An Open Letter To Myself October 2016

A week into Medhold I was not improving. I'd have small panic attacks to the point where an MTI would get involved and they'd send me up the chain of command to speak with the next person on how best to "help me" which always went the same exact way every single time and looked a lot like this:

MTI: "Trainee Barnes, what seems to be the issue?"
Me (through thick tears): "Ma'am, trainee Barnes, reports as ordered; ma'am, I feel alone and hopeless and I just want to go home. I'm not a fickle 18 year old, I know what I need."

MTI: "Trainee Barnes, do you have children?"

Me: "Ma'am, trainee Barnes, reports as ordered; ma'am, no I do not. I just don't understand why I have to be here for 5 weeks while they decide to send me home."
MTI: "Trainee Barnes, this is your life now, you signed up for this, you signed a contract. Tough luck."
Me: "Ma'am, trainee Barnes, reports as ordered; ma'am, I just want to go home. I need help."
MTI: "Well, this is where you are now. Have you spoken to (insert the name of an MTI one pay grade above the current one speaking) No? Okay, let's get you into their office."

And cue the entire script all over again. Literally this went on for a week. You are not allowed to actually speak your mind because you have to be respectful 100% of the time or there would be HELL to pay. And if you disagreed with them they would just kick you out of their office. Not a single military personnel I spoke to offered one single iota of help in any sort of manner of the word. I just got pushed around and passed up the chain of command until I had seen 4 or 5 people within 2 hours and they were done trying and would just send me back to the dorms where I would lay in bed and cry myself to sleep and skip meals, sometimes an entire day would go by without a single morsel of food. 

After about a week on this nonsense  I had had enough. I was at my wits end. I was sick, I was tired and I was hungry. Not a good combo. I was on the brink of doing something truly awful. I finally said what I had been thinking for a few days. I had realized that no one in the military was ever going to help me. I knew what I needed. I needed help but that's not really what boot camp is for. I knew there was no one in the military that would ever help me. I finally plucked up the courage, looked right at my MTI and said "I'd like to speak with a civilian councilor please."  I truly thought this would be an offensive request. The thought had dawned on me a few days prior that possibly they have some civilians on payroll. I was a bit doubtful because if this was a resource available why hadn't anyone suggested it to me? To my utmost surprise the MTI cheerily responded "Absolutely. That is absolutely something I can do for you." I was so relieved. Progress. I felt the absolute slightest twinge of hope. A civilian. I was going to get to speak to a civilian.

I went to my next meal with that feeling of hope and for the first time since arriving at Lackland Air Force Base, I was able to eat more than a few bites of my meal.

The next day I got to meet with my councilor. Her name was Lori. It was just like I had thought, the military had a few civilians on payroll. And she was a god send. I remember sitting in a chair across from her, an MTI had walked me in and told me to sit and sure to use my reporting statement and be respectful. As soon as the MTI left Lori assured me that we could speak freely. That I was no required to give a reporting statement. Along with the normal spiel of being ethically bound to not disclose any information unless I was going to hurt myself or someone else. Which, honestly was a real possibility at this point.

It's all mostly a blur now, only a few points stand out anymore. The first session I had with Lori she asked me how I usually make myself feel better. I remember rolling my eyes at her. Like, thanks bitch, if I could fucking do that would I be in this fucking situation? Heh. We talked a lot about how I enjoyed writing. How it was a release for me. We talked a lot about who I was on the inside. How I was hiding myself away in this place. She saw right through me and how much I was holding back. She saw how hard I was trying to desperately shield my inner self from the demons that were all around me. From the hell I had stepped into. She had this crazy idea that maybe if I let her out, the inner me, that I would begin to feel better. I burst into tears at the thought of it. Impossible. I would surely break. I would surely lose the last remaining bit of myself. I had one little piece left and I wasn't about to let her out. What if she broke, too? What if she broke. I couldn't.

A few days go by and I would see her again. This time she asked about my family life and those I had waiting for me back home. She asked about my parents. I told her how I only had one parent. I told her the whole story. It's been 14 years... I can make it through that story without even a waiver in my voice. But that day. That day another piece of me broke away, and I sobbed. I told her the story like it was yesterday. When my story was done all she said was "wow, you weren't kidding when you said you'd been though a lot at a young age." Heh. Tell me about it, lady.

She asked me who I called when I got to call home. I said I called my boyfriend every time. She asked me why I didn't call my dad more often. I told her that I wrote him every day but that calling him wasn't something I was strong enough for. Burdening my father with my pain was not something I could bare. Hearing his voice crack would have completely broken me. I knew if I called him in tears, that he too, would cry. And I knew I would die. The heartbreak of hearing my father's tears over the line would have destroyed me and I would have disappeared.

It was then that Lori said to me, "so, you take care of your father? You put his emotional well being ahead of your own." I agreed, though I had never thought of it that way. She then proceeded to explain to me what she perceived my role in life was. I am a caretaker. I take care of those around me. And she was betting that part of the reason I was feeling so awful all of the time was because I had bottled up that part of myself . I knew she was right. It made perfect sense. She said I needed to let her out. That I'd feel better if I would only do what has always come naturally to me. Crazy. But I was so scared. I didn't want to lose that last piece of myself. Could I risk it? Was it worth the risk? She ended the session by asking me to do one simple task. She told me to write a letter to myself. She told me to tell the girl inside that I would not lose her. That I would protect her. That I would make it through and I would keep her intact. I thought it sounded dumb. I was already so broken that I had no hope left of that. I truly believe I would lose myself inside of those walls. But I said I would do it. It was something to do, after all.  This is that letter. An open letter to myself. I read it every day.  I read it still. It became my life jacket on a sinking ship. The more I read it, the more strength I gained. It kept me afloat. 

I lay in an uncomfortable bed under rough, hot covers. Leaning against a pillow made of plastic. I can feel every spring protruding from the crude mattress as it ever so softly stabs me in the ribs. I look around me and I am surrounded by women. A myriad of colors. Among many, a unique chorus of characterized chaos. So many dialects, and so many words. So many voices. The jingle of metal on chain. The sliding of doors, the squeak of shoes and the creaks of old beds slept on one too many times.

Among them, myself. A  broken, chaotic bird with clipped wings. However, the metaphor is lost on me for I know not how the caged bird sings. Things ache inside of me, in places I didn't know I had. There is a longing within me, a hunger that I know cannot be satiated. Somebody told me once, "it's okay to feel that way. Do you know that? What your feelings is real; and it's completely okay to feel it. " Before that time, no one had ever said that to me. No one. Only that there are people with  bigger problems than me.

So that's what I want to tell you. It's okay to feel this way. Maybe no one else thinks so. Except you, me and the person who told us that. But it is okay. I will do my best to protect you. To shield you and keep you. You are the only thing worth fighting for in this entire hell hole. You will be battered and bruised and weather worn from the tumultuous journey that I have inadvertently thrust upon us. But I will do my best to keep you from shattering.