A token reminder

Conversation with Marie on Friday night. Hard bike ride on Saturday. Friends and sunlight on Sunday. Crossfit today. Plenty of healthy food and sleep, and my head is above the sludge again today. Maybe this is just a breather before it pulls me under again. But I want to believe that this will be the permanent state for me. That the demon is just a visitor, a token reminder of those ugly years. I don't want to have to fight it again. I have some inherent macabre belief, which I don't seem able to shake even now, that it will win some day.

Tomorrow is the year anniversary when I learned exactly how badly Sjors betrayed me, MIVD fucked me over, and my own organization didn't defend me against the lies. Apparently, anniversaries are significant to my psyche. And this one is no different. I keep having bad dreams that seem to revolve around betrayal. Good times. I just have to get through this rough patch.

So maybe I will focus on the good anniversaries. The good work I've been able to do. The operations I've been able to assist. There have been some good opportunities, good people, and good experiences. I'm glad for the pictures. They remind me that I am a dedicated professional; a solver of problems for people who are earnestly seeking solutions.

This photo was taken on board the Dutch ship. I didn't know the man who took it. He sent it to me more than a year later. It was a big deal for me that I was able to work on board the HNLMS Rotterdam - in spite of the fact that Mac was there. I didn't let it distract me or stop me from doing my job. This was November 2012. I'd filed the criminal complaint against Mac the previous July. I'd fought back the demons by kicking and punching my way out, finally directing my anger against Mac and his gang: where it belonged all along. By November, I was strong enough for the next challenge. And the Universe, or God, or fate, brought me to this ship in Dar es Salaam.

What an amazing experience. What a lifesaver. I worked with so many amazing people - operations personnel who were fighting piracy in HOA. It was so wonderful to be able to have Dutch culture again, unsullied by the bastards who had fucked with Sjors and me. I ate brown bread for breakfast with Nutella, the way that Hans used to fix it for me. And I spent time with Dutch Frogmen and Marines. I loved those men. If I could have, I would have traded lives in that instant, transformed into one of them and followed them into live fire. I gave them my best attention and my best work. And I was with them.

No matter what happened after that - what lies MIVD told about me, I get to keep that experience. That was mine. Those brief, happy days when I remembered what it was to want to be alive.

So on this nasty anniversary, when I am forced to recollect Sjors' final betrayal because my mind works like a documentary and will undoubtedly replay the last gory details, I will close my eyes and think of a Dutch Frogman who gave me a harness and gloves, and let me climb the ladders and fast-rope down the side of the ship; who taught me how to fire a weapon; who climbed a balcony to see me; who held my hand in the fast boat and on the airplane. This is a truly kind and brave man. There are wonderful, strong men in the world. I know, because I've met them. There are good memories, too.