Catch Your Breath; Continue Moving Forward

This post is going to seem somewhat disorganized and fragmented. I can't help it - it's how my mind has been lately.

When my Dad returned from his first deployment to Iraq, he hugged me so hard I wasn't able to breathe. I didn't mind. It was my dad, he was home, he was safe. Even as I was physically unable to breathe, my mind was able to let out the stress I'd felt the entire time he was gone. 

I still remember the first night of the war in Iraq. I remember sitting in a hotel room with my Mom and siblings, watching the footage of various military attacks in cities like Baghdad. They would show footage from attacks at night. You could see the skylines of the cities as the 'flash' of mortars lit up the night sky. I remember realizing that my Dad was out, in some foreign country fighting an enemy for reasons that I didn't fully understand; using real guns, real bullets and that if he died...it was for real. 

I remember a wave of terror filling me up, and then remembered someone telling me that if we let terror get to us, then the terrorists had won. I suddenly felt as though I wasn't allowed to be scared, otherwise the terrorists would win and my Dad would die. I had to do everything I could to not be scared for my Dad. I'd been taught in school that since I had a deployed parent, I had to be strong so that I wouldn't worry my younger siblings or my Mom (one of the 'perks' of going to a DoD school - they usually provide some kind of training for helping military kids prepare for a parents' deployment or reintegration. Is it good training? Who knows). That night, I told myself that I was being strong for my Dad too, so that he would stay safe. I think maybe it was my way of developing a coping mechanism so that I would have a reason to stay strong. 

When I fly - I never sleep on the airplane. For some reason, I feel as though my being awake, is the only thing keeping the plane in the air. If I sleep, the plane will crash. I realize that it's incredibly irrational, but I still refuse to sleep on a plane. My concern for my Dad while he was in Iraq was the same. If I was scared of the war, scared of what could happen, he would die. So long as I wasn't scared, so long as I pretended not to care, he would be okay. That's how I remember handling his first deployment. 

After you tell someone that you're an Army brat, that your parent has been deployed, they usually look at you with this pitiful expression and say something like, "That must have been so hard on you, growing up." I've had people ask me what it's like to have a parent go to war. Such a dumb thing to ask. It's one of those things that can't really be explained to someone who's never experienced it. There isn't a word for the simultaneous rush of fear, pride, conflict, confusion, and that painful desire just to have em home. Even at just 10 or 11 years old, I knew that everyday that Dad was gone the next knock at the door could be 2 uniformed soldiers coming to tell my Mom that Dad was KIA and I knew that I would be unable to console her. (You eventually learn to push those thoughts from your mind, but it definitely takes a while).

The sad thing is, the hardest part isn't even always the time that they're gone. Sometimes the hardest part is when they come back, and they're no longer the parent you remember them being. I used to be close to my Dad. I'm sure I even used to idolize him. I remember being little, sitting on the floor or on the couch next to him and watching him shine his boots or clean one of his guns. (I'm sure it's for that reason that I like the smell of shoe polish, and the metal-against-metal sound of a freshly cleaned pistol being reassembled). I remember when I was younger, every now and then, if I was misbehaving and was sent to my room - he would come in and calmly talk to me. Even when I was in high school and acting like a total brat, he managed to have one or two of those moments when he was willing to be particularly patient with me, he would come in and we would discuss things like how it was important for me to be more responsible and mature; and other things like what school I would go to for college.

After different deployments to Iraq and being stationed in Korea, he's become a different person, one that I don't know very well and as a result, we've grown apart.

My Dad has always seemed to be proud of my intelligence. My mom has told me of instances when he's bragged to the soldiers he works with or even just strangers that his oldest daughter knows all about this or that. Knowing this about him means a lot to me, and it has become even more important to me over time as my Dad and I have kind of grown apart. Growing up, my Dad (well, both my parents, but Dad was always the one to really push it) had a rule that none of us kids were allowed to get married until we've earned our degrees.

I'm very close to finishing my degree. Only this and summer semester left. 

It's become very clear to me, just how important it is to me that I finish this. 

I want to make my parents proud of me.

I want to prove to everyone that I'm capable of completing something, of accomplishing something.

I want everyone who knows me to know that I place an incredibly high value on knowledge and education, because my parents placed a high value on that and encouraged me to work for that. 

But suddenly, life is pulling me in different directions, and I'm starting to choke and burn out. I'm not doing nearly as well as I know that I could be. My anxiety keeps me from focusing and getting adequate sleep.

I'm beginning to fear that I may not be able to finish my degree, even though I want it so badly. That fear keeps paralyzing me, and it makes things worse.

But I can't let the terror win. When I finish, I can let the stress go.