I was transferred to Fort Lewis, Washington in November 1994. There I met up with Patrick, again. Patrick was at Fort Lewis during my suicide attempt, and didn't know about it. Things were okay for about one month. We hung around together and got an apartment together. We were still close.
I was deployed to Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, in January, 1995. There I became good friends with Jason. He was the medic in our unit. Combat Zones and hostile environments do that to you. We did everything together. We learned from each other, and tought classes to others together.
In Haiti I saw a lot of things I hope no one ever has to see. I watched about 60 murders come to our police station in Port-Au-Prince in one month. We had the highest murder stats in the city. We responded to large crouds that were beating a man to death for stealing or even being accused of stealing. (He didn't have to necessarily steal to be killed.) I also had to do something I never dreamed or immagined possible. I responded to a call where a lady had fallen off the back of a truck. She was in labor. Being trained in the medical profession also, I was the one who had to help her deliver it. We didn't speak Creole and she didn't speak english, so it was tough. She delivered a few minutes later and it was a miscarriage. I was devistated. I had delivered my first baby, and it was a miscarriage. My squad had to go to the Field Psychiatric Unit to talk with them about it. I tried to hold myself together, and did for about an hour. I broke down so hard then. I thought it was over after a while of talking but it wasn't.
The same type of senario again. I responded to a pregnant female. This time it was still born. I have never been the same since. The Haitians think nothing of it though. We had to deliver both children to the morgue and when we got there it was not what I expected. There were three freezers there. In them were shelves, like at the supermarket. The bodys' were thrown on them like they were the next cut for the market. There were children thrown on top of children. Over a hundred or so in one freezer. There was a 50 gallon drum in there too. There were blood and body parts. I was grossed out. I still have nightmares about it. When I think about the children I cry.
I also had 2 haitian males die in my arms as I was trying to help save them. One was sitting on the side of the road talking with his friends when a car, speeding, came from no where, on the side walk, and hit him. It sent him over 50 yards. He was alive for a while, and died. The other was shot 3 times in his chest while in the riot at the Haitian National Penetentiary. I was giving him first aid and patched him up. He was not going to make it though, and died. Even if he lived, he would have died eventually. The hospital doesn't take patients unless they have insurance or have $30 to pay. Talk about humanity.
When we returned to Washington, Jason and I had a party at my apartment. We were the only ones there. We drank half a bottle of vodka. Then things changed. Jason and I were peeing off the balcony and he asked me if he could hold my penis. I told him, "Sure." He proceeded, and we both laughed. Later we were talking about Haiti. It was hot in the room so we took off our shirts. I had vomited on my pants, so I didn't have anything on but my boxers. We started crying and embraced each other in a hug. He told me he loved me and when I least expected it, he began kissing me on the mouth. We kissed for about a minute. I didn't know what to do. I was in love. I didn't want to ruin what we did have, and because of the incident in Germany, was afraid to come out.
Jason and I did everything together; hiking, camping, and skiing. We went on a skiing trip to Mt. Rainier one day and things really began to unfold. We were at about 9,000 feet and the snow was thick. A blizzard was moving in, so we decided to set up camp for the night. We pitched our tent and called it a day. We slept on-top of each other for warmth. The sides of the tent were begining to cave-in from build-up from the blizard. Jason pushed the tent off of us and noticed my rear and back were cold. He began to caress my back and rear. I could also feel him becoming erect. I didn't know what to do. I was still afraid of losing him like I lost Craig, so I did nothing.
We made it off of the mountain alive, but didn't talk about what happened. I was too afraid. On Monday, after feeling guilty for 2 days, I wrote Jason a note, telling him I was in love with him. I feared his response to the letter. He returned from school, and after 20 minutes, came to my room and asked me if I wanted to go to dinner. I said sure. I didn't think he read the letter, so I didn't say anything.
In the car he asked me about the letter and I almost died. My heart dropped to the floor. I had no place to run to. He asked me if it was true and I said yes. We talked about it for a while and he said: "Are you sure it isn't just because you had such a bad time with women?" The tone he said it in, scared me. I was afraid he would respond negatively. I thought that was the only answer he wanted to hear, so I regretfully agreed. Things picked up then, and we carried on as usual.
Two days later we were in his room drinking and I broke out in tears. He asked me if it had to do with the conversation we had the other day. I said yes. He asked me if I was gay, and I said yes. He then told me it didn't matter to him if I were gay. Our relationship wouldn't change. I was so relieved. Finally, someone I could talk to about it. A burden was lifted off my chest.
Two days later Patrick stopped by my barracks room. We were watching Baywatch and he made a comment about being attracted to the girls. I told him I wasn't. He asked if it were just those girls and I told him it was all girls. I came out to my second person. Patrick told me it didn't matter. I asked him if he was upset because of what happened in Paris, and he said no. He didn't care if I were gay or not. This was another lift of burden.
About a week later I finally came out to my mother, on the phone. I cried so much. She told me she loved me and told me to go see a priest. She said he could help me. This devastated me. I didn't talk with her or my family for weeks. I was not ready to deal with it anymore. It took a while, but my family has finally come around. I have realized my family loves me, no matter what. This was something that I am greatful for.
I am currently out to everyone I talk to. My "friends" from school, if they talk to me, know as well. I don't care who knows. If they don't like me because of it then it is their loss. And until they have gone through what I have, their oppinion of me doesn't count anyway. Unless it is good.
