. In all careers. But in the Army, it seems more prevelant. Maybe it is because we are so smooshed in to a small area.

Men will tell you that it is just women. When you get a lot (according to my husband, a lot consists of me plus one) of women together, we start to get catty. And following strength in numbers, if there are lots and lots (meaning 3 or more in B Daddy math), we are almost unbearable. Scratch the ‘almost’. B Daddy actually had to tell me, in the middle of the movie theater, to quit being catty. Of course I burst in to tears and made him feel bad.

And then, one day, I got my feelings hurt. For real. And B Daddy didn’t take my side. It was the girl who cried wolf. It was karma.

Karma I tell you. She’s a bitch.

The ABCs of Being an Army Wife… J

Ode to Jack, Johnny and Jose…

One thing I began to notice when I started dating Nate, was that when you go to a bar with a military man, every excessively drunk person in the place approaches you. And they all have one of only two reactions. Either ‘Oh my God, you are the most awesome dude ever for being in the Army, that rocks man!’ Or, the equally as popular, (albeit more likely to start a brawl) ‘Man, are you stupid, is that the only way you could get a paycheck, I mean, was McDonald’s not hiring?’

Alcohol, it explains why evolution took so damn long. Although, in my opinion, drunken words are merely sober thoughts. Hold the accolades, I know I read that somewhere.

I have to admit, my first run in with military ignorance was before Nate and I even married. I went to a barbeque at a friend’s house and announced my upcoming knot tying. Since no one there had met Nate yet, I was answering the usual twenty questions. Yeah, I am 9 years older. No, no kids. Married once before. No, nothing a little penicilin can’t cure. (You just have to know these people.) Oh, and he is in the military.

Crickets. I heard crickets. And then I heard ‘Wow, hard to say which one of you is dumber, him for joining the army, or you for marrying him.’ And behind this man stood his teenage children, nodding their heads in agreement. Sigh. To this day, I can’t even drive down that street without flipping off the house.

Now that I am in the inner circle, I have witnessed many things. For instance, a couple of years ago, when B Daddy was still in recruiting, we attended the annual training conference in Denver, CO. Since B Daddy was assigned to a smaller recruiting station in Grand Junction, CO, we didn’t mingle with many other military couples outside of our close friends. This was going to be my first big shindig. Not only did we get to play dress up, it meant several evenings of festivities.

The first evening, we attended the company awards dinner. After dinner, Nate and I joined Chad and Rach for one of those time honored traditions that everyone goes through. Our first lap dance as a married couple. Oh right, like you didn’t do it. OK, most of you probably did, but maybe not as a couple.

The second evening was a dinner for four at Hard Rock Cafe, followed by drinks at Coyote Ugly.

Are you catching a pattern here? Even in this huge group of people, we stuck with just the four of us, and a few drinks.

The final evening would be one I would never forget. Since my grandmother was a career Army wife, I had heard stories about gowns, gloves and receiving lines. Nothing prepared me for what I would experience. I was awestruck. Not at famous people. Not over awesome music. It was something else. It was pure pride. In my husband, in my friends, in myself, in my country. You name it, if it was in front of me that night, I was pretty damned proud of it.

We got in the receiving line and were given our instructions. Do not shake hands with the first man, he will take your name and pass it on to the General. Present your wife first. Etcetera, etcetera. See, I couldn’t even abbreviate it, I had to spell it out. It was that formal.

Going inside, we found our tables. Wives were seated, soldiers stood. Everyone sat and then we were all asked to stand for the presenting of the colors. This would be the beginning of several tears I would shed that night.

If you have never witnessed the Ceremony for the Fallen Soldier, stop reading now. Google it, YouTube it, but watch it. It catches your breath, it waters your eye, it weakens your knees. At least it did for me. More than once. Maybe some people become immune to it, but I hope I never do.

After dinner, we were drained, but not quite ready for bed. So in full evening dress, Nate, Chad, Rach and I walked a few blocks into downtown Denver to a small cigar bar. The guys had some cigars and brandy, the gals had a glass of wine and we were ready to head back to the hotel. We waited and waited for our check. As we were starting to get a little heated, the bartender came up and apologized to us. It seems that a gentleman, who chose to remain anonymous, wanted to thank our husbands for their service by picking up our tab. However, he asked the bartender to please wait until he had left before she approached us.

The point being, for every BBQ Insult Guy, there is Cigar Bar Anonymous Guy. I had a lot restored that night. Pride. Faith.

Oh, and equally important. It reminded me why it is always a good idea to bring a clutch big enough to carry flip flops.

And for those of you who wondered about Jack, Johnny and Jose:
Jack Rockwood Harvey of the United States Air Force has been missing in action since November 28, 1972.
Army Chief Warrant Officer Johnny Villareal Mata went missing in action on March 23, 2003; his remains were identified and put to rest April 4, 2003.
United States Marine Corps Lance Corporal Jose Jiminez was killed in action on August 28, 1969.

Sorry to mislead you. But next time you decide to toast Jack, Johnny and Jose, remember all of them.

For those of you who did not do your homework assignment earlier, below is the narrative of the Fallen Soldier:

• This table, set for one, is small – symbolizing the frailty of one prisoner alone against his oppressors.
REMEMBER!
• The tablecloth is white, symbolizing the purity of intentions to respond to our country’s call to arms.
REMEMBER!
• The single rose reminds us of the families and loved ones that keep the faith – awaiting the return of our comrades-in-arms.
REMEMBER!
• The bracelet worn upon the wrists of thousands whose unyielding determination demands a proper accounting of our missing.
REMEMBER!
• The Purple Heart and Bronze Star. The symbols of individual sacrifice and courage in the face of the enemy.
REMEMBER!
• A slice of lemon to remind us of their bitter fate.
REMEMBER!
• Spilled salt upon the plate, representing the tears of the children who will never know their touch or the whisper of their voices.
REMEMBER!
• An inverted glass – they cannot toast with us this night.
REMEMBER!
• All of you who served with them and called them comrades, who relied upon their strength, experience, insight, and aid — Remember – for surely they have not forsaken you.
REMEMBER!

(The table holds: Combat boots, steel pot, bayonet, bronze star, purple heart, PWO/MIA bracelet, dinner set-up, lemon, salt, wine glass, tablecloth, and a picture of the statue at the Vietnam Veteran’s memorial.)

The ABCs of Being an Army Wife… I

Since joining the ranks of Army wives, my world has changed. I now live a storybook life. And the story is The World According to If. AKA The Wonderful World of If.

From the simplest things. “What will we have for dinner?” “Well, that depends on IF the manifest is done and B Daddy can make it home before midnight.”

And the more important things. “What will we do for Christmas?” “Well, that depends on IF NTC is scheduled before or after the new year.”

To the life altering things. “Are you going back to work at the place with the Big Green Block next tax season?” “Well, that depends on IF B Daddy is still deployed or IF he puts in his packet for selection, or IF he gets promoted, or IF the Army moves us.”

It is hard enough to have a grip on life when you are controlling it. Or at least pretending to. But when you are at the mercy of the Army, the only thing that is certain is the uncertainty of it all.

Of course it is frustrating. Do you enroll your kids in school, or do you wait, because you know you are going to PCS soon. Do you move with your husband, or do you stay behind, because he is going to be deploying soon. Do you plan a vacation, or do you stay close to home, because you know you might miss a phone call or email.

On the other hand, the uncertainty can make life fun. Expect the unexpected. Not knowing where you will be from one year to the next. It has the ability to satisfy the wanderlust.

But it still leaves you in limbo. Most people think ‘when, not if…’ Not in the Army. Once you enlist, either as a soldier or spouse, it quickly becomes ‘if, not when…’

It is not just your actions, it is your thinking. ‘If’ becomes a whole new creature when he joins his friend ‘What’. Together, they can rock your world, to your core, until your foundation begins to crumble. If (there is that word again!) you let it.

Being an Army wife can often mean you are on your own more often than a single woman. And no matter how strong your marriage is, that evil duo, ‘What if’ comes to visit way too often.

During field problems. “What if the car breaks down?” During training. “What if I need to go to the emergency room?” And most often, during deployments. “What if he realizes he can live without me?” “What if I decide I can live without him?” “What if I gain too much weight while he is gone?” “What if he doesn’t love me when he comes back?”

Being alone, you find that you have way too much time to dwell. On the important stuff. On the petty stuff. On the totally irrational stuff.

If (Ha!) I have learned anything in my new role, it is this. I can’t control the Ifs. B Daddy and I will deal with those as they are flung our way. As far as the What Ifs, they are the blood sucking vampires. And their invitation has been rescinded.

So, where will I be this time, next year? Who knows. Will I gain too much weight? Who cares. Will I still want B Daddy when he comes home? Abso-friggin-lutely.

No ifs, ands or buts about it.

The ABCs of Being an Army Wife… H

H began as a hard letter to come up with, but once B Daddy suggested ‘Home’, everything came together like one of The A-Team’s plans.

Webster has his definition of home, and I had mine. I say had because mine has changed since I became an army wife.

I was born and raised in southern California. I moved to northern California for high school. A few years after high school, I moved to Colorado. When I went north, the south was still my home. When I moved to Colorado, California was still what I considered to be home.

Following that logic, you would think that when I moved to Texas, I would still consider Colorado, my residence of 18 years, to be home. Somehow, it didn’t work that way.

I viewed home as where I was comfortable. Where my friends were. Where I knew the streets, bars and bowling alleys. Because, as a single person, those things held my heart. And home is where the heart is, right?

So following THAT logic, I should not have been surprised when home became where B Daddy was.

B Daddy left for Texas before I did. And it was not long after he left that my house didn’t seem like my home anymore. After he deployed, I started to feel restless in Texas, and yearned to go back to Colorado to visit our Roses.

To those not in the know, our Roses are our best friends. B Daddy and Chaz share that special kind of infantry bromance. Rach and I share a love of hooker boots and men with cross rifles. And it just so happens that our Roses are renting the house we moved out of back in Colorado.

So, with B Daddy gone, I thought that going back to visit would be like a homecoming. Don’t get me wrong, I had an amazing time with my bestest hooker and her hookerettes. But even being in my family house, in my hometown of 18 years, I felt like an outsider.

At some point during my two week visit, I got the shock of my life. I actually, gasp, wait for it… I missed El Paso. I know, right? And it had nothing to do with my hooker boot collection. It was one of those light bulb over the head moments. I was shocked.

One day, when I wasn’t paying attention, El Paso had become home. Not because of friends. Not because of the familiar. But because of B Daddy. It was where he left from, and where he would be coming back to. It was where his stuff was. His clothes. His truck. His dog (No delusions here, S Doggy is Daddy’s Little Girl…). And yes, his woobie collection.

Texas will never be where I am from. But as long as it is where B Daddy and I live, it will be home. Just as the next duty station will be.

Oh my hell, my life has become a mathematical word problem. My junior high school algebra teacher is screaming ‘I told you so’ as I type.

If B Daddy is holding my heart, and I leave Colorado on a speeding train, how long will it take for Texas to be home…

Blog Information Profile for sassifire