I took this picture on Camp LeJeune because the Tank Xing signs are hilarious. To me. They may not be to you, therefore, I think you have no sense of humor. At first, the picture was taken as a joke because what else could it be. I immediately sent it to my best friend:
TANK XING on Camp LeJeune in North Carolina.
KelseySo you’re a tank now. MeYes I am. KelseyWell alright then.
The more I got to thinking about it, the more the analogy seemed appropriate.
I might not look like much, but I feel like a tank. Battered, bruised, scraped up, seen a battle or two, but still kicking. Indestructible but not always for the best.
There’s a saying “We’re called survivors because not all of us survived.” It’s true. So many people die at the hands of their abusers. There was a time when I wondered Is this the day I die? Surprise, it wasn’t, but I genuinely questioned it for many years.
I look at my body and see pain. A man dug his fingernails so deep between two of my left ribs I can still feel the divot every day when I put lotion on. There are still scars on my arms from where I scratched until I bled after bed bugs ate away at me for months. Stretch marks line my thighs and hips because maybe he wouldn’t rape me if I wasn’t a size zero anymore. Worry lines spread across my forehead every morning after I wake up from being haunted by memories every night. My body paid for college. This body has been seen and used as a vessel with the sole purpose to serve and service men.
This body is mine. I had to sell it to learn I had dominion over it. A right to it. I am allowed to say who can touch it and who cannot. My body is a reminder of the men who believed they could take me because they wanted me whenever, wherever, and with as much force as they wanted.
This body is a tank. It has been through war and survived. In so many ways, I feel indestructible. I have been through so many things and come out alive. Maybe not victorious, but I’m sure as hell not the victim. I am the culmination of all my experiences. In a lot of respects, I have had a very good life. I have found love, belonging, worth, happiness, and adventure. There are a lot of good days, but for all the good days there have been bad years… I have been raped, beaten, manipulated, controlled, and abused. I am haunted by my past, but I’m still fucking here. I have not given up, though I have tried.
I’m sturdy.
I’m strong.
I am a tank. So get out of my way. I’m crossing here.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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I never wanted a military relationship. On a technicality, I never had an official, romantic, military relationship. But I have been in a military relationship from start to finish.
Shortly after Alex and I started dating in the winter of 2011, he told me he wanted to go into the military after graduating from college that spring. I knew I didn’t want to be in college while my boyfriend was off being a soldier or whatever. If he wanted to be in the military, then we would be friends. I wouldn’t do it with him.
Alex was never supposed to be anything more than a fling. He was a senior. I was a freshman. Neither of us were looking for anything. But he was cute; I was awkward. I made a move; it worked. Instead of flinging it, we fell in love. The kind of profound love that can only come about when inexperience combines with true compatibility, honesty, and dedication. I was raw and broken emotion, and he didn’t turn away from my pain. I saw through his façade to the man I still see today. It was and is the kind of love which reaches deep within two souls. Alex is written on my DNA. There is not a part of me remaining he has not touched. I am the person I am because he took the time to see me. I used to think he made me the person I am, but that’s not true. He did not make me; I made me, but he pushed.
After five years, I finally have pictures of this sign.
Love is an extraordinary force. The love we found made him decide to put his military aspirations away so we could be together. A year and a half after he chose me over the military, we were laying in bed. He stared at the ceiling as he said, “I think, I still want to go into the military.” I loved him, and I knew this was something he needed to do or he would resent the what ifs. He met recruiters from every branch. As a couple, we met with the branches he was most impressed with. Together, we decided on the Marines. It took almost a year between interviewing recruiters to sending him to boot camp. OCS was the first choice, but the political climate and a paperwork fiasco made that process long and unreasonable. He didn’t want to wait any longer, so he enlisted in October 2013. By that time, we were no longer a couple, but we were still committed to each other, sharing a home, bills, and responsibilities. I watched him swear in before the bus took my Alex to become a Marine. I heard boot camp changed people, and I had no idea who I would hug at graduation in three months. I’m convinced nothing can change my Alex because he was exactly the same willful, messy, smart, inquisitive, sarcastic, quirky, goof of a person. He did have abs, though.
Six years. Five birthdays. Four ranks. Three deployments. Two quals. One extension. Sergeant LeFebvre.
It may not have been an official, romantic, military relationship. But I have been in a military relationship. I have been there for him in every way that I could. I have showed up for ceremonies and a homecoming. I have gone to balls and family days. I have written letters. I have made phone calls. I have planned and replanned trips. I have waited and wondered. I have sent care packages. I have attended weddings. I have made friends. I have bought plane tickets and driven over night. I have whisked him away and staycationed. I have been there.
The military has kept him away from me. He hasn’t been able to support me or show up for me. That’s not his fault. It’s not my fault. It’s military life. We signed up for it. We agreed to it. We knew what that contract meant. It never made his absence less painful. Agreeing to something and dealing with something are not the same. I graduated college, which was largely due to his existence in my life. I hoped he would be there to surprise me. He didn’t. I moved and got a job. I wanted him to celebrate with me. He didn’t. I ended up in the hospital and almost died. I prayed he could be there to hold my hand. He didn’t. I had surgery. I wished he could take care of me. He didn’t. I moved across the country. I wanted him to move me. He didn’t. I got sick and spent months trying to figure out what was wrong. I needed to hold his hand. He didn’t. I made friends, who I wish he could meet. He hasn’t.
Seriously. This is a great sign. Also, taking pictures without a tripod and only a phone… difficult.
I have been a part of Alex’s life for six years, but he has not been a physical part of mine. It’s not that Alex is a bad guy or doesn’t want to be a part of my life, but the military makes it difficult if not impossible. We have done what we can, but now, we’ll be able to do more. Alex missed so many things in my life, and we can’t get those back. The future holds possibility.
As of today, an era has ended. With DD 214, he’s on his way home. For good. He’ll always be a Marine, but he’s no longer active duty. A new journey is unfolding for him. One that will more easily allow him to be a part of my life. As happy as I am, it is bittersweet saying goodbye to our years in the military and being military adjacent. We both grew as people. He’s a better man, and I’m a more self-sufficient woman. I don’t know how our lives will look, but it will be different.
Dear Alex,
I am so fucking proud of you. I didn’t want this to be my life in 2011. By 2013, I had accepted this would be part of my life for an indeterminate amount of time. Six years is shorter than twenty, so thank you.
Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life before the military, during, and after. Being your partner has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. I don’t know who I would be without your constant presence, pressure, and reassurance even if it was in an email from a boat in the middle of somewhere. You have been worth every tear and worry crinkle but mostly laugh lines.
There is so much I won’t miss about the military. I will miss the balls, obviously. I will miss getting breakfast at the cafe downtown. I will miss the Marina. I will miss dragging you to lighthouses. I will miss the barracks in a masochistic sort of way. I will miss the idiots doing idiot things. I will miss your friends who I adore to tease. I will miss buying t-shirts that say Marines. I will miss the hanger and hearing helicopters over head. I will miss the lotion in the base hotel. I will miss the Aviation Memorial. I will miss driving through base. I will miss hearing acronyms. I will miss listening to you talk about your zingers and all the ways you annoy your peons. I will miss seeing you in uniform. I will miss the Pardon Our Noise; It’s the Sound of Freedom sign.
Most of all, I will miss walking next to you on Onslow Beach on Camp Lejeune. We have walked up and down that beach so many times over the last five years. We’ve walked it in July’s scorching sun and in December wrapped in sweaters. It was one of the first things we did on my first trip to Jacksonville and one of the last. I have collected the memories along with the rocks and shells you’ve given me on that beach. You never loved it as much as I did, but you always walked with me, no matter what.
I can steal their camis and pose for cute pictures.Our very first ball together.
Sending him to bootcamp in October 2013.
The first moment I saw him on Family Day.
Second ball!The first time we Skyped after boocamp… I cried.Third ball! (My camera has gotten better.)
The military has been a huge part of my life for seven years. I dated a couple military guys before that, but I was flingin’ it on vacation. I don’t know if I love to hate them or hate to love them. Either way, the two men in my life are an active Marine and a medically retired Marine. So my life revolves around base, VA, and acronyms. It’s a part of their lives, so it’s a part of my life.
People think I have a thing for military dudes, particularly Marines. Actually, I have actively avoided military guys, but the best men in my life are serving or have served. When Alex and I met, he said he wanted to serve after graduating college. I said, “Cool, then we’ll be friends when that happens. I’m not doing a military relationship.” Well, that worked out well… Fast forward seven years to my second big relationship. The only reason I started dating Dylan was because he was out of the military.
It’s a hard life. There are perks, but it’s not a Nicholas Sparks novel. The only reason the military is a part of my life: love. There is absolutely nothing else that could convince me to be in a military relationship.
This is my thinking hat, it protects my good ideas!This only completely irritated him.
Balls!!! No, I don’t mean testicles. The Marine Corps Birthday Ball is my favorite thing about the military. No exaggeration. Dressing up in a floor length dress, doing my hair and makeup, seeing my dude decked out in his Blues. Also dancing and cake. It’s all the good stuff of a wedding without having to sit through the ceremony! I’ve been to three: 2014, 2015, 2017. The 2018 ball was cancelled for Alex’s unit due to his deployment schedule. Bummer.
Bootcamp. It SUCKS. Yeah it sucks for them, but they signed up for it. I just accidentally loved the wrong (right?) (inconvenient!) dude. Three months of no contact. Except letters. When you’ve spent three years being in a live-in, joint bank account, own cars, have bills kind of relationship, those three months are killer. Going from sleeping next to him every night to not having my support system anymore was ridiculously hard. I wrote tons and tons and tons of letters, but it’s not the same. Everything was on me. Letters couldn’t solve problems, pay bills, talk to his parents, buy plane tickets, make me tea when I’m sick, call the insurance after a car accident, or hold me when it was all too much. All of it alone, and it was rough. I’d never had to do it all alone; he had always been there to help. I made my best friend sleep in bed with me a lot during those three months because the bed was empty. Or I slept on the couch, so I didn’t have to be in our bed alone. It was also right in the middle of my senior year in college and over all my favorite holidays. Bootcamp sucketh.
Family Day. Bootcamp sucks, but Family Day is the day before they graduate when you get to see them for the first time. There is so much emotion. It felt like everyone was vibrating with excitement. Stretching to see their Marine. Whispering, giggling, jumping, running. There was an intensity to those moments I’ve never felt before or after. The day was a little different for us because Alex and I were in a completely different phase of our lives than almost all of the other Marines. His peers were mostly eighteen and just out of high school. The parents were over the moon to see their newly minted Marines because they had just spent eighteen years living with them 24/7. The girlfriends were equally excited, but it was strange because they were so young. Many were still in high school. Not to diminish an eighteen year old love story, but it’s not the same as living with and depending on someone for years. We’d been in a relationship for just about as long as they’d been in high school. Alex and I were old in comparison. We had years on them as individuals and as a couple, and we had life experiences they didn’t have yet. Alex’s parents were excited to see him, but they were used to going months without being around him, at that point. I had to wait longer than others to see him because I was on my very painful period. I’d been locked in the bathroom with my best friend throwing up for three hours by the time he was released. When I saw him, it was more than emotional for me because I was suddenly not alone anymore. Everything I had been dealing with loosened, and I couldn’t stop crying. Not to mention, an exorbitant amount of menstrual pain didn’t help the situation.
Uniforms “Women love a man in uniform.” I think that saying is true. The Marine uniform can turn an eh looking dude into a Heeeyyyy looking dude. Now if the guy is already attractive, hello! I’m in the minority, I love the Alphas. They’re old timey and a panty dropper for me. Just kidding, I’m totes a virgin, y’all…
The VA I haven’t had a good experience with the VA yet. Veterans Affairs helps vets with life. It is particularly important to disabled and retired vets. Considering I live with and date a medically retired Marine, I’ve spent a good amount of time dealing with their fuck ups, filing paper work, and sitting in the VA hospital. I’m super opinionated about the VA. Dylan broke his back on the job as a Marine. His career was cut short; he wanted to be a lifer. His life was changed for the worse when he was 21. He’s had five back surgeries, almost died, lives with chronic pain, has a TBI, and a ton of other stuff. He’s kind of a mess; thank you USMC. The VA has tried fuck him and take away his benefits a few times. He’s gone months without getting paid because fuck if I know. At one point, we couldn’t buy groceries because all my money and our savings had gone to paying rent and bills because the VA didn’t pay him for five months. When someone volunteers their body, their mind, and their life for this country, the least we can do is take care of them when shit hits the fan. If you feel differently, fuck you.
Humor There’s a certain kind of humor almost all military guys have in common. It’s dark and sexually fluid and biting and observational and crude and raunchy and pretty much completely rude. It’s also spot on with my sense of humor, so I love hanging out around military guys. Alex’s good friend in the military calls me Shovel Face, which is my fault because I introduced myself as Shovel Face. Take that as you will. I should have known better.
Military Life This is something I understand but don’t always (ever) appreciate. It’s not a normal job. It’s not a 9 to 5. It’s a life. It is all consuming. It’s not just the service member, their dependents are affected too. They dictate everything, which is good and bad. There’s a dress code and code of conduct and rules and regulations and IDs and so much. Even as a MilSO, there are still rules I have to follow and things I can and cannot wear on base. I get it. I’ll follow the rules. I just don’t like being told what to do or what I can’t wear. Vacations or visits in the military can be hard to plan and execute because orders might not come through, things might change, any number of things can happen. It’s a little volatile. You never know for sure until it’s done. I went to visit Alex for a long weekend. We spent 36 hours together, and he was called on a DET. So I spent the other 48 hours sitting on the beach in November and enjoying the hotel room. It was a huge let down.
Marine Bases Merriam-Webster dictionary definition 1a: of or relating to the sea. Water. Ocean. My favorite. Marine bases are by the water, usually. 29 Palms, I’m looking at you. Alex was stationed at MCAS New River his entire enlistment. He was on the water. Beaches galore. Thank you, find me in a swimsuit.
Acronyms Hello acronyms. They’re everywhere. There’s an acronym for everything. I’m a MilSO, which stands for Military Significant Other. I understand them far better than civilians and even some military wives, but there are some that fly right over my head. It’s part of the life. I always feel a little cool using them, which is stupid.
Letters I am a letter writer. I have been writing Alex letters through bootcamp, MOS school, deployments, and just because. I understand how much those letters mean, especially during bootcamp and deployments. When I was delayed at the Charlotte Airport, I met Chad. He’s a nice kid going into his junior year at Mizzou. We chatted VERY briefly. Long enough to find out he was on his way to bootcamp. I gave him the same advice I’ve given other boots, “It’s a game you can’t win. Just think of it as a game.” He did not look consoled, so I continued, “I know it sounds awful, but just knowing that no matter what you do you’re wrong will make it a LOT easier. When you feel like you’re failing, you’re doing it just right!” As I was about to board, I ran back and asked if he had people writing him letters. He said, “Yes. Two maybe three.” I asked if he wanted another person to write to him. He said sure, so I gave him my phone number in case he could get me his address. He did! So now, I’m writing him letters.
Deployments Honestly this is kind of better than bootcamp but also infinitely worse. Bootcamp sucks because you can’t communicate with them, but it’s only three months. Also, death and maiming isn’t on the table. Alex and I have been through three. The first was to Japan in 2015. In 2016, he was back in Japan and did a short MEU visiting The Philippines, Hong Kong, and other places; I don’t remember. He came home from his last deployment in July, which was a MEU in the Mediterranean and elsewhere. His deployments were mostly safe, but they’re still nerve wracking. Deployments are terrifying for those of us at home. I worried constantly. (Read a post about that here.) The internet is a wonderful thing, but you still can’t see or be with them. Also the time difference can be drastic. At one point, I would set my alarm for 4:15 in the morning just to hear his voice for ten minutes. Although, on MEUs, there’s this thing called River City. River City strikes suddenly without warning. There is no way to confirm it until it’s over. It’s where communication is cut completely. Nothing in and out of the ship except letters, which can take months to get there. (I sent a letter in February, he got it in May. Helpful.) You’ll go from exchanging emails every day or even every few hours, to nothing. Did he die? Does he hate me suddenly? Did I say something? Has he decided to dive into his up-until-right-this-moment latent homosexuality? Have I gotten too old for him? He’s definitely dead. Then, three weeks and five days later, he picks up the email chain right where it left off. No news is good news, people. Since it was my third deployment and ninth year with him, I wasn’t terribly worried when River City struck. Although, I’m nearing thirty, so it’s probably time to get a newer edition. Deployments are a hate-hate relationship.
I love traveling. Obviously. I do it all the time. I last left Jacksonville a month and four days ago, so why am I back so soon?
Jacksonville, North Carolina is an interesting place. I was not immediately smitten. The process took a few years. Situated in swamplandia, it’s not much to look at. Their main claim to fame is the Marine Base: Camp LeJeune. Like most military towns, there is an abundance of strip clubs, pawn shops, used car dealerships, tattoo parlors, and barbershops because what else could a young military man want (and I do mean man, well maybe guy). The average age of the town can’t be more than 25 because the military is notoriously young. The natives are ambivalent towards the transient military community, but they manage to coexist in the dysfunctionally-functional way people trend toward. When a civilian finds out I’m in town visiting a guy in the military, their eyes glaze over and I receive a cursory nod and “Oh…” before they move on to more interesting clichés of life. Wealth is not evident, and the town feels like it would immediately implode if the military ever forsook them. There are pieces of history and beauty scattered throughout. A river runs through downtown on its way to the ocean, where you can find a wooden boardwalk sloping from age and water. A cobblestone block runs in front of a cute café. Historic buildings, Victorian homes with wrap around porches, and a white-steepled church make the area quintessentially small town cute. It did take me four and a half years to find this spot in town devoid of strip malls and other less than tasteful establishments.
All of that said, I have a warm spot in my heart for this hiccup of place. What the town lacks, nature makes up for. People are genuinely kind, whether I’m military adjacent or not. Many are far from home, hailing from every nook and cranny of the country. Where the city stops, the ocean and forest immediately begin. You don’t have to drive more than fifteen minutes to find a beach. If you’re willing to go a little farther, you can find lighthouses and islands and the North Carolina of postcards.
The small town cute in downtown Jacksonville.
I have no desire to live in Jacksonville. There is a HUGE chance, I’ll never be within city limits after this trip is done.
I’ve been a frequent and enthusiastic visitor to Jacksonville, Camp LeJeune, and MCAS New River because it has been home to my best friend for five and a half years. After finishing boot camp and his MOS training, he was stationed as a helicopter mechanic at MCAS New River. I visited him for the first time in Jacksonville exactly five years ago to the day for Labor Day weekend. We went to beaches and reconnected after eight months apart. My life has changed immensely in those five years. I quit my jobs in downtown Chicago’s corporate America, which allowed me to see him more often and for longer. I started freelancing – aka bartending to pay the bills. I moved to Houston and freelanced – for realsies, no bartending necessary. I began a blog. I started traveling even more. I adopted a dog. I rediscovered the fuel of my spirit. Alex and I fell apart and reconnected. It’s been a journey.
Throughout it all, I’ve been a regular visitor to Jacksonville, North Carolina. But this is my last trip. I’m not ditching Alex for a sparkly new best friend forever and always. He is leaving the Marines behind him. In a few days, he will be discharged after six years honorable years of service, three deployments, and a lot of sleepless nights to start his life a civilian somewhere in the world. I’ll have a new place to frequently and enthusiastically visit.
So this is a last minute farewell tour of a town I would have never gotten to know or grown to love if it weren’t for the Marines.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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I’m looking very confused as to what to do with this sweater, while trying not to over heat in the 6:00 am heat of Houston, Texas.
Welcoming Alex home with my sign. | Dress | Shoes | Watch | Sunglasses | Earrings |Happy hugs in front of his helicopter du jour. | Dress |Marines lining up ready to see their families.
No, I’m not in high school or college. I did celebrate Homecoming a week ago. By this point in your life, you’ve probably seen a movie or a YouTube video showing a military person (probably man because patriarchy) come home from deployment or war – technically deployment just less cushy and more PTSD inducing. There are lots of flags, running, hugs, kisses, and happy tears. It’s all very realistic.
This deployment was never actually supposed to happen because he was supposed to get out of the military last October. Oh the military. You never know what’s going to happen until it’s already happened. Alex extended another year to go on this one. His two previous were to Japan and a bit of time on a boat floating around Asian countries. This one took him on a boat around the Mediterranean and an unplanned adventure in the Iranian neighborhood. With Flaming Hot Cheeto in office, it’s not exactly a time you want your loved one deployed in a less than friendly neighborhood. Six years. Three deployments. This was my first homecoming. Due to poverty, scheduling, and a lack of communication on not my part, I’d never been able to welcome Alex home with a cliché sign and a hug.
Alex came home from his last deployment a week ago. I was waiting with a very me sign and a very big hug. It was not his longest deployment [upon Alex reading this: it was the longest. I guess I missed him less this time or I’m used to him being gone or it didn’t seem as long because we were able to talk more than any of the other deployments], but it was the most stressful, for me. Although, they are all stressful if I’m being honest.
As in everything military related, there is a lot of hurry up and wait, which is the military’s unofficial motto, by the way; I should figure out what that is in Latin. Hurry up and wait all the way up until you hold them.
Alex’s helicopter as we wait and wait and wait to actually see them.
Homecoming is an emotional thing for families. I can’t explain to you what having someone deployed is like except it feels like your heart is torn in two, and one piece is somewhere in the world. You wait on phone calls and emails. You wait and wait and wait. Then the day comes when they come home. Make a sign (please make it original, I will judge you). Dress up. Pop a mint in your mouth because it has been seven months. Huddle with hundreds of other people in a hanger in 97 degree weather waiting to watch the helicopters come over the horizon. The room vibrates with anticipation and love and anxiety. The Marines corralling the families dictate where the boundaries are and say, “If you step over this line, you could die.” Terrifying to children and some adults, while also being completely overdramatic. You wait and laugh and chat and don’t step over the line. The glint on the horizon… just a bug. A glint on the horizon… a helicopter. Just kidding, not the helicopter. Is there time for a bathroom break? If you run fast. Don’t run! Wait. Jostle. A roar goes up. Helicopters are on the horizon. People scream and cry and wait. The helicopters fly over in a V formation. Look for the one your Marine is on. They land. You can see your Marine. Wait. They gather on the flightline and “march” towards us with as little panache as very tired Marines can muster. The loud speaker says an unknowable something. People rush forward over the line separating alive and possible death. No one dies. Some find each other immediately; others take awhile. After hugs and kisses and I missed yous and I love yous, Marines play a rousing game of where the fuck is my stuff? Because it is all piled into neat lines, but it’s government issued, so it all looks the same. Stuff is located. Buy a tshirt. Everyone carries something making your way to the car. Wait some more in the parking garage. Freedom. They’re home.
I want this to be more emotionally charged than it is. But it’s not going to be. I can’t get sad or weepy or nitty-gritty honest about homecoming or this deployment because I’m not in that headspace. I don’t foresee myself being in that headspace in the near future. If you want something real and emotionally charged click here and read my post about military movies and my lack of composure watching them.
I’m happy Alex is home. I’m happy he’s not dead. The likelihood he would die on the deployment was low, but you never really breathe easily when they’re away. I can breathe easily again. I’m sleeping better, which is to say as shitty as usual when Alex isn’t deployed. Deployments are hard. They suck. It’s emotional to have them deploy and emotional to have them come home. The interim is equally emotional. I think I’m tapped out on emotion right now, so this post is lackluster. I told Alex I had nothing interesting to write because he was lackluster, which is obviously not the case. No one spends six years loving a person in the military at a distance through deployments, deaths and illnesses, graduations and birthdays, anniversaries and holidays, normal days and hard days, when the one person you want by your side can’t be there.
This is not a life I would have chosen, but I did choose to love him. I loved him before the military. I loved him through the military. I will love him after the military.
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