I received a “long service medal” in the mail last week. It was being awarded for 12 years of service. I reached that milestone in 2014. The accompanying certificate was dated 2018. I got it last week because, y’know, covid. My employer has never been timely but at least they acknowledge these things. The only thing that has bettered that is the 11 years it took for a new belt after the one I was issued when I was hired came broken. To be honest they could have tried awarding me the medal in 2018 and I was just too fucked up to register the attempt. That’s probably more likely the truth. Given I was still crying at the sight of my uniforms in 2018 I would have passed on the opportunity for the pomp anyway.

I have obviously spent some time contemplating the myriad feelings that came up upon receiving this. Initially there was gratitude for the letter carrier who saw the address on the envelope but recognized my name, realized it was wrong and came back with it and knocked on the door. I thanked him for that. He’s a good one. Confused about what my employer was sending me at the wrong address (the correct one is on file, my other mail from them arrives without incident) I opened the giant envelope. At first I hesitated when I saw the medal but soon noticed I felt truly proud to have received it. Strange. Accolades usually make me squirm but the mundanity of my reception made it powerful in a different way. There it was. Because I earned it. Nothing more nothing less.

Since I felt proud that first moment I have also felt anger, sentimentality, sadness, validation, detachment, that surreal sense of impossibility intense past events can take on, happiness, humiliation, like a fraud and undeserving, numbness, pointlessness, hopefulness, elation. Every time I open the box and look at it it’s the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end. I think I’m going to mount it in a shadow box for display. My tenure is not something I would ever change regardless of how long it ends up being. Not acknowledging what I have been through and never using that to help the future of my profession is what will make me a shitty paramedic.

All this from an inanimate medal that weighs far more than its constituent metal.

It came with instructions regarding the etiquette around wearing it. I admit to complete ignorance regarding all of that. I don’t know if I’ll even have the opportunity to consider wearing it anytime soon. There’s coordinated intention to any ‘dressing up’ that I do. Advanced planning. Mental prep prior to applying the disguise. Kind of like the uniform was. In dress clothes, much like in a uniform, no one can tell the wolves from the sheep but I’m certain we’re all wolves anyway. I’m basically a dirtbag who outsmarted civilized society and stole one of its coveted, guarded careers. We’re all someone under the dress.

Music update: Opeth, Shed The Skin, Run The Jewels, Meshuggah and Aesop Rock provided for an evening spent contemplating and writing. Metallica and Hayden soundtracked editing. Idolatry will be getting dinner made.

Tape deck update: The pioneer CT-F850 is in service. In the picture 42 years divide cassette and machine. Remember ipods? I stand by my choices. Fun fact: I used to buy records and tapes because I couldn’t afford their CD versions. Now I buy CDs because I can’t afford the records and tapes.

TRE update: I should do it more. I have had a break from exposure therapy while my OT is on vacation getting married and so I thought ‘no overt stress, no stress to deal with’. Wrong. After doing an abbreviated version after my psychologist session Thursday and a full session yesterday I realize I should still do it regardless of any appointment stress. Life’s little triggers insidiously build up. Since I’m not that cool cucumber I pretended to still be I’m just going to have to accept and work with how I react now and the feelings I actually have. Now that controlling instances of triggers has gone from symptom management to just being more undesireable avoidance it’s going to be a long ride. Provoke and control, provoke and control. Provoke and control. I feel like those sports people who say things like “no pain no gain” and “second place is first loser” wrote the playbook for this. At least TRE happened along. I look forward to it for the same reasons I was drinking, only it actually leads to the desired conclusion. I feel less agitated when I’m not constantly overstimulated. That helps me react and recover when I am. I’m tired of perpetual stress. Apparently it’s not tired of me. TRE is my middle finger.