Torn Between Wars...

So this one is a little different. It's not my normal hotbed of insanely pieced together verbal assaults on various people and things that piss me off. This is more along the lines of me trying to sort out some shit that's constantly going through my head. However, my normal disclaimer still applies because even though this may seem a bit tame I still hold this ever so glorious ability to offend people even when I don't intend to. I also want to say that I am doing fine. What you are about to read may seem upsetting and normally I wouldn't post this online. However, I also think it's kind of important for some of you to gain a little insight into some veterans thoughts. More than likely not all, but I would hope that I'm not the only who has these crazy ass thoughts and feelings. Anyways, on to the post.


There are two things you need to be aware of about my current mental state. First and foremost I read an article the other day which really got me thinking entitled, "Why Would Anyone Miss War?"


http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/17/opinion/sunday/17junger.html?_r=2&emc=tnt&tntemail1=y


Secondly, this afternoon I'll be heading to Arlington National Cemetery to pay my respects, say my goodbyes, and watch as one of my former Marines, Cpl Kyle Schneider, be laid to rest. He was killed in Afghanistan by an IED on June 30th, 2010. He was a great Marine, he is too fucking young, and he will be truly missed.


So here I sit unable to concentrate on much of anything. The last few weeks have been wrought with nightmares and little sleep. I can't help but think that I forgot to teach this young Marine something before he left my charge. I forgot some minor detail that would have brought him home to his fiancee and family. I forgot something. Then there is also the point where I can't shake this nagging feeling that had I been there, had I gone back to the fleet, I could have done something to keep him alive. I know this seems ridiculous but you try and argue realism with my brain because for me it isn't working. It's not just guilt though. It's so much more. Here I am stationed in Washington, DC taking care of my family, spending time with my kids, enjoying time with my wife, and yet, I really fucking miss it. 


It's fucked up, I can't explain it. War is hell. Getting shot at isn't exactly a past time that I truly enjoy. Having mortars and rockets shot at you isn't a great time either. After a while you become numb to it because you come to realize that it will either hit you or it won't, running for the nearest bunker stops making sense after a while because you could just be running to where the bastard is about to land. IED's, yeah they're a blast. Driving along, minding your own business, wondering to yourself why in the fuck anyone would choose to live in this god forsaken landscape, and then BOOM! You're ears ring so loud you can't hear shit, your heart races so fast you think it may pop, your head hurts, your eyes water, your adrenalin  kicks in, and once you establish that everyone else in the truck is alive you start singing to yourself "Head, shoulders, knees, and toes" to verify you're still in one piece. For all of you that think taking a life is a worth while experience, let me tell you it's not. If you even take a life where you see that individuals face I promise you that face will haunt you the rest of your life. Especially, when your realize it may have been an innocent civilian. Then there is the point that the true horror of war is realized when you stop playing and notice that some of your friends who got killed during the game don't magically stand up to play another day. Seriously, who the fuck would miss that? Well for some reason I do.


Marines train hard. We constantly go on training operations, go to ranges, physical conditioning, conditioning hikes, we practice shooting in simulated combat conditions, we blow shit up on a regular basis, shoot rockets, fire mortars, fire machine guns, all in the name of going to war and killing bad guys. After you do this for so long it's exhilarating to go to combat and put these skills to practical use. There's more to it than just that though. When you lead Marines there is even more. It's not a power trip thing. It's watching these young Marines that you've helped train work as a cohesive, combat, force to be reckoned with. Everything comes together in a sense, within all the chaos they work as a team and the straight up fuck shit up. It is a beautiful thing to be in charge of. Those Marines start to mean a little more to you after a while. They become you're family away from family. It's like you are in charge of your little brothers and you see them deceiving your parents for the first time. You beam with pride because you know they learned it from you. It's strange and even with all the bull shit I miss that most. This is also a catch 22 because when you lose one, the pain is amplified, and you can't help but think you forgot to teach them something. 


Then there is the battle at home. I mean within me. Not actual battle of family. It is extremely difficult for me to understand how I can become emotionally numb at times to my own family. As much as I love spending time with them and doing various things that we all enjoy there is a part of me that screams "You Don't Belong Here!" Like this isn't the life I'm supposed to have. You've done too many fucked up things to deserve this, you should be back in combat doing that thing you do. Then sometimes there is even anger towards my family keeping me here, never manifested, normally suppressed and released in more constructive ways but still every once and a while it creeps up from the sub-conscious because if it wasn't for them I could just keep bouncing from deployment to deployment. Try sleeping when that shit is playing on your mind. It just doesn't fucking happen. I mean seriously, some nights I get up, look at my sleeping wife, look at my sleeping kids, wash my face, look in the mirror, and think, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Yet there is still a longing to return.


It's strange, it's hard to get a handle on, and it seems impossible to understand. How can I want to leave something I love so much and return to something that haunts me to this day? It just doesn't make sense. Frustration doesn't begin to scratch the surface. Sometimes I want to cry, other times I want to scream, and sometimes I want to choke the living shit out of someone. 


You know last week I worked a parade at the Marine Corps War Memorial. Part of the description for the battle of Iwo Jima that is announced is, "It was like throwing human flesh against reinforced concrete." That's kind of fitting now. The casualties aren't nearly as great yet we keep throwing human flesh against reinforced concrete but this time we wrap them in some form of padding so some of them bounce off and come home forever fucked with the memories of the experience. Then once they get home they go through this process to get support that is like navigating a maze blindfolded. This particular parade our Guest of Honor was the Deputy Secretary of Veterans Affairs. His aide gave me a coin and thanked me for my service and took off before I could give it back to him. I've got the coin sitting in front of me right now and I am seriously considering writing a letter to Mr. Gould, placing the coin inside, and simply stating, "Thank you, but no thank you." The Department of Veterans Affairs is supposed to be for the veterans but most veterans I know have been struggling with them since they got off Active Service. Even Active Service doesn't understand. I've got a fucking therapist that constantly tells me to relax, do relaxation exercises, and think happy fucking thoughts. She seems to have truly missed the point. I've got a psychologist who seems to think I may have hyper-mania because I've had periods lasting days when I can't sleep. They both say that I have PTSD yet they don't seem to be concerned with treating it. It's frustrating shit and I just want to tell them both to go fuck themselves but I have to have it thoroughly documented if I want a fighting chance with the VA when I'm done with Active Duty.


Maybe that's it. Maybe that's why we miss it so much. Maybe it's because war is so much easier. It's a game of survival. It's constantly trying to out think the enemy and stay a step ahead. There's no one else to worry about except you and your Marines. You go out, you work with the locals, you find the bad guys, and you kill them. It just seems so much simpler than dealing with everything in a normal life. Again, how fucked up is that?


For now, I think I'm done. Maybe more in the future but yeah, for now I'm done. I'm going to get ready, head  out and go say my good byes to a Marine lost. Another name on a list that has grown far too long over the last ten years.


“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. 
For he today that sheds his blood with me 
shall be my brother.” 
~ William Shakespeare, Henry V – Act 4, Scene 3