Who: Grace (standalone) Where: Her apartment What: ruminating When: Wednesday the 24th Rating: PG-13ish? Triggers: Violence, depression, hopelessness..you get the picture.
Grace looked at the post from Scott again then set her tablet down. The idea of meeting her new CO in a bar of all places was just...she couldn't wrap her mind around it. What kind of CO called his soldiers fluffy? It was so insanely ludicrous she could't quite believe it has really happened. The sound of her bare feet echoing loudly from the bare wood floors to the undecorated wall as she crossed the floor. Her apartment was, well, sparse was a good word for it. It seemed pointless to get a table to eat at so the dining area was empty. Maybe she should get one and have her nieces over more. Maybe an actual non family member, she mused to herself before shaking her head.
Her kitchen at least had a coffee maker on the counter and a microwave. The fridge had a single magnet holding photo of her with her nieces. The only other thing visible in the kitchen was a half empty half gallon of vodka. She pulled the bottle over and poured half a glass then recapped it. One glass a day was all she allowed herself to have, at least if she was drinking alone. It would be too easy to turn to that as an answer and she'd seen too many of her comrades do so. Not like Carol would allow it anyway.
She moved back to the living room, with it's single end table, lamp and love seat. Grace was too accustomed to living in military quarters to feel comfortable in what she would consider an overly crowded room, but most other people would think of as normal. Graced sat back down on one end of the sofa, glass cradled in her hand. She'd been seeing the counselor at the VA and he'd told her this was normal, that reacclimating to life as a civilian was hard for everyone, especially those like her that had been long term and joined young. And although knowing that did help sometimes, not often. She sighed and reached for the journal she was keeping at the counselor had requested.
I'm supposed to make an entry when I'm feeling overwhelmed. I'm definitely feeling overwhelmed. I want my life back. I feel like it was just...ripped out from under me. Scott explained that they aren't soldiers..and that hurt. I am a soldier. I want the company of other soldiers. I want the discipline and the understanding of exactly what is expected of us and what role each of us play. I want what I've always known..I don't want new, better, touchy feely we're all buddies bullshit. I don't know what to do with a CO that wants to hang out and be friends. CO's aren't supposed to be your friends. It fucks up the entire...way things are supposed to work.
I hate that no one understands that. That a casual mention of having killed someone has someone looking at me funny. Like there's something wrong with me for doing exactly what I was trained to do. Like I've done so lightly and without concern. Like I don't have nightmares about it...like I still don't compulsively wash my hands as if they can ever be clean.
I hate that people look at me like I'm some arrogantly cocky bitch with no idea of how much of a struggle it is to just...get up some days. There's no schedule or expectations. And I don't kmow how to deal with that. I can only fill up so many hours a day with cleaning and working out and trying to fly.
I hate waking up reaching for a gun...and I hate that there's no reason to..and I hate that I hate that there's no reason to
I'm trying to reconnect with my family but they don't understand..we've never been close because the Air Force was my life. My friends are only reminders of what I don't have any longer.
I'll be fine. Eventually. I know that. But sometimes I just don't know how to handle living a life that bears no resemblance to my life.
Grace closed the journal and set it aside then downed the vodka and went to take a shower. "Well..I always have hot water," he murmured softly.