One Day You 'll Feel Alone

I am part of a large family, I lived with a mother, father, three older sisters, and a younger brother. We lived in the large city of Los Angeles, California. There was no apparent infidelity that I was ever aware of in my family, but yet there seemed to be a small bit of the same crass attitude that my mother had for my father. He was stricken with a disability and unable to provide in the same manner she was accustomed. All of my siblings that could helped out in any way they could. The point is that we were a family that pulled together when needed. When I left for the military odyssey, I had no idea I would be placed in harm’s way. It was peace time. I made a surprise appearance one Christmas eve, my family was under the impression that I was still aboard ship and that I would be home in January for a visit. I secretly showed up on the front porch in full uniform, my sea bag slung over my shoulder. Holding back my own tears of excitement. I opened the front door and I stood there. For a brief moment frozen in time was my whole family, my beloved

It was Friday, December 19th, 2003, in Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, South Carolina. Just six short days before my 19th birthday. A recruit screams, "Lights! Lights! Lights!". The overhang lights flashes to life, I look outside and see that was still dark outside. All 80 of my fellow recruits jumped up and began the preparation for our big moment. Racks were stripped of sheets and blankets, folded, and then set on top of the footlockers. As we did the last bits of field day, I imagined that we were somewhere between well oiled machines and ants. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. As we got dressed in our pickle suits I was shaking. To this day I don 't if I was from the sheer excitement or from nervous. The process of getting dressed was beyond tedious and deliberate. Socks, corframs, white shirt, long sleeve khaki shirt, shirt-stays attached from the bottom of the shirt to the top of the socks, tie, standing on top of a foot locker to step into our trousers, getting the help of your rackmate to help put on your blouse, and lastly putting on your cover.

The night before my APFT last fall while staying in Army lodging in kind, I woke up almost hourly from the nightmares, unable to breath and feeling as if CPT Hockenberry were choking me again either with his hands or restraining me and guillotine choking me with my kitchen knife. I had a panic attack and began crying in the middle of our office Halloween party when I saw DCPT Hockenberrry’s picture on the center of the ad law department door as part of the holiday decorations. Just seeing dark-haired soldiers with cpt hockenberry’s build on post makes me extremely fearful and anxious to this day. Intrusive thoughts about the violent assaults constantly interrupt my focus. While driving home from Oklahoma City during a thunderstorm, I became

The year was 1945 September 2nd when the news came. Accordingly to the newspaper, our troops were coming home soon. Hitler and his troops surrendered and Hitler apparently assassinated himself. The day before was a normal barefoot day for me, running the cane poles on the old Messer Creek. Everywhere I went, was briar patches that were havoc on my feet. You could her the commotion for miles or yelling and cursing the sharp prickly little devils. I knew our troops were overseas fighting Hitler and his Nazis and I was proud of them because my daddy got drafted, I prayed for them every night before I went to bed. I didn’t know when my daddy would be back, but I knew it would be soon. I was the man of the house for over six years today. Putting meat on our table, making sure the garden is taken care of, and feeding and milking the animals, for six years exactly. I had to take place of my dad, that means chopping wood, checking and fixing fences, cutting cedar fence posts if the

I awoke that morning in my usual groggy state. The sun was adding a familiar warmth to my room as I got out of bed to get ready for the school day. It was to be a routine day with the exception of one thing. A certain emptiness was apparent in my house as I walked downstairs. I could see the area where my 20-year-old brother, Drew had slept. It was obvious, as he is my most disorderly brother, that he had already left. He hadn’t even had enough time to make the bed or clean up after himself. Drew was on his way to Georgia to join the Army and I could not do anything to change his mind, nor did I want to. After being at NDSU for one year, Drew had decided that college was not for him. Soon enough, he was preoccupied with all things Army. Drew met with an Army scout and was soon

To my indemnity, the National Guard was, perhaps, the best thing that could have ever happened in my life at that time. I learned that my condition was not an unfamiliar one to those who specialized in working with soldiers and veterans with similar conditions. I found out my conditions were heightened as a result of me being deployed to a combat zone. A while back, it was called “shell shocked”. Today it 's formally referred to as “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD”. My wife communticated my conditions to my superior officers and I was ordered to undergo treatment. As much as I hated it during that time, I realize I wouldn 't be here today without it. It truly sparked the onset of the new me. Grant it, I was averse about the whole idea of being in a confined inpatient program, not to mention one which stripped you down of all your personal contents soon as you showed up. Even so, this was my fourth attempt in a treatment program. The first three did nothing to unleash the constricting grasp alcohol had on my life. I was in and out of

military. Nevertheless, one woman soldier observed “ There are only three things the guys let you be if you’re a girl in the military a bitch, a ho, or a dyke.” Not all military men see women soldiers this way, but many do. The hostility is shown by undermining women’s authority, denying promotions, denigrating their work, sexual harassment, sexual assault and rape.”(4) Many women take these words and actions to heart, leaving a mark on them forever, even causing post traumatic stress disorder from events like this in the work place on top of the post tarmac stress from war. “ A 2004 study of women veterans from Vietnam and all wars since, who were seeking help for post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), found that 71% said they were sexually

When people think of the military, they often think about the time they spend over in another country, hoping they make it back alive. No one has ever considered the possibility that they may have died inside. Soldiers are reborn through war, often seeing through the eyes of someone else. In “Soldier’s home” by Ernest Hemingway, the author illustrates how a person who has been through war can change dramatically if enough time has passed. This story tells of a man named Harold (nick name: Krebs) who joined the marines and has finally come back after two years. Krebs is a lost man who feels it’s too complicated to adjust to the normal way of living and is pressured by his parents.

The war was almost over. “One Last Push,” they said. I was not going to join the war, I was tasked with the responsibility of looking after the farm, even though I was the youngest. Now I also have to look after my eldest brother. He was one of the many people that enlisted, including my father, and was returned. Although he is now quite different from before he left to go to the war, he at least made it back, unlike everyone else in my family.

At 9:30 Justin will leave his home in Remsen to get me from the farm, so we could go back to Orange City to get the others, Alex, Austin, Isaac, and Jakob. At that point I was fully awake from remembering the great news. I do a little more work on the farm and then I hear the two, old farm dogs barking at the red jeep coming down the long rocky driveway. I go inside fast to change into not smelly clothes and shoes. I ran quickly outside and hoped in Justin’s jeep and we drove off. I was sitting in the front seat all happy, but I also kind of feeling bad about leaving the farm early. It’s like leaving Vietnam from a helicopter as everyone watches you leave, while they are still shooting at people. We got the end of the lane and we looked both ways and we were off to

It was a warm summer evening as I packed for Navy Boot Camp. I carefully went down the list of things I could take and ensured I didn’t have anything else. A little nervous I went to talk to my parents about my move to becoming my own man. I looked at their faces and could tell that although they were proud they were a little nervous about their only son leaving home for the first time. My mom tried to smile but she was proud yet nervous because I had always been her little guy so she was having a hard time letting go. After a short conversation with my parents I decided to try and rest for the long journey ahead.

I also lost my career and my dream of becoming a pilot, and the Air Force lost a competent and devoted officer candidate. Two years after my first hospitalization, in 2004, I was medically discharged from the military. The consequences of not reporting my rape were direct, to me and to my country.”

And now that the war is over companies aren’t getting as much money from the military so they are upping the taxes and costs of things. With Roland gone and the war ending it is so horrible. I have started to wonder, “Should I move?, Should I get a new job?, Do I take the kids out of education?”, just things like that. As these thoughts are going through my head, I heard a knock on the door. I thought it would be my kids coming home from school, so I didn’t answer. But they just kept on knocking. I thought “Oh my lord, what could it be?”. I didn’t even want to get up from crocheting a blanket for Mattie. Pretty soon an officer just left a note outside the door. As soon as I heard the vehicle drive away, I opened the letter and it read “Dear Mrs Richardson, Your husband Roland was found at a camp. He is alive, not well, but alive. We lost records of your husband but we found him. We noticed another man took off Mr. Richardson’s dog tag and shoes for his own life. That man is dead. Your husband is currently in a Hospital in Eastern Long Island. Meet at the Force office for more information…”

Ever since i was a little girl i would always say “ I will never date or marry someone in the military.” I always had that set in my mind that i could never be with someone in the military. I would always watch military movies or see military couples online and think to myself how i could never be away from my lover for months at a time or even a year at a time. I could never move away and leave my family and friends and my hometown. My life would be over, i would never be able to get a good job with moving so much in the military. I was a straight A student in high school, graduated with honors and known as the good girl who never got in trouble, who had such big goals to go to my dream college in Ohio right out of highschool to become a teacher. Then everything changed i fell in love with a guy who was joining the military right after i graduated from high school. I was known as the girl who was gonna ruin her life for marrying a military man so young.

As I lay down on the greenery, I can’t help but indulge myself in pure jubilance. The soft breeze gently caresses my cheeks and everything seem so calming. It’s the autumn of 2016 and all I can think about is how excited I am for college to start. A new world to explore—new friends, an English major to pursue, and an entirely different environment to get used to. However, that was the last time I ever had the privilege to think about it as a letter from the government came—it was a draft letter from the U.S. government, informing me that I, a woman, was needed in the upcoming war. At that moment, I was instantly engulfed with a mixture of emotions: fear, confusion, and sadness. Why was I needed? Is this mandatory? I’ve never been in this situation before; but I was sure about one thing: I am not going to war.