BizzaroSuperman's blog: "Life"

Change.

It's always been who I am.  I grew up in an unstable home with one parent in the military, and the other dealing with mental issues from a very traumatic childhood.  Things were never stable, and one moment's respite was quickly swept away in another moment's tragedy.

In and out of foster homes, group homes and the like, moving across the country or even the globe.  I was never in one place for long, sometimes I'd find myself back in a familiar place, but it was rare and never for long.  Nothing was ever lasting, nothing stayed.  I found myself withdrawn in those things that I couldn't be taken away from.  Books, video games, toys, withdrawn in myself.  My 2 brothers and sister were there for me often, but not always, sometimes I wouldn't see them for weeks, months.  Not to mention I was the oldest, with my father consumed by the army and my mother mentally unfit (for a long while, until they were able to finally figure out and treat her illness) I was the authoritarian figure.  I was trying to keep some law and order in my family, so just how close were I to my siblings.

The first chance at normalcy I got was when I was 14, when my mom who after years of therapy was finally able to cope with what had happen to her and discover who she was, wasn't sure if my father was actually the man she loved, left.  My brothers and sister were rebellious of my mother leaving and my father's harsh work schedule, where as I just became more reserved more withdrawn, breaking away from even my siblings.  That was until they got into trouble.  And on a military base that's a big deal.  To spare my father grief from work, we moved with my mother and her boyfriend in Michigan.  I would stay there for the next 5 years, but it was already too late.

I had a habit of making friends, seemingly good friends, rarely best friends.  But nothing solid, nothing stable.  Most of my friends were 'military brats' like me, and were use to saying goodbye, rarely a tear was shed.  I became friendly yet aloof, amicable and agreeable, a chameleon of my surroundings, able to blend in but so well I was invisible.  And so it continue in Michigan.  I can count on one hand the friends I kept in contact with, mostly through my brothers and sister.  But I couldn't even count my closeness to them, when one of my friends Pat passed away after dealing with heart troubles for a long while, I felt no sting, only slight remorse, the only strong emotion was self-disgust with my own lack of feeling.

In Michigan I felt myself getting trapped, funny enough.  Between a crappy job in fast food that I didn't want to get stuck at, my under achieving high school grades, and a mortage for the rest of my family that I should have never have gotten (yeah I was one of those stupid kids) I left.  I did the one thing I swore I would never do.  I joined the military myself.  The Navy for me, I figured it HAD to be better then the Army.  It felt worse while I was there, but I think it was better then what my father went through.

I became a Nuke, most people don't know what that means.  I don't work with nuclear weapons, I've never even been close to one.  No we work in the engine room of Submarines and Aircraft Carriers, tending to the Nuclear reactors and their support systems.

Boot camp was cake, just blend in and do what you're told.  Easy as pie.  On my last day my RDC (forget what that stands for, think drill instructor) asked me one simple question, the goal of all recruits: "Are you even in my division?".  My legacy continues.  I'd be hard pressed to name even 3 people that went to Boot camp with me, despite the time we spent together.

Next was what was referred to as the Nuclear pipeline.  1 year of classroom instruction followed by 6 months of actual hands on experience.  I can't give too many details but this is one of the most academically challenging enlisted programs in the Navy (or it used to be, needing to lower attrition has forced it to be a bit more huggerish about it's training goals).  When I finally realized this was my job, I academically pulled my head out of my ass and did what I was supposed to do (but nothing really above and beyond).  But beyond the school work I was a train wreck, I didn't put any effort to achieve beyond aceing the tests.  Once again, I don't remember many friends or coworkers, only two really stick out in my mind.  Kyle Scott my roommate for the last 6 months and Josh Driesler who spent a year of the pipeline with me until we both graduated and learned we'd both be going to the same ship.  The USS La Jolla.

Josh and I show up about the same time.  He had meant a few of the other crew members during the leave time before the Boat pulled back from it's outing.  I was on that boat for three and half years, two six month deployments, the first year and the last year I was on that boat we spent more then 300 days away from home port.  I eventually pulled myself together and I believe I was at least semi-successful on-board.  The one thing I think I truly failed at though was the bond that submariners are supposed to have with each other. 

We spend 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for up to a month at a time stuck together in a VERY confined space.  You're supposed to bond, otherwise you'd probably kill each other.  But I did my thing, I blended in.  Don't get me wrong I had friends, and I believe we truly got along and would dare say that they enjoyed my presence, at least most of the time.  But I was always so aloof, I would never get involved in things.  Unless someone specifically invited me to do something, I wouldn't even try, and sometimes if I did get invited, I would refuse.  A part of me wanted to go, hang out, make real memories.  But I didn't know how, I probably still don't.

Driesler, Cahill, Watkins, and Bennet.  These were the guys that shared it all with me.  Fellow bottom rung Nuclear Electricians.  When I left we ran that division, and we ran it well, better then any of the sea returnee electricians thought they could.  I can't remember over half the names of the people I spent my entire life with for those three years.  We hated it there, we banded together against the seeming oppression of a practically warless navy (looking back, it might have been better if we had seen combat as submarine with the War on Terrorism going on, at least we'd have a purpose, but instead we just did training exercises and diplomatic training exercises, having to look and act pretty, never be warriors).  But still I never boned, I never saw the world.  At least not as much as I could have.  Lived on the boat, in the Barracks, at the hotel room.  Obviously you can't spend that much time oversea and not experience at least a little bit of it.  But I wasn't interested, I just blended in.

At the time, one of the guys that I consider as one of my best friends (Back then I didn't have this insight) Josh Driesler tried to help me.  He offered to help me get my driver's license and move out of the barracks as his roommate.  I accepted the offer, but never did anything to follow through with it.  By the time I had realized how much time had pasted and tried to follow the offer, he had moved on, helped someone else get their license (apparently a theme among us hopeless sailors) and was moving out.  I felt betrayed at the time, mainly cause I was an idiot and couldn't see myself clearly.  I think it was then that Driesler learned just what kind of person I was.  We stayed friend, but he became more aloof, distant.  He treated me like I treated everyone, and it might be thanks to him that I'm even able to address my flaws so clearly.

I had a little more then a year left in my 6 year contract when disturbing news from home came.  My house was in trouble, payments weren't being made, having overcome mental illness in her early 30s, my mother was now being over taken by physical illness in her early 40s.  In and out of work, she wasn't able to make ends meat, and was afraid to tell me.  The only thing keeping the house from being foreclosed was the fact that the military was able to protect me from debt incurred before I enlisted.  But I couldn't get out, couldn't get away from what I thought was hell.  So I reenlisted, under the stipulations that I get out of there.

I found myself in the same place I was three and half years ago, but on the opposite side.  Instead of learning how to use a nuclear reactor and it's engineroom, I was teaching 19 and 20 year old sailors how to operate a reactor and it's engineroom, hands on O.O.  At first it was an extremely rewarding experience, and it put into prespective just how important what I've been doing for the past 5 years really was.  I hated the navy, but I understood what I was doing there and was proud of myself and my shipmates (I'm sorry I couldn't avoid it).  My friendliness without actually getting attached helped with the students.  Classes were there for about 24 weeks, I dealt with them for about 16.  They wanted to look up to us, and get involved with us.  We couldn't let them because we were their superiors.  And I was VERY good at avoiding fraternization.  But in this case it was a good thing.  Not so much with my fellow instructors.  We spent about 10 hours a day together working in 7 days rotating shiftswith short weekends (and one long one), and not only were we instructors, but we since it was an operating reactor and engineroom we were operators and maintenance as well.  Too many hats if you ask me.  Once again we were supposed to be close, support each other.  I was better then when I was on the boat, getting out a bit more.  But I was still recluse.  I worked with alot of great guys, Danny Paige, Tom Buck, Chris Sosa, Mike Garcia, Spenser Dyson, Colton Alexander, Josh Moore, Jessica Neil, Eric Preston, Nicole Ramsey, Rich Machado, and so many more.   People I should have felt honored to call my friends and fellow sailors.  They all tried to get me out, with a varying amount of effort and success, and I think maybe they'll think of my more fondly then my past friends might.  But I never actually changed, I never made that lasting bond, even though a few I REALLY wanted to.  I didn't know how, I couldn't open it, pick up a phone, send an email.  I just can't communicate, it shouldn't be that hard.

Now, after 9 long years, I'm finally out of the navy.  I don't regret enlisting, I have better things to regret.  I've moved to Las Vegas to be near my family (both my brothers are here, my grand parents, one of my uncles, and even my parents got back together and move up here).  I don't want to move, I don't want to leave.  I really don't know what else I want, but I want something permantent, something stable.  I'm going to try some job hunting, and if I don't find anything I like, probably go to college, using that GI Bill I've worked hard for.

But in all this there's one thing I've never learned, the one thing I want more then anything else.  To make lasting meaningful relationships and friendships.  To be more then a name in the yearbook, or one a boat roster, or watchbill.  I think of all my "buddies" and my "friends" over the years, and how none of them know me and I barely know them.  They deserved better, these are the best years of our lives, and I've filled the spot in their memory with a phantom of a person.  Look through their photo albums and video collections and they'd be hard pressed to even find my face.  10 years from now they might even doubt I ever existed.

This might seem a bit melancholy, or emo, or QQ or whatever you want to call it.  But I think it's just the opposite.  It's a bit of a cry for help mixed with a stretched out hand.  If you're a friend of my past, first off, thanks for even bothering to read, secondly I'm sorry for being a douche, but most important I'd like to offer my friendship again, try to make something better and more permanent then before.  If you're a new friend stumbling upon this, then I'd like to ask you to help me out, push me around a bit, keep me active and involved, I really don't know what I'm doing.  And if your just someone randomly reading this, and aren't interested in being my friend, then offer me some advice or encouragement instead.  I'm a crappy friend, but I don't know how to be anything else.  I'm willing to learn though.

Forgive my bad grammar and run on sentances, it's my bad habit and the Navy education system isn't much for litature.

Thank you for reading,
Stephen
aka
Rec Henson; EMFN Henson; EM3 Henson; EM2 (SS) Henson; EM1 (SS) Henson; that quiet guy from back in the day, what was his name....