Time traveler’s girlfriend

Saying goodbye to you is the closet thing I know to PTSD. At first, it’s hard to breathe, especially with the overflowing sobs. Then your mind races and races and races until you’re in such a state of show that you can’t feel anymore. Numb. I’m not sad or happy at this point; frankly, I’m lucky if I can feel my toes moving. My body takes over and I’m being moved out of habit verse being conscious of what I’m doing. This lasts for two days, 24 hours, non-stop.

The scariest part is how we bounce back into reality so quickly. Between jobs and commitments, it’s as if I never visited you. Sometimes I honestly forget our amazing adventures. All I am left with is the occasional reminders of you that come up during the day, which bring me back to the cabin on the lake, cuddling up in your hotel room, or going to Qdoba for Easter dinner just because we can.

And it’s these happy memories that make me miss you more. My body physically aches to hold you. The memory of your smell is strong enough now for me to remember. The pictures we took still on the most recent parts of my memory. My bag still sitting by my door ready to be stored for our next adventure. Everywhere I go, I see you. And I miss the hell out of you every time I open my eyes.

I couldn’t be more proud seeing you on base. You work so hard, yet constantly worry about me. And I know I don’t make it easy. You are so patient with me. No one has ever been so understanding and gentle with me. You make me roar with laughter and smile from ear to ear. I’ve never felt more comfortable to cry with you or tell all my pain. The best part is that you think about us through the forever lens. And you make me feel brave and proud to be the person I want to be. You make me want to be the best version of myself and pursue whatever makes me happy. This is what I feel every time I hold Joe Bear or see a picture of you. Every Single Time. You are the light of my world. I can’t wait till our universes collide and I’m under the same set of covers with you, waking up to the true source of everything that makes me happy and blessed.

Come home to me. I need you.


things no one could tell you…

It’s hard to accurately describe what it feels like to be a military girlfriend. When you tell people that your boyfriend is an officer in the Army, they tilt their head, widen their eyes sorrowfully, then say, “That must be really hard for you”. So obviously my next reaction is to stare at them blankly, because truthfully, I have no idea how I feel about it.

I know I love him, that is a definite. I know that he is my soulmate, partner in crime, ride-or-die partner. I never have, never will, ever doubt our love for each other. He completes me in a way that makes me feel empowered and confident. I love parts about me that I didn’t even realize existed before I met him. He has opened my eyes, taken me through adventures, and awaken something inside of me that could never be smoldered. Being apart longer than we’ve been together allows me to think about everything about him that I love and the things I learn to love.

What we don’t know is the military. The unpredictability is intimidating, especially for me. I don’t let him know how much I think about it.  Thank God for cell phones and FaceTime, am I right? Being in BOLC and getting our first glimpse of active duty has been a stumbled learning experience. I love him so much and I’m scared I can’t compete with his lifestyle. I’m proud and annoyed all at the same time. Being a military girlfriend is both glamourous and unthankful. It’s lonely and fulfilling. It’s confusing and clear. Its quick, very quick, and drags on forever. It’s everything, never nothing.

I know that regardless of the doubts and the waiting, my love won’t change. Right? I mean just because a person can’t change their lifestyle, doesn’t give me grounds to lose my love for them. I know if he could he would be by my side, but he has a duty. A big duty. Being an active duty girlfriend, I have a job too. I have to bear his burden even when he won’t tell me.

What about deployment? What about after deployment? What about the moves or the transfers? What you see on TV makes me question what’s real and what’s not. The coming home surprises or the unidentifiable death figures in Iraq on the news, which am I suppose to feel? I mean if you told me I was going to uproot my life for love, I would have laughed. but it doesn’t feel as pathetic as it sounds. I feel like this is my decision. The first big girl decision I’ve ever made. This is my choice. The Army was not my choice, but its my purpose now. Everyone is given a purpose and they must roll with it. Charlie Mike-continue mission.

I’m not sure if you ever get use to this. It’s not like driving a car or starting a new job. The separation gets tougher. The future gets overwhelming. Not talking for an hour because he has to do homework so he can learn something that can save his life feels like forever. You do think about the grim stuff. Like what would happen when you have two soldiers come to your house in their dress blues. Or watching the news and wondering if your soldier is one of the ones that was shot that day. Or how your biggest fear is not losing him physically, but to the deep terrors in his mind that prevent him from looking you in the eye when he comes home from deployment. I don’t think it was ever meant to be comfortable in the first place.

No one could tell me. Being in love is one thing, but being in love while sacrificing, compromising, waiting, and worrying is a completely different emotion. I’m not sure it’s even love. It’s something much better, I think. Its euphoric, but without the crash that comes after. But no one could explain that to you. Regardless of how many blogs or advice columns by military wives that have been there, done that.

And sometimes, I feel guilty because I know he feels guilty. I try not to cry in front of him when we’re apart, because I know it kills him that he can’t wipe my tears or kiss my forehead until I’m done. I remember sitting in the car before my flight back home. I never take the flight home well. I cry the night before and off and on the entire day of departure. But I remember sitting in his car in the airport parking lot, and he begins to cry. He starts to cry because he knows that it kills me to be apart, and that the reason I’m so sad has everything to do with him. How do you even respond to something like that? But I was happy, because I knew then, as I always have, that he wants to be next to me more than anything. I know its not his fault, its the Army’s, so he has no reason to feel guilty. But I try not to cry or tell him I miss him excessively, because I don’t want him to think that I’m second guessing us.

It sounds like I regret loving him, and that’s so far from what I’m trying to say. I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say, but I know that is certainly not it. This pool of emotions from the distance to the frequent change, its new and raw and exciting and frightening. Its everything, never nothing.




Don’t give me your donation.

So a little fun fact for all 0 of my followers out there, I work at a non-profit where we seek out clothing and basic necessities for students either living in poverty, homeless, or taken from their homes. About 85% of the items in our DC are donated, which means we are totally at the mercy of whoever comes to our door with giant trash bags of items collecting dust in their closet.

Here is what frustrates me. People think places like Goodwill, Salvation Army, and organizations similar to where I work are PRIME places to dump their rotten old s*** and skip happily out the door with a tax receipt and that do-gooder feeling. You are the worst kind of good person EVER.

Let me tell you what I’ve seen thus far: lacy lingerie corsets, dirty underwear, dirtier pots and pans (like, seriously?), moldy toddler clothes, t-shirts with holes and pit stains, and their dead grandmother’s old wardrobe. I can say with confidence that NONE of those items ever made the cut to give to our elementary, middle or high school students.

What I would like to know is what the hell was going through your head when you decided to bring those items to us? Like are we the new dump to you? What honestly led you to believe that a child would be given those items. It is the stereotypical mentality that comes when the words “poverty”, “homelessness”, and “poor” are put into the mix. As soon as a person is labeled under these categories, it is assumed that you will take anything in any type of condition. LIKE WHAT HELLO ARE YOU DUMB? A human being is a human being is a human being. Your trash is not their treasure, it is still trash. By giving us your torn and dirty rejected items, you have just decided to rip all dignity from a child in need. But go ahead, hold your head high because you “donated” to a good cause and you just end world poverty. #ThinkBeforeYouDonate

Why we’re here…

Why we’re here…

Spoiler alert: this is not a philosophical analysis of the nature of human beings, so I’m sorry to disappoint.

Have you ever been sitting in your car, standing in the shower, or waiting in line daydreaming about what lead you to that very moment? Or maybe you saw something on the news or someone said something that seriously pissed you off. What do you do next? Do you say f*** it and move on or do you text a storm to your best friend?

Well. This is why I’m here.

I am braving the harsh world and spewing my deepest thoughts that I wouldn’t dare tell to another human face-to-face. Think of this more as an outlet (hence, my super creative site title) for me to type furiously and analytically to the great world. TBH, don’t expect anyone to read anyway so its more for my emotional desires, which sounds super creepy.