How do I begin?

Hello Friends!

Today we finally got word the we will be closing on our re-finance tomorrow round-a-bout 2-ish. Yeah! A waive of relief has splashed over me. Unfortunately, I had to re-reschedule my tattoo for next Tuesday. I don't care. I just want this re-fi headache to be over!

Well, no time better than the present to start my epic on Iraq.

To start, I guess it's best to tell you the type of soldier I was before Iraq. I was a free-thinker. Always slightly changing the color of her hair, being opinionated, but tactfully and respectfully, and somewhat outgoing. I was also not a "wower." You know. One of those people that never brought undue attention on herself, except for not qualifying on her rifle or pistol. I suck firearms. I couldn't hit the broadside of a barn. But, through patience and a lot of willing the 9mm and 5.56mm rounds, I would eventually qualify. I was mediocre at PT (physical training). For the first year I was in the Army, I failed my sit-up test. I never really got the concept of a sit-up. As women are supposedly "abdominally" strong. I was the weakest link. I can crunch like nobody's business, but a sit-up, forget about it! I was pretty good at my MOS. Counterintelligence. I even really liked it. I felt special. I kinda miss it.

I did my first tour assigned to a unit in Darmstadt, Germany. That unit was a strategic MI unit. This means that 97B and 97E ( Counterintelligence agents and Interrogators) wore civilian clothes. I was sent to a detachment in the southern portion of the Netherlands near NATO base. My task was briefings, debriefings, and meetings. Boring, but occasionally I got to go TDY (temporary duty--somewhere else). There was also some military training and MOS maintenance.

None of that prepared me for my next duty station.

My next assignment was at FT. Lewis, WA. I was assigned to FORSCOM unit. No longer strategic. I was tactical, and a member of a Tactical HUMINT Team (THT). The next six months, I trained for Iraq. Of course it didn't compare to the real experience. For what it was worth, It was pretty decent training. It at least got me somewhat in the mindset. Yes, I was trained to walk the grounds with the Infantry, kick down doors, enter a room in a stack, shoot while moving, react during an ambush/attack, and pull injured people at of a disabled vehicle. Of course there was the training for the job I would be doing in Iraq. The collection of human intelligence, or information from people.

Among all my prep for deployment, I picked up anxiety attacks, sharp mood swings, and crying fits. I felt the world was crashing in on me, and that I was suffocating. I was also suffering from a knee injury from my previous unit ( While running after work one day, I tripped and rolled half a block down a hill landing on a car. Yes, I'm a klutz!). I was treated with anti-anxiety pills and "stress management" class. Totally did nothing for me, but I smiled, and pretended in front of my unit like nothing was wrong.

No one really tells you it's okay that you are not okay with deployment. You're a soldier. This is what you are paid to do. The who's and why's don't really matter when it comes to war. So you accept that you have made your bed. You accept that people who are not in your boots don't understand or are against you. You accept that your life will ultimately be changed for the rest of your life. Now you just have to swallow all this, and not look like you are gagging on it. There is no one to turn to. At least you feel this way, because to search for help, is doubting yourself. Make yourself appear less. So you suck it up, and drive on.

That's what I did. I begin to shut of many emotions because they became to unbearable. I didn't want to think about how I wanted my remains to be handled, what would my husband do while I was gone, who wouldn't come back with me, or if I would come back in a wheelchair. I just didn't want to know. The biggest one for me was I didn't want to comeback missing anything. It had to be all or nothing. Very grim, huh. I still remember my requests for my remains. Cremated. My ashes sprinkled around a lighthouse. Didn't matter which one. The ones in Washington had black sand. That would have been cool. I think I wanted November Rain, by Guns and Roses played at my funeral.

Before I knew it, it was time to go. A week before, I found out I had been picked up for E5 (Sergeant). It took me 13 months to get pinned. I still remember. On the way to Iraq, it was just my team in a waiting lounge of the Military Airport in Frankfurt, Germany. I was pinned. Welcomed to the time honored tradition of the Non-Commissioned Officer. Crazy. I went to the promotion board just down the street in Darmstadt.

I guess that's enough for this evening,

The average man,

who does not know what to do with his life,

wants another one which will last forever.

--Anatole France

Yokai