Just Talking To A Prior Service

[thomas.robinson.54966]

Met some dude on the beach prior service been drinking and it took me back to s dark dark world someone please get me out

 

[Friday]

Short Version: We're here.

 

[Friday]

Long version : (Not sure how drunk you are, hence the split long/short. This is mostly my stuff, don't know of it translates. If it does, take what ya like and leave the rest. If not, no worries.).

This used to happen to me all the time.

Ha. Used to. Still does sometimes. A lot of the time. Whatever.

I've spent 10 years or so hiding that I was USMC. I even add the xUSMC from time to time (you may even catch me doing that here when I'm feeling shaky), just because technically there's no such thing...but usually only other Marines know that. It was/is my little line of distance. No. Really. It wasn't me. I wasn't there. Don't talk to me. Dont trust me. I'm not the f*ck up I know I am. I won't let the shame eat me. Distance. Distance. Distance. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't. I'm fine. I don't want to die.

Because, also from time to time, I'd be caught out. Old friends I served with coming to town. Family. Someone in my daily life (I made it 2 or 3 years without my range knowing I was xMilitary... Hah. Almost did it there), a guy on the beach. And when I was caught out I'd laugh, and we'd bullshit for awhile, and I'd go out to my car and start shaking and throwing up. (Or less healthily, go get f*cked or f*cked up or pick a fight somewhere).

I've never done the VA, VFW, skip reunions, hell. I finally broke down and went to the VetCenter recently and that inimitable smell had me incoherent. I can laugh about it right now... Because I'm sure I was a Yosammity Sam kind of surreal moment in someone's day. Man, I couldn't speak in sentences. Much less whole sentences. It was like verb. Verb. f*ck. Noun. Noun. f*ck me. Verb verb verb. Imsorryivegottogothanksforyourtime!

Thing is? This is home. "This" being any time I'm f*cking sharing air with someone else who's been there. And when I'm home, my walls all come down. I'm just me. And right now, "me" is a f*cking disaster. So then I'm ashamed, and scrambling, and want to bite. Hard. Any target. Self destruct. Can't do that. So then I'm sick with it.

I don't know why that didn't happen here.

Maybe because I don't have to try and keep up the front. Hey y'all. I'm f*cked. Or not. At least not right now. But in 5 minutes I'm gonna be babbling again. I don't know.

But it's nice not to be alone. I'm not alone here. You neither.

 

[thomas.robinson.54966]

You are dead on. Thanks for not letting me be alone.

 

[dutchiedelta]

It's the safe geographical distance here that makes it safe.
Sorta able to spot the fakers so the real ones get to stay.

Open up to someone you might never meet but who gets it. Really gets it.
No need to put up a front of be brave.
Support or receive support.

We're most in different stages in our lives. So some react more than others. They still might read your words and nod, yep, that's the thing.
But alone... you are not.

 

[Raven]

I have been known to hide it at certain junctures in my life. It took me around a year or so after I got out to admit my service to someone who didn't already know about it. I kept thinking to myself, isn't it something I should be proud of? Why am I so ashamed?

But it wasn't shame. It was a reluctance to pick at a wound lest it start bleeding everywhere.

Well, one day I picked and it bled and it bled and it bled.

I'm learning not to pick so roughly. It's almost an unspoken agreement among vets to keep the conversation light. Sometimes it stops being light and I break down and they break down, but you know what? They get it and I get it, for the most part. Sometimes it's cathartic to talk to someone I just met but who understands.

It really depends on my mood. My husband is making a lot of vet friends in this area. He's getting involved in the Navy-Marine Club and there just seem to be a lot of vets in this neck of the woods. He keeps my secret.