Why I cannot remember your name

After years I finally connected it. Twenty-two years ago (1989, in case my math is wrong), I stopped being able to remember people’s names. For the longest time (22 years) I have not connected the two. Why now? Don’t know, things just come to me at times, and I must write them down, or I know I will forget. That is why it seems I have such a great memory, I write things down, have done it for years, started in 1984 when I was given a journal from someone. When I was younger it was to just put feelings that I could not talk about to others, or did not want to. I wrote about a few boys that I had brief crushes on, when I was fighting with my best friend, the new movie that I saw at the theater and other such childhood thoughts put into a “secret place.” Now journaling is my lifeline to my past, without it I would be lost, without it I would be dead.

Back to the reasoning. It was Panama; I had been sent TDY from my permanent duty station, Dyess AFB in Texas to Howard AFB, in Panama. If you want the full story it is in my first book, Crossing the Blue Code. People died. I did not want to know their names because I did not want to know I had known them. I met bunches of people I knew all their names and I did not want to know that it was someone I met. At that point I didn’t realize that I stopped attaching people’s names to their faces. I could tell you if we met (by the face). I could say what you were wearing and a little of the conversation and at times even quote you, but that part was over. If I did not know your name, then when I saw it, or when I heard it over the net, or when I read it in a report, or in the paper, I would not have to deal with the fact that someone I knew died. Especially since it wasn’t just an accidental death, it was murder.

Journal entry for 30 Sept 2011

Inside MST Journal Entry

Today it’s been hard to think, hard to stay on task. At my daughter’s work someone put a note on her car that freaked her out. The manager called me and asked what I wanted to happen. I said call the police; have this guy attached to the note and on record. The police did not do a report (there wasn’t much to do one) but it is on the logs and the guy’s name is put to this note and a message from the police was left on the number he gave telling him that my daughter was underage, the note upset her and more or less he needed to leave her alone. I read the note at it was very obvious this guy was very much older than should be ever contacting a girl. Other parts of the note gave a little insight and this guy needs to be marked in case he does this or more to some other girl (or woman).

Dealing with these types of issues would be difficult enough, had I not been the target of a stalker and MST survivor. I found my thoughts not being able to completely form. I have forgotten what I had been doing prior to the call. I know that it was something important but it is gone. I cannot stop thinking about her, about the note, about what could happen. I know it’s normal to have thoughts during and after but these are different. My thoughts are jumbled, but they also intermix with past memories, with feelings that come in waves. When the call came in it seemed to be a normal day, then the day took a turn, this week has taken a turn. I can remember when the manager stated that an incident happened but she was ok. I thought she’d gotten hurt, fell or banged her hand. When he said that some guy put a note on her car, that was it. Without any more information I was shaking, pacing the house, on his every word. Trying not to totally lose it. I had to hold in my own feeling until the call was over. Then the panic set in. I “had” to go get her, “had” to bring her home to make sure nothing else would happen. Those were the thoughts, but I do have a support system and after a call to my husband and her father I could talk down those thoughts. To run out and make her get into my car and take her home and tell her the whole time what I was thinking and about all the times that notes were left on my door or car, or where I saw them on others and what happened from some of them would not help the issue, but hurt my relationship with her and more than likely scare her to death.

Out of all the difficulties being a parent I have to question and re-question almost all my decisions, all my thoughts, all my actions. Am I responding to the situation logically or completely emotionally, drowned in memories and feelings of the assaults? Seeing perpetrators at every turn. A simple statement from a boy who likes her as some red flag or clue that he’s thinking about raping her and trying to put me at ease so he can get her alone. I do not want my children to be naïve as I was, pretty much a walking target because I had never been warned, never been told or talked to about there being wackos out there who wanted to do me harm. I fight with myself over balancing - telling the kids about what could happen and scaring them to death.

While I type the red lines under the words appear more often than usual (and they usually are in every sentence). With having memory loss on top of everything else, the irritation seems to increase exponentially. I lose words, how to spell them, and lots of times I can give the definition but cannot remember the word. One particularly irritating time I could not think of how to spell “of.” Simple word, right? Could not for the life of me spell it. I could say the word, I knew how to use it, but nothing came to my mind. I stopped what I was writing and had to wait until I could talk with someone and ask them.

Not being able to remember every detail of every minute of my life is frightening for me. If you ask yourself what you had done right after you got to work, or five minutes into work, yesterday, many people would not know, but it would not matter to them. It matters to me. I want to remember every second. Not because of something logical, but because I rationalize if I know every second I will be able to foresee if I am in any danger. I catch myself doing the “what if’s” for the past. What if I had remembered what was said and then I would have… I look back and see what I did not see then. I tell myself that I only “see” those things as being pertinent because of the latter outcome. Had nothing happened, they would not have been relevant. I have to pull myself out of the thoughts of “what if’s” cause if I stay in them I will spiral down and end up blaming myself for it. Something I have done thousands if not more times, and it all goes back to me, to blaming me. I tell others that it is not their fault, and it is not, yet to myself I am much harder. I am my worst enemy when it comes to what I consider “my mistakes.” I know with the information I had at the time there was no way that I could see what would happen, there was no way that anyone else could predict what would happen, no one except the jerks who knew in their minds what they were thinking, what they were planning to do to me.

The Story Part 1 Meeting Killer

To understand the issues, you must know the story...
I entered the Air Force in 1987 wanting to become a police officer. I had fallen off a horse the day prior to my exam at MEPS and when it came back that I could not become Security Police my recruiter had me join Open General so that I could still be able to qualify for SP after my next exam. I went in and got Law Enforcement. At the time, the Air Force separated the Security Police field into two sections, Law Enforcement and Security Specialist. Law Enforcement's duties were more like civilian police officer's, traffic tickets, police reports, break-ins, alarm activations also with the duties attributed to the military, sector checks and gates. Security Specialist's duties were protecting planes, alert areas and others.

During my Law Enforcement training at Lackland AFB, Texas, I was introduced to K-9 and saw a demonstration and was given the chance to apply to the school, I was accepted and became a K-9 Handler. I loved the idea of having a dog as a partner. The last week of my Law Enforcement training I was raped at a local hotel by a Marine who was in my flight for Law Enforcement. At the time I blamed myself. I thought because we had been making out that when I stated no, when I tried to push him away, when I struggled to get away, it did not matter, I had opened myself up for him to refuse. Those thoughts were solidified when during the last week of Law Enforcement training, we ran through scenarios, which one happened to be a rape case. The scene was set up that it was a dorm room, the girlfriend was raped by the solider (his room). I had been selected to play the "victim." From the scenario, it was taught that everyone was a "suspect" even the person who appeared to be a "victim." The other guy's comments during and after the scenario blamed the victim (me) for being in the room, for bad taste in guys, and everything else they could think of. I did not want to be associated with the "victim," to be so was weak and pitiful, that was not me, I was not a victim, I would not be one.

My career continued and I was sent to Dyess AFB, Texas for my duty station where I was assigned to my Military Working Dog (MWD), Killer B478. Killer was assigned to me because the kennel section thought he would at the least put me in the hospital. He was huge, over 100 pounds at times, and I was 115 pounds. When I was first introduced to Killer, he lunged at the kennel wire, right at the throat pulling on the wire. I thought for sure when I took him out for the first time he was going to eat me. I was scared but I wanted K-9. When I commanded Killer to sit he did nothing, stubborn.  I tried again, nothing, so I did what I had been taught, which was to pull up on the choke chain, but the leash went into the air at the same time. Killer dropped to the ground and shook, he been abused and it tore my heart out. I then in almost an asking voice told him to sit, when he did I took both hands and just rubbed his neck telling him how much of a good dog he was. At that point we were inseparable. When we stood, he would put his paw just in front of my boot saying "you'll have to get through me first."

Killer had been a bomb dog, because of aggressiveness on the aids he was decertified. Bomb and drug dogs were allowed treats that patrol dogs were not. These treats were food or toys. Killer had been worked with a ball and he loved to play with the ball. As a patrol dog he was not allowed that anymore, so I bought one and we played when we were alone. I thought it abusive for him to be denied something that gave him such pleasure just because he no longer worked bombs.