Transitioning Home
by poetheather

For Sergeant Thomas Simmons, getting injured in Iraq was just the start of an adventure that would throw him down the rabbit hole into a world where nothing made sense anymore. Having to restart his life, this soldier has to take his battlefield courage and turn it to a different arena in order to face this newest set of challenges. He just wonders if he is strong enough to handle this newest change in his life.

Four

Thomas had cleaned all of his gear as best he could and got it ready for turn in. Needing to spray paint some things so that they qualified as clean was just odd, but whatever. As long as he passed this part of the Outprocessing hoops he really didn’t care how strange it was overall. He hadn’t received any down checks for that so it was yet another signature on his discharge form. He still had a number of places to go to get everything signed off so that he could get out of there finally. He had to go and talk to people to prove he hadn’t done anything that required him to pay any money or anything like that. It was a tedious process that required more walking than he was pleased with but he did kind of understand the reasoning behind it.

Thomas looked at his watch. He had to get going if he was going make it to the Shrink’s office in time for his appointment since he had to drive all the way to Nashville. He headed back to the barracks and let the Sergeant on duty know that he had an appointment off post. The Sergeant barely cared, simply scribbling something down on a sheet before returning to his movie. Thomas rolled his eyes and went up to his room and changed into civilian clothes.

The drive to Nashville was fairly uneventful, thankfully, as the traffic on the 24 was light. He moved through traffic easily, thinking about how much easier it was to maneuver in his Mustang than it had been in an armored Humvee. That got him thinking about being over in Iraq. He could still picture the vibrant sunsets with smoke rising from a village, the dry smell of the sand and the familiar weight of his gear. He was a little lost in the thoughts and barely stopped in time to keep from rear-ending a semi on the downhill after exit 35.

He focused on the road and pulled into the parking garage at the VA hospital by Vanderbilt without incident. When he managed to find a spot in the parking garage he parked and headed across the causeway between the building and the parking garage. His leg began aching a little over halfway across. Once he had gotten inside, it took him a short bit to find out where he was supposed to go, but he managed to make it to the correct floor in time for his appointment. The elevator was a nice thing and he limped his way through the bit of a maze that was there until he was where he had figured out where to go. He smiled at the receptionist, “Hi, I’m Thomas Simmons and I have an appointment with Dr. Richards.”

The guy behind the desk nodded and briefly looked at his computer. “I got you checked in. Have a seat in the waiting room and he’ll come get you.”

Thomas nodded and made his way down the hall to the waiting area. He sat a bit heavily, glad to be off his feet for the moment as that had been a good amount of walking and he ached pretty badly. The plastic seats that filled the waiting area seemed to be standard government issue furniture, almost familiar at this point after the years he had spent in the service. There were also all sorts of magazines out there and he grabbed an entertainment one, to find out more of what was out in theatres and what was on its way. It was not as recent as he had hoped and mostly covered the entertainment news of three months ago. A short while later, after he had finished flipping through the magazine, he heard his name called.

The person who had called his name was an overweight older gentleman who had short-cropped blondish grey hair. His smile was friendly when Thomas started heading his way and Thomas had a good feeling about this guy. “Mr. Simmons? My name is William Richards. This way please.”

His new shrink turned and headed down the government white hallway towards his office. Thomas tried to figure out if there were certain approved colors and who might have gotten the paint contract as it was all pretty terrible in his opinion. Governmental décor left much to be desired. The doctor waved him into a room and closed the door behind them. It wasn’t that bad, as it did have some warmth to it and signs of actual human touches to the standard issue desk and chairs. The doctor started things off once they were both settled in to their chairs and had shifted into comfortable positions. “So, Mr. Simmons, why don’t you tell me more about these feelings of jealousy you are feeling?”

Thomas shifted nervously on his seat. He hadn’t expected the doctor to jump right to the point without any introduction. “Well, like I said I didn’t really notice it until I was in the hospital recovering after my injury. I guess I have been having these feelings for a while but I hadn’t really thought about them, you know? I haven’t really done a lot of thinking about things before that as I was always busy doing things. My injuries kept me in bed for a while, or in a wheelchair and so I had nothing else to do but think. That was when I started realizing I was feeling this way, and that I was acting a bit suicidal, in terms of my actions in combat, you know death by insurgents. I haven’t figured out too much more about that so far. That covers the basics, oh, and I’ve also been having nightmares.”

The doctor scribbled something on the yellow legal pad that sat on his leg. He looked thoughtful and then said, “Nightmares? Why don’t you tell me about them?”

Thomas still kept shifting, trying to get comfortable, but nothing seemed to be working. His leg ached some and the lousy chair wasn’t helping. A padded seat and something to put his leg up on would be of tremendous help. “Well, they are always about Iraq. It replays several situations I was in or alters them in a way that only makes them worse. And sometimes the thoughts of being in the field come up when I do other things, like driving. Them seem to haunt me.”

“Okay. We’ll get back to that. So let’s look at this whole “jealously” thing, since that was one of the things most bothering you. If I remember correctly, you said it is because you are jealous of the way women look? Is that correct?” asked the Doctor curiously, trying to make sure that what he was asking about was the correct information.

“That’s right. I can’t make heads or tails of it, but I get jealous of how they look.” replied Thomas.
“And what is about how girls look that causes you to feel this way?”

Thomas thought about it. What was it, specifically? There had to be something, right? “I can’t think of anything specific right now. It just seems to be everything: their hair, clothes, bodies, everything.”

“Is it because you don’t look like them?” asked the Doctor calmly, looking at his notepad as he asked this.

Thomas rocked back in his chair. Here was the real moment for him. He was embarrassed and his voice seemed to fail him when he opened his mouth to respond. All he could do was to nod his agreement. This was so embarrassing.

The doctor nodded slightly as Thomas spoke, as if all of this was making something that resembled sense. Again, he scribbled down some notes. “Is it all women that provoke this response or only specific ones?”

Thomas blinked and cocked his head in thought, trying to run through all the times he felt that way, trying to make sense of all the information that he had. Were there any common factors? He realized there were and he looked up, eyes a bit wide in surprise, as some things fell into place. He had never even considered that before and it shocked him. “Yeah. There are some things like that. When I feel the most depressed and jealous about it is when I see a woman with great curves, or long hair, or dressed in a skirt or dress or all of the above.”

More notes. “And what do you think about that?”

Thomas shifted on his chair, sitting more sideways on it, legs pulled in close together, as it was more comfortable at the moment. “I… I’m not sure. I mean it sounds to me like I am jealous of their bodies and not just their clothes. I’m not completely sure why that is. I guess that’s because… because… I want to look like they do?”

The doctor shifted back, one eyebrow raising as he looked Thomas in the eyes, his pencil resting on the paper and not poised to write something. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you, I think? But, what the hell is up with that? Why would I want to look like a girl? It doesn’t make any sense to me. Can you help me to find a way to get past this and get on with my life? I just want this whole stupid thing to go away.” grumbled Thomas, growing more frustrated and agitated as this went on.

The Doctor looked down at his pad of paper then back up at Thomas, tapping his lips with the eraser thoughtfully. “I will do what I can for you Mr. Simmons, but this could very well be a sign that you are dealing with some degree of Gender Identity Disorder. Add to that this death urge you mentioned which might be connected and what sounds to me like some Post Traumatic Shock from your time in the Gulf. This fixation could simply be a way of dealing with the threats to your life in Iraq, a kind of gendered coping mechanism, but that is doubtful as you mentioned on the phone that you were having them before you joined the military. But I will help you deal with this to the best of my ability.”

“Gender Identity Disorder? You mean like those transgendered people?” Thomas was getting a bit scared. Could he really be one of those she-male freaks? He shuddered in revulsion.

“It is possible, but not guaranteed. There is no absolute in situations of this nature. However, just be aware that there is nothing fundamentally wrong with having thoughts like these; the Identity Order is what is bothersome. Because of the issues that Gender Identity Disorder raises about self-identity and self-worth you might become desperate enough to end this. You may try to kill yourself, and with these suicidal urges you have been feeling anyway it becomes quite possible. Let me worry about that, however. Now, what can you tell me about your parents?” The doctor sounded very reassuring. This redirection also helped Thomas to calm down some. The thoughts were kind of overwhelming.

“My family? Okay. My birth mother died shortly after I was born, I can’t remember exactly why. I think it might have been cancer. My father remarried after about a year. She’s my mom as far as I am concerned and she is great except for the whole overprotective thing that she has and recently her obsession with me coming home. My dad works a lot, but we have a good relationship all told. He was really supportive about me joining the Army and made sure to be there from my graduating from Infantry school. I have a half-brother and half-sister from that marriage. They are both in High School right now, Senior and Sophomore respectively. I mean what else is there to tell?” Thomas really couldn’t think of anything else to say about his family. Should he go into detail about their relationships?

“Is your sister the youngest?” asked Dr. Richards.

“Yes, she is.”

“Okay. That should help. Now, how often do you have these jealous feelings?”

“Almost every time I see a girl. It makes things difficult for me. I mean, it’s hard to talk to a girl when this jealous feeling is rolling over you. It is also tough to do anything when this just derails almost everything else. It jut bugs me all the time, unless I do something to keep my mind occupied.”

“Have you dated?”

“Yeah. I started dating in junior high. I had sex the first time when I was fifteen, with Sandra Caldwell. I haven’t been in a relationship of any kind since I was sent to Iraq. I want to get another girlfriend but I have been so busy with outprocessing and trying to figure this out that I haven’t had a chance to go out and hook up with anyone.” Thomas really had been looking, but most of the women he had been interested in had wedding rings on as of late and that had been bugging him. He just wanted to find someone he clicked with that wasn’t already spoken for.

“And why did those other relationships end?”

“Usually because I moved.” This wasn’t completely true, but it was close enough to the truth. The fact that he moved was a part of each break up that had happened and that was definitely something he was not happy about. The other aspects he would keep to himself for now.

“Alright. Are you seeing anyone right now?” queried Dr. Richards.

“No. I just got back from Walter Reed a short while ago, where I had been sent because of my injuries and I haven’t had time to go out and look for one. Sadly, they just don’t fall from trees. I wish they did, but they don’t.”

Dr. Richards nodded and sat back in his chair, clearly thinking through everything that Thomas had told him. “I want you to make me a list of everything that makes you feel jealous about women and if it is, for example breasts, don’t just say breasts, say what kind of breasts, large or small, firm or saggy? These kinds of specific details are important. Also, pick up some magazines of different sorts and make me something with things that you associate with women. And let’s also make it things that also give you that slight jealous tug. A collage of things that also trigger this, if there are any. Okay?” He sat back, getting more comfortable.

“Alright. I can do that.” Why that particular task and not something to stop him from thinking about the whole jealousy thing? Shouldn’t he be doing some sort of exercise or something that stopped him thinking about this? It seemed a bit contrary to reason to do this if he wanted things to quiet down. The doctor’s advice certainly confused him. Thomas was surprised that he was supposed to do some sort of craft project a well. That was odd, but whatever.

“Good. Unfortunately, our time is up for today Thomas. Stay on your current medication and let me know if things get worse. I will make an appointment for you for next week. I will have someone call you with the time. Take care, Thomas.” The doctor leaned forward and began flipping through his desk calendar.

That hadn’t been too bad, Thomas thought as he left, all they did was talk. If that was all there was to this whole going to see a shrink thing then it shouldn’t be too hard. He figured that he needed to get to work on the lists and the poster thing as soon as possible in order to get it done. Thomas wasn’t sure how long it would take to find pictures of things so better safe than sorry as he had very little clue as to what he needed to be doing or even looking at.

He took his time driving back, letting the sound of his music wash over him. Would getting to know the “why” help him to get rid of the feeling? Thomas wasn’t sure but he was looking forward to not having to feel that way all the time. He wanted to look at girls, not be them. Right? He wasn’t sure anymore and things were sure to only get worse.

Rain had started to fall and Thomas turned on his wipers. He slowed down the car, as he figured he was too distracted to drive as fast as he usually did. The last thing he needed on top of everything else was a car accident. Besides, getting into an accident and aggravating all of his injuries was definitely something he was not looking forward to. The weather made his leg and wrist hurt a bit more than usual. The rain pelted down hard a few times almost making it impossible to drive, but it was starting to clear by the time he made it back to post.

Maybe a movie would help him feel good and take his mind off of things. His game system doubled as a DVD player as well and that would be nice. It would certainly get him out of his normal thinking. He looked out the window at the rain that was still falling and he really didn’t feel like getting too wet. Thomas got out of his car and tried to run to the barracks, sort of a hobbling run that really hurt. It was muddy and the grass was slick and he should have known better but after a slight misstep his good leg slipped out from under him and he fell twisting in the air, squishing heavily into the slightly muddy grass on his bad leg and part of his back.

Thomas laid there, rain hitting his face, with his back, leg and arm throbbing with pain, choking down a scream that wanted to break through his lips. His stomach churned with nausea and he swallowed the bile. He tried to wipe the water from his face only to have more rain spatter him. He could feel the cold wet seep into his clothes and he groaned.

With some effort, Thomas rolled onto his uninjured side and spotted his cane a short distance away. He stretched out his good arm and snagged it, painfully aware of the sore shoulder his weight was lying on. Thomas turned and struggled to get to a standing position. His leg was screaming in pain, hurting worse than it had in a long time, and wasn’t cooperating, collapsing underneath what little weight he had put on it. Thomas groaned, again swallowing back the vomit which threatened to rise and he began to low crawl towards the stairs, using only his good leg and arm as much as possible. That hurt, especially his sore shoulder, but it was the only way he could think of to get to the barracks and out of the rain. He dragged himself towards the stairs, scraping his arms and legs on the rough sidewalk.
Thomas started to crawl up the stairs when suddenly the door opened. A couple of privates stopped and stared down at him in utter surprise and shock. Thomas sighed and lowered his head. “A little help would be appreciated here.”

They rushed over to him and picked him up in a chair carry, as that was the easiest method to carry him they knew. They took him inside and sat him down on one of the ugly brown pleather couches. One of them rushed off calling for the Sergeant on duty. The other soldier looked down at him and asked, “Are you alright Sergeant?”

“No I am not okay. I hurt a lot and may have reinjured myself when I fell. Injuries to my arm, back and leg. I can’t drive. I’m nauseous and a bit dizzy.”

The Sergeant on Duty came rushing down the hall. “Simmons, we have an ambulance en route. Are you okay?”

“No. I hurt everywhere. I hate rain. I knew I should have worm field boots today.” Tears were starting out leak out of his eyes from the pain, and he was having issues controlling his urge to scream. He wondered if he was trying too hard again, to push himself beyond what his body could do. It certainly seemed that way as he had clearly pushed himself too far again.

The medics arrived and got Thomas onto the gurney. He was rushed off to the ER, than x-ray and then he got changed into clean and dry hospital clothes when he had been given a chance. Then a nurse got an IV started and then a shot of demerol. The pain faded and Thomas could relax some. It was nice. “Thank you.”

The nurse smiled at him as she dropped the needle into the sharps box. “You’re welcome. If the pain comes back let me know and we will give you another shot.”

He laid back, his arm being supported by a pillow and he stared at the ceiling. Why did this always seem to happen to him? He hurt and hated that. He really hoped this wouldn’t make his recovery worse, but he was afraid that it would. His haste may have screwed up his body even more.

After a while Thomas drifted off to sleep, thanks to the pain killers. He woke as someone was calling his name. It was the doctor that had been assigned to him. “Simmons? We got the x-rays back. No visible damage. Were going to give you some Vicodin. Take that and hopefully things will relax in a few days. I have written you a profile for a few days of rest. Take care of yourself Sergeant.”

The doctor left and the cute nurse came back in and had him sign some paperwork. Since his pain was creeping back she gave him another shot of demerol before the IV came out. At that point Thomas wasn’t too worried about anything as he was in a happy place. The Duty Sergeant came in and took him back to his room, carrying him part of the way with someone to help him. “I’ll have a runner bring you meals and stuff. Don’t worry and don’t leave the floor.”

At that point, Thomas didn’t really care about much. He was pretty loopy from the Demerol and was in a sort of fuzzy haze that was pleasant. He lay on his bed and watched the ceiling move for a while. After a while, he finally drifted off to sleep and dreamed.

* * * * * *

Thomas was a girl, wearing BDU’s that hugged his body snugly, like several of the nurses he had known in Iraq. He was with his team clearing an area in one of the villages. His Sergeant leered at him and said, “Rhymer, get your cute little ass up front on point. The view will definitely be better than Hernandez’s lumpy ass. Hustle.”

He nodded and flounced to the front, almost skipping up to the position. The jiggle of his tits under his BDU blouse kept distracting the Iraqis and they were able to clear that sector easily. Thomas giggled. “See Sergeant. I told you my tits would save the day.”

The team applauded Rhymer and it only got louder when his fatigues disappeared and he was naked. He tried to cover up but his arms had shrunk and all he could do was stand there exposed. He turned away but the whistling and hooting only got louder. Thomas ran, and they chased him, pinching his ass and tweaking his tits. He squealed as he ran, more in fear than in enjoyment. It was embarrassing and exhilarating all at the same time.

He ended up back in uniform, this time at his class reunion. He was still a girl, but his old friends kept calling her a him, or was it him a her? The specifics were a little hard to grasp. He was getting really frustrated and he finally stormed out of the room, down a long hallway that just seemed to keep getting longer the more he walked. He was running now, suddenly weighted down by a full combat load and there was a bright light and he was back in Iraq. Explosions were throwing debris everywhere, bits of earth smacking into his helmet.

Thomas flanked the Iraqi platoon with two others and they dropped a few grenade rounds from their grenade launchers onto them. They opened fire and shot the rest. Blood and smoke and sand were everywhere. His face felt sticky.

He walked over to a wall that had a mirror and looked at it. His face was covered in blood and had pieces of flesh and gore dripping off him. He tried to wipe it but it wouldn’t come off, the blood seeming to pour from his own face. He started clawing his face, trying to scrape it off. His flesh was peeling off and he kept going, trying to tear his face off faster. He started screaming as he struggled to tear the blood from his face.

* * * * * *

Thomas awoke in his bed, screaming, sitting up and looking around the room worriedly, as if something was going to come at him from the dark. He fell back and shook in the bed, glancing around the room frantically. Since most everyone who stayed in the barracks was in Iraq he hadn’t bothered anyone with the noise, for which he was grateful. His heart was racing and his throat was horse. He stumbled over to his mini-fridge, wincing, his body resisting the movement, and grabbed a bottle of water. He guzzled that down and grabbed another, rolling it over his forehead to cool off. The cool bottle felt nice, the bits of condensation trickling down his face. It was soothing.

He fired up his computer and when it was ready, typed a word file with as much of the dream, no, nightmare that he could remember. Then he surfed the net after taking some more pain medication, trying to get tired again. He went from one site to another, his hands shaking. Slowly the shaking slowed and then stopped and he exhaled as rather loud sigh. A while after that he got sleepy again and he thankfully got up and turned off the computer. He crawled back into bed, desperate to say good-bye to the day that had passed.