I Need to Vent.

So there's this thing at work.The Enlisted Aviation Warfare Specialist program. Basically, there are two books full of useless Naval Aviation history and trivia that I'm supposed to memorize. I'm supposed to have the books signed off as I complete the sections, and then take a written test and oral board at the end. I have up to 3 years to complete this program.

In May, I was challenged to complete it by the end of June.

I finished the books. I was ready to test and board. But there wasn't enough time to schedule one before I went home on leave. My parents were building a memorial garden for the babies, and my dad had talked about wanting to do a family memorial service for them. I wasn't going to miss that for a stupid book.

That's when the unraveling began. The nightmares. The flashbacks. The days where Bryan had to remind me I needed to shower and change my clothes. The days where I couldn't tell you what I had for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, even right after eating. (Well, on the occasion that I did eat.) The scalding showers. The not sleeping for days and then sleeping for entire days.

I spent 8 months throwing myself into work. Trying to catch up on qualifications. Trying to learn how to do this job. Trying to make myself remember the useless differences between this ship and that ship. I made notes of the sections I studied. I basically re-wrote entire manuals in my notes. I pushed myself to at least appear sane and motivated because I wanted to get this stuff done. I pushed myself to do this job, even when it hurt, even when my body said "no more".

All I did was push myself into a nervous breakdown. Or three.

Throw all of that on top of the being at a job that played a part in losing my baby. Freezing up on the flight line because something in my back hurt just the right way to set off flash backs. Not so much as looking in my boss's direction for months because I couldn't stand the bad feelings that I was trying so hard not to have.

Oh, and let's not forget my dad's breakdown. And my mom's heart problems. And my uncle trying to kill people, along with all the other drama that they always tried to pull me into this summer. And did I mention that both of my little brothers were in 3 accidents? (Three each, not total!) Oh, and the cervical cancer cells that I had removed.  

Maybe I'm a little biased, and maybe even dramatic to some, but these last 8 months have been pure hell. Pure, absolute hell. I think I've come pretty damn far, if I do say so myself.

But apparently it's not enough. I've been lectured at work about this stupid board THREE TIMES in the last month. Because I've "had 8 months that were more than long enough to get it done, and there is no excuse. I need to start moving on." The much higher ranking people are involved in it now.

I kinda want to walk in there and just tell them straight up, "Look, I'm sorry I can't muster the mental capacity to memorize useless shit about ships I'm never going to be on. I tried. I tried hard. But I started having contractions in that hangar out there, while standing on a ladder that my 5 month pregnant body shouldn't have been on. I gave birth to a beautiful little boy in my bathroom floor. He had my fingers and my smile. And I watched him die because your leadership couldn't figure out how to ask for clarification with a Naval instruction they didn't understand. Do you understand what that means? That means I watched my baby die because someone in here couldn't figure out how to do their fucking job! And then I was told to move the fuck on and get my job done while it was all covered up and pushed aside. I know that we all knew there were risks and sacrifices to be made when we signed those dotted lines, but that's not the sacrifice I signed up for. I can only wish that you knew what this place has put me through. By the way, I don't care about your stupid books or your stupid board or any punishment you want to send my way for not completing it."


I think it's about to get ugly.