So... I got internet access in my room today. That's damned near the most exciting thing that has happened to me (that originated in this country) since I got here. It's not terribly fast, but at least I dont have to sit at battalion to talk to the people who are important to me, and I will get to have webcam conversations with my kiddies, among other entertaining people. :)
I'm absolutely fucking exhausted, and I'm not complaining. I've had some of the most rewarding and fulfilling conversations of the last decade in the past couple of days. The kinds of conversations you might have had with your first crush half your life ago, the kinds of conversations that leave you wanting more, needing more. The kind that make you ignore work, sleep, food. The good kind.
I'm still learning new things. New things about myself, new things about my new friend. Surprises abound, some of the good kind, some of the kind that make me think "hmmmm" and some of the kinds that leave me not really knowing how to respond to them. There are many things about a person that you can learn if you only listen well. There are many things that people are encouraged to share with you if you will just shut your mouth and receive the message. Granted, I have a hard time doing that, but I am trying, and so far it is paying incredible dividends when I am successful.
My fear has left the building in regard to my situation, at least for now. I have come to terms with what is going on around me, what is going on within me. I'm not going to expend energy fighting my reactions, instead I am going to ride them out, see where they take me, see if I like it where I wind up. Plenty of time to deal with things as they arise, no need to kill them before they can begin by worrying them apart.
I'd like to say I am beginning to trust again, but that would be a lie. I can say that I have temporarily suspended mistrust, and that is something. Forward motion, positive change, at least.
One short week. I wouldnt have believed it could net such literally awesome returns so quickly, but apparently it can and did and will continue to do so. Pretty cool...
Friday, March 28, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Depression
Is gone my friends...
Granted, I dont want to go to the gym anymore, I dont want to go to my CHU after work, I dont want to leave my desk to go smoke or eat or sleep. No change there, right?
The reasons behind this are quite different this month than they were last. I'm not exactly sure why that is, or more honestly, I'm not exactly sure how I have allowed myself to accept the reasons I now have.
I'd ask if it were possible that someone you never met could inspire such a change in a person, more specifically, in me. However, we already know that it is possible. After all, I've never met Keenan Maynard, Trent Reznor, Marilyn Manson or any of the other artists who have struck a chord (har har) with me.
Yet I find myself bonding with this individual, and I also find it weird to be writing about it here. However, seeing my thoughts in writing helps to assure me that they are more than meaningless and fleeting synapses confined to my own brain.
So how to deal with this? Slowly and surely, my gut tells me. So hang on Sloopy, Sloopy hang on.
Time differences suck. Distance sucks. But the thing that sucks the worst is that its almost as if they dont matter. I know they do. I know they are killers, psychotic and unrepentant. Experience has recently hammered this little fact home, has it not? 9 months till I make it back to the states. Most likely 2 years before I make it back to Texas in anything approaching a permanent capacity, unless I get stationed at Ft Hood, which I am not sure I want to do.
I think the strangest thing about this entire situation is that it makes me rethink my assumptions about myself and my current mental and emotional conditions and capacities. It makes me wonder if my priorities are set correctly, and what the cost and benefits of staying my current course would be.
After all, my current plans include coming home to Texas for the month of December, and then volunteering for another tour in Iraq sometime at the end of Jan. The way I figure it, when I get home from this tour, I will have 17 months left in the Army. Since we are guaranteed a year of dwell time, that means I will have 5 months to go before I am likely to be deployed with a unit again. However, with the way the military works, when that 5 months comes down, and my unit deploys for 12-15, I will be stop-lossed, which means I will deploy for the full tour and get out of the army 7-10 months later than I should be, and I DEFINITELY do not want to spend any more time here than I absolutely have to. So it stands to reason that if I go home, spend 2-4 months in the states, and redeploy again, I will get home from the second tour in time to ETS and be done with the Army for good. Leaving me with the money I saved while deployed to start my life again and move back to where I want to be: close to my children.
Sure, being back over here for another year, so close to the first time I was here, is going to royally suck. The way I figure it though, now that my kids live in Tx and I live in NC, what is the difference between 1000 miles away and 7500? Are they not in effect the same thing? I wont see the kids any more often if I am in NC than I would if I were here, although I wouldnt have to skip Christmas with them (again) if I get lucky on my R&R dates.
Another argument for redeployment is the opportunity to save some money. Since the ex has already promised my children that they will have two of everything now that "daddy doesnt live with them anymore," I find myself suddenly in the position of having to scramble to provide this for them. It doesnt make sense for me to do so in NC, as they wont be there to visit more than once or twice before I get out, and it doesnt make sense for me to make these purchases for "stuff" that I will be needing if I am only going to redeploy again a year later. So, why not just not buy furniture, not buy a car, not buy all this crap and head right back on over here where I dont have room for a bunch of shit and dont have a need for most of it anyway?
I might not always make the best decisions, but I always try to mitigate the damages. Joining the Army was a bad idea. It helped me accomplish many goals; I am debt free, my resume is looking pretty fucking good again, I dont see how I could possibly get out without finishing my masters in Public Admin. But my personal life is smashed to shit. The people I used to have that motivated me to be a better person are gone or so far removed as to not be such motivating factors any longer.
This being said, all I can do now is try to figure out the best way to finish the time left on my contract. My kids are still young. All they know is that Daddy is a soldier and has to go fight bad guys a lot, and that he lives in the desert. While I dont particularly want to spend time away from them, since I know I am going to have to do so anyway, I feel as though it is best to do so immediately instead of drawing it out any longer. I dont want to be gone from their side for a single day longer than I have to be. While I am gone, I want to accomplish everything that I possibly can to make my and their lives better, even if neither of us gets to appreciate it immediately.
Damnable need to lay it all out in writing to pick it apart...
Granted, I dont want to go to the gym anymore, I dont want to go to my CHU after work, I dont want to leave my desk to go smoke or eat or sleep. No change there, right?
The reasons behind this are quite different this month than they were last. I'm not exactly sure why that is, or more honestly, I'm not exactly sure how I have allowed myself to accept the reasons I now have.
I'd ask if it were possible that someone you never met could inspire such a change in a person, more specifically, in me. However, we already know that it is possible. After all, I've never met Keenan Maynard, Trent Reznor, Marilyn Manson or any of the other artists who have struck a chord (har har) with me.
Yet I find myself bonding with this individual, and I also find it weird to be writing about it here. However, seeing my thoughts in writing helps to assure me that they are more than meaningless and fleeting synapses confined to my own brain.
So how to deal with this? Slowly and surely, my gut tells me. So hang on Sloopy, Sloopy hang on.
Time differences suck. Distance sucks. But the thing that sucks the worst is that its almost as if they dont matter. I know they do. I know they are killers, psychotic and unrepentant. Experience has recently hammered this little fact home, has it not? 9 months till I make it back to the states. Most likely 2 years before I make it back to Texas in anything approaching a permanent capacity, unless I get stationed at Ft Hood, which I am not sure I want to do.
I think the strangest thing about this entire situation is that it makes me rethink my assumptions about myself and my current mental and emotional conditions and capacities. It makes me wonder if my priorities are set correctly, and what the cost and benefits of staying my current course would be.
After all, my current plans include coming home to Texas for the month of December, and then volunteering for another tour in Iraq sometime at the end of Jan. The way I figure it, when I get home from this tour, I will have 17 months left in the Army. Since we are guaranteed a year of dwell time, that means I will have 5 months to go before I am likely to be deployed with a unit again. However, with the way the military works, when that 5 months comes down, and my unit deploys for 12-15, I will be stop-lossed, which means I will deploy for the full tour and get out of the army 7-10 months later than I should be, and I DEFINITELY do not want to spend any more time here than I absolutely have to. So it stands to reason that if I go home, spend 2-4 months in the states, and redeploy again, I will get home from the second tour in time to ETS and be done with the Army for good. Leaving me with the money I saved while deployed to start my life again and move back to where I want to be: close to my children.
Sure, being back over here for another year, so close to the first time I was here, is going to royally suck. The way I figure it though, now that my kids live in Tx and I live in NC, what is the difference between 1000 miles away and 7500? Are they not in effect the same thing? I wont see the kids any more often if I am in NC than I would if I were here, although I wouldnt have to skip Christmas with them (again) if I get lucky on my R&R dates.
Another argument for redeployment is the opportunity to save some money. Since the ex has already promised my children that they will have two of everything now that "daddy doesnt live with them anymore," I find myself suddenly in the position of having to scramble to provide this for them. It doesnt make sense for me to do so in NC, as they wont be there to visit more than once or twice before I get out, and it doesnt make sense for me to make these purchases for "stuff" that I will be needing if I am only going to redeploy again a year later. So, why not just not buy furniture, not buy a car, not buy all this crap and head right back on over here where I dont have room for a bunch of shit and dont have a need for most of it anyway?
I might not always make the best decisions, but I always try to mitigate the damages. Joining the Army was a bad idea. It helped me accomplish many goals; I am debt free, my resume is looking pretty fucking good again, I dont see how I could possibly get out without finishing my masters in Public Admin. But my personal life is smashed to shit. The people I used to have that motivated me to be a better person are gone or so far removed as to not be such motivating factors any longer.
This being said, all I can do now is try to figure out the best way to finish the time left on my contract. My kids are still young. All they know is that Daddy is a soldier and has to go fight bad guys a lot, and that he lives in the desert. While I dont particularly want to spend time away from them, since I know I am going to have to do so anyway, I feel as though it is best to do so immediately instead of drawing it out any longer. I dont want to be gone from their side for a single day longer than I have to be. While I am gone, I want to accomplish everything that I possibly can to make my and their lives better, even if neither of us gets to appreciate it immediately.
Damnable need to lay it all out in writing to pick it apart...
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Learning new things
I dont know where to begin.... I guess they (whoever the fuck "they" actually are) say that the beginning is the best place to begin. Makes sense in a straightforward kind of way, but I am not exactly sure that I agree.
I find myself challenged. In general, I enjoy a challenge, in theory, I thrive on them. In reality, I think I am fairly confused by this one.
How does one go about learning? I realize this is an aeons old query, argued since the invention of arguments. Is knowledge something that exists in the ether somewhere, and learning the process by which one pulls it from there to their own brain? Or is knowledge something that exists within you, waiting only for you to remember it. Is there such a thing as an "original" anything at this point in time? After thousands of years of civilization, can you truly have an idea that has not been thought before? I think maybe you can, if only in degrees. What does this have to do with my current challenge? Perhaps nothing.
To overcome fear, to allow trust, to learn to love again; I am not the only one who has had to face these challenges. So I wonder, would knowing how others accomplished this help me do so as well? I am tempted to respond negatively, as I know myself well enough to know that if I dont fuck it up personally, I probably didnt learn a damned thing from it. So does it matter that I am not the first? I guess not. Which is simultaneously inspiring and paralyzing in that those who have gone before me cant teach me anything, and I am left to learn these lessons, to struggle through these experiences alone.
Trust. Love. Faith. Countered by: Fear, Insecurity, Self-loathing.
What makes a person right for another person? There need to be common interests, common views on life, a commitment to work things through when life gets tough, a refusal to quit. Physical attraction? Absolutely. But what is the other property that really sets the spark to produce the flame? Can it be chased down, defined? Could I eventually boil down all my experiences and extrapolate from them the exact kind of person who compliments me? Perhaps a more potent question: If I could, would I? I mean, half or more of the fun in any relationship is figuring out whether or not it will work, isnt it? You have to start by spending a lot of time together, get on each other's every last nerve. Then you start to have disagreements, which elevate themselves to arguments, which in turn accelerate into fights. Once you reach the fighting stage, you start pushing buttons. You learn which ones get the biggest reaction and you mash them for all you are worth. This is the point at which you figure out how you fight, how you cope with conflict, whether it will end up with you sleeping in separate rooms or whether it leads to some of the best sex ever. Once either of those options is complete, you get to discover whether the relationship is fundamentally changed, and in time, whether this change will cripple or strengthen the union.
The fucked up thing about it is that for all your preparation, for all your commitment, for all your love, you can never be absolutely sure of the outcome. Perhaps this is that quality of love that makes it so rewarding. Its not something that you demand from someone, its not something that you can get through some sense of entitlement, you dont "deserve" to be loved by a particular person. Love is an offering. Sometimes the acceptance of this offer is more difficult than the extension of it.
This deserves further thought and exploration, but unfortunately, I actually have to work now. LOL
I find myself challenged. In general, I enjoy a challenge, in theory, I thrive on them. In reality, I think I am fairly confused by this one.
How does one go about learning? I realize this is an aeons old query, argued since the invention of arguments. Is knowledge something that exists in the ether somewhere, and learning the process by which one pulls it from there to their own brain? Or is knowledge something that exists within you, waiting only for you to remember it. Is there such a thing as an "original" anything at this point in time? After thousands of years of civilization, can you truly have an idea that has not been thought before? I think maybe you can, if only in degrees. What does this have to do with my current challenge? Perhaps nothing.
To overcome fear, to allow trust, to learn to love again; I am not the only one who has had to face these challenges. So I wonder, would knowing how others accomplished this help me do so as well? I am tempted to respond negatively, as I know myself well enough to know that if I dont fuck it up personally, I probably didnt learn a damned thing from it. So does it matter that I am not the first? I guess not. Which is simultaneously inspiring and paralyzing in that those who have gone before me cant teach me anything, and I am left to learn these lessons, to struggle through these experiences alone.
Trust. Love. Faith. Countered by: Fear, Insecurity, Self-loathing.
What makes a person right for another person? There need to be common interests, common views on life, a commitment to work things through when life gets tough, a refusal to quit. Physical attraction? Absolutely. But what is the other property that really sets the spark to produce the flame? Can it be chased down, defined? Could I eventually boil down all my experiences and extrapolate from them the exact kind of person who compliments me? Perhaps a more potent question: If I could, would I? I mean, half or more of the fun in any relationship is figuring out whether or not it will work, isnt it? You have to start by spending a lot of time together, get on each other's every last nerve. Then you start to have disagreements, which elevate themselves to arguments, which in turn accelerate into fights. Once you reach the fighting stage, you start pushing buttons. You learn which ones get the biggest reaction and you mash them for all you are worth. This is the point at which you figure out how you fight, how you cope with conflict, whether it will end up with you sleeping in separate rooms or whether it leads to some of the best sex ever. Once either of those options is complete, you get to discover whether the relationship is fundamentally changed, and in time, whether this change will cripple or strengthen the union.
The fucked up thing about it is that for all your preparation, for all your commitment, for all your love, you can never be absolutely sure of the outcome. Perhaps this is that quality of love that makes it so rewarding. Its not something that you demand from someone, its not something that you can get through some sense of entitlement, you dont "deserve" to be loved by a particular person. Love is an offering. Sometimes the acceptance of this offer is more difficult than the extension of it.
This deserves further thought and exploration, but unfortunately, I actually have to work now. LOL
Monday, March 24, 2008
Finally caught up...
Well, I made another new friend today. Someone else that I (probably) havent met, although she went to the same middle and high schools that I did. Interesting....
She is the one who turned me on to this site, so you can all blame her for having to look at my grill so large on this page as well as being subjected to my inane ramblings in search of some minuscule core of sanity in my life.
Things are strange. This being a new venue, I suppose I should start with some information about myself. I am 31 years old, and feel every year of it most days since I work with mostly 18-24 year old kids. I joined the military 2 years ago and cant wait to get out. This shit is most certainly not for me. I am just not that "HOOAH." I thank the powers that be every day that I am not one of the Joes out there kicking down doors. I do automations and communication for a medical battalion. Medical folks are truly "special," let me tell you, but once again, I'd rather deal with a battalion full of prima donna's than out riding around waiting to see if today is the day I get blown up. Besides, they dont call this post "Mortar-itaville" for nothing. Its funny to see the guys come in for training. Just Thurs morning, one of the Joes knocked on my door before PT, he's here from Baghdad, and he's freaking out. "SGT!!! Hey, we gotta get to the bunkers! The C-RAM just went off!!" While he is saying this, we hear two fairly loud thumps from the mortars going off. I told him "I guess they missed" and kept on brushing my teeth. We get hit out here so often, that unless its close enough to actually rattle the walls (and even then, we dont move until round #2 hits), we dont pay it much mind. The general thought around here is "If you hear it explode, it didnt hit you. If you dont hear it explode, it doesnt really matter anymore, does it?"
I have 2 children whom I love dearly and they are the main (and possibly only) reason that I bother to try to figure out what is broken with me and fix it. Seth is 5, Cali is 2. They were just told by their mother that when Daddy gets back from the desert, he wont be living with them anymore. That was her way of saying "I cheated on your father, decided that he was a lousy husband, and I am going to divorce him." Guess I cant blame her for breaking it down to such simple terms, they are very young children. My children now live in a different state than I will when I return, at least until such time as I get out of the Army in 2 years. I am glad they are in Tx, my folks and siblings are there, and I am glad they have them around. Its also probably a good thing as well in that it leaves me out here not feeling like I am missing out on so much. After all, even if I were back in the states, the two people I care the most about wont be anywhere near me anyway. Really, what's the difference between 1000 and 7500 miles? They amount to the same thing.
I try my damnedest to deny the bitterness that I feel for this situation, but I fail as often as I succeed. Be that as it may, I am bound and determined to get over this situation in the best, most efficient, most complete manner I am capable of. If I am not capable of it, then I intend to learn to be capable. I will pick myself apart. I will tear all my walls down, throw all my shit around, pick up only what is worth keeping, and leave the rest of it for the garbage.
I'm still married, more from a practical point of reasoning than for any stupidness like a belief that my soon to be ex and I will reconcile. I need the money and the protections offered to me by the military, and would lose both of those if I signed any divorce agreement. She can wait till fucking November, by God. Or until I actually get hit by one of these mortars, whichever comes first. We would have been married 10 years this summer, what is a few months? Its not like being married is stopping her from fucking whoever she wants. It stops me though. I dont want to go to jail, and since the military will throw your ass in jail for infidelity, I aint taking the chance! Just not worth it, I'll make plenty of time for all that when I get back and sign the divorce paperwork.
The blogs below are the ones that I had on disk from what I have already put up on myspace. I think this is going to be the primary location for my blogs from this point forward, because I can actually access this site from work, instead of having to walk 2 miles to the MWR. We are supposed to be getting internet access in our CHU's soon, so maybe at that point, I will pick back up on myspace. Guess it all depends on how many people find this blog and decide to offer some feedback. It would be really fucking cool if I started getting hate mail too, that would make my day. LOL
Sorry for such an inane post. Its my first here, and I just wanted to introduce myself.
She is the one who turned me on to this site, so you can all blame her for having to look at my grill so large on this page as well as being subjected to my inane ramblings in search of some minuscule core of sanity in my life.
Things are strange. This being a new venue, I suppose I should start with some information about myself. I am 31 years old, and feel every year of it most days since I work with mostly 18-24 year old kids. I joined the military 2 years ago and cant wait to get out. This shit is most certainly not for me. I am just not that "HOOAH." I thank the powers that be every day that I am not one of the Joes out there kicking down doors. I do automations and communication for a medical battalion. Medical folks are truly "special," let me tell you, but once again, I'd rather deal with a battalion full of prima donna's than out riding around waiting to see if today is the day I get blown up. Besides, they dont call this post "Mortar-itaville" for nothing. Its funny to see the guys come in for training. Just Thurs morning, one of the Joes knocked on my door before PT, he's here from Baghdad, and he's freaking out. "SGT!!! Hey, we gotta get to the bunkers! The C-RAM just went off!!" While he is saying this, we hear two fairly loud thumps from the mortars going off. I told him "I guess they missed" and kept on brushing my teeth. We get hit out here so often, that unless its close enough to actually rattle the walls (and even then, we dont move until round #2 hits), we dont pay it much mind. The general thought around here is "If you hear it explode, it didnt hit you. If you dont hear it explode, it doesnt really matter anymore, does it?"
I have 2 children whom I love dearly and they are the main (and possibly only) reason that I bother to try to figure out what is broken with me and fix it. Seth is 5, Cali is 2. They were just told by their mother that when Daddy gets back from the desert, he wont be living with them anymore. That was her way of saying "I cheated on your father, decided that he was a lousy husband, and I am going to divorce him." Guess I cant blame her for breaking it down to such simple terms, they are very young children. My children now live in a different state than I will when I return, at least until such time as I get out of the Army in 2 years. I am glad they are in Tx, my folks and siblings are there, and I am glad they have them around. Its also probably a good thing as well in that it leaves me out here not feeling like I am missing out on so much. After all, even if I were back in the states, the two people I care the most about wont be anywhere near me anyway. Really, what's the difference between 1000 and 7500 miles? They amount to the same thing.
I try my damnedest to deny the bitterness that I feel for this situation, but I fail as often as I succeed. Be that as it may, I am bound and determined to get over this situation in the best, most efficient, most complete manner I am capable of. If I am not capable of it, then I intend to learn to be capable. I will pick myself apart. I will tear all my walls down, throw all my shit around, pick up only what is worth keeping, and leave the rest of it for the garbage.
I'm still married, more from a practical point of reasoning than for any stupidness like a belief that my soon to be ex and I will reconcile. I need the money and the protections offered to me by the military, and would lose both of those if I signed any divorce agreement. She can wait till fucking November, by God. Or until I actually get hit by one of these mortars, whichever comes first. We would have been married 10 years this summer, what is a few months? Its not like being married is stopping her from fucking whoever she wants. It stops me though. I dont want to go to jail, and since the military will throw your ass in jail for infidelity, I aint taking the chance! Just not worth it, I'll make plenty of time for all that when I get back and sign the divorce paperwork.
The blogs below are the ones that I had on disk from what I have already put up on myspace. I think this is going to be the primary location for my blogs from this point forward, because I can actually access this site from work, instead of having to walk 2 miles to the MWR. We are supposed to be getting internet access in our CHU's soon, so maybe at that point, I will pick back up on myspace. Guess it all depends on how many people find this blog and decide to offer some feedback. It would be really fucking cool if I started getting hate mail too, that would make my day. LOL
Sorry for such an inane post. Its my first here, and I just wanted to introduce myself.
Contentment... or Ode to Joy
A friend of mine recently posited an idea that really spoke to me. When first she said it, I thought “no way.” Then, I paused a moment and considered if my reaction was more from this idea being ridiculous or from my unwillingness to accept that it might be true. Within a few seconds, I had no choice but to accept that it was the latter. The statement that was made was that I “missed the knowing – who, what, where, and when in your marriage.”
Initially, I scoffed at this idea, as I don’t currently know a damn thing about a damn thing, and then I realized that was her point. Secondly, what I knew about my situation, my relationship, before had been mostly negative. It caused me to really consider what it was that I had supposedly lost when Jeni left, and made me realize that I might have gained a lot more. I don’t know whether I ever felt this way while I was married, I have no conscious memory of being embittered or feeling repressed, but I can see clearly now that I was. Another friend, when I mentioned this idea as something that needed considerable further exploration, said that it brought to mind a country song with a lyric that went something like “it’s hard to kiss the lips at night that have been chewing your ass all day.” I hope I never have to suffer through the song itself, I hate country music, but I found the lyric amusing.
So, what exactly did I know? How did I allow myself to be comfortable with it? I can answer the first, but I wont. Believe it or not, these blogs are more about my mental health than they are about putting my soon to be ex-wife down. Suffice to say, I did in fact know what to expect. I knew which of my advances and thoughts would be rebuffed and how often. I knew what repercussions I would face for doing things I enjoyed such as drinking beer or watching hockey or hanging with friends once I got off work. I knew the consequences of all my actions and words, and while I was powerless to change these reactions in my mate, and unwilling to make the additional changes in myself, I found comfort in the reactions nonetheless. I had become merely “content,” and because I had been happy in the very distant past, and this contentment replaced my happiness so gradually and insidiously, I confused the two and allowed one to substitute for the other.
I loved my wife to the best of my ability. Everything I did was for her and the kids. I worked two jobs for 4 years so she could stay home. I joined the military because my school loans combined with our other joint debts threatened to pull us under and that was the fastest and most sensible solution. I deployed to a gods-forsaken country near the ass end of nowhere for 15 months away from everything and everyone that I loved for the sake of being able to better provide for my family. In my mind, I thought it would be obvious that everything I did was for “us” and not for “me.” In reality, I think it was obvious, but that it wasn’t enough for some reason.
Be that as it may, our relationship was not copacetic. We started as best friends but somehow over time became bitter rivals. Neither of us mentioned to the other that our needs were not being met in the ways that we felt they should have been. Each of us assumed that the love we had at the beginning was still somewhere down there, and that since marriage was always something requiring work, that our efforts at swallowing our own individual malcontent would be enough to help us get through another day, week or year and thus be closer to finding that loving happiness that we started with. Our lines of communication were completely broken.
Being the stoic person I am, believing in the sanctity of marriage and holding on to what memories I had of the younger fun loving version of my life, I would have languished in this situation for the rest of my life, constantly hanging on to the thread of hope that somehow we would get back to what we once were before. I didn’t even consciously see the problem before now. I understood Jeni’s side of it, and I don’t think she ever even considered that perhaps she wasn’t the only one who felt the way she did about our marriage, but I didn’t understand that I also should have wanted the relationship to end. Oddly enough, I didn’t. I was comfortable with what was “known” even if I couldn’t have honestly said I was as happy as I deserved to be. Could we have been happy again had there been communication and a desire on both parts to work it out? I believe so. Even at the point we got to where one of us finally realized what was going on and decided to walk away? Again, I believe we could have.
However, happiness for me is going to come via a different route, a different source, a different soul mate… eventually. I now have the freedoms to seek out someone with whom I wont have to be merely “content.” I can find someone who currently has the same drives, goals and outlook that I do on life. I can go find a person who is more physically and emotionally compatible with myself. I’m not terribly excited by the prospect of starting over, though I know I should be, but at least I know that I don’t have to settle for what has become comfortable any longer.
So now, to paraphrase Mr. Tom Petty, its “into the great wide open” I go. I don’t know shit about shit, I don’t know who I am going to learn about and try to love next, only that I don’t believe I have met her yet. I don’t know how I am going to be a pervasive presence in my children’s lives so that they never doubt that I am there for them and I love them. I don’t know where I will live, where I will work, what I will do for fun when and if I have the time. I don’t know anything at all about what the future is going to bring me. I find it quite humorous that my experiences here in the military have prepared me to face this uncertainty without an overabundance of fear and with virtually no trepidation. As much as I cant wait to get out of the Army, I have to admit that I have become a better, more mature, more responsible person because of it. I cant wait to put it behind me and start answering the aforementioned questions. This time, I will make an effort not to allow myself to slide into contentment in such a way that it seems as if being content is all there is to life. I intend to grasp and hang onto happiness with a fierceness unknown previously. Should be quite the ride.
Initially, I scoffed at this idea, as I don’t currently know a damn thing about a damn thing, and then I realized that was her point. Secondly, what I knew about my situation, my relationship, before had been mostly negative. It caused me to really consider what it was that I had supposedly lost when Jeni left, and made me realize that I might have gained a lot more. I don’t know whether I ever felt this way while I was married, I have no conscious memory of being embittered or feeling repressed, but I can see clearly now that I was. Another friend, when I mentioned this idea as something that needed considerable further exploration, said that it brought to mind a country song with a lyric that went something like “it’s hard to kiss the lips at night that have been chewing your ass all day.” I hope I never have to suffer through the song itself, I hate country music, but I found the lyric amusing.
So, what exactly did I know? How did I allow myself to be comfortable with it? I can answer the first, but I wont. Believe it or not, these blogs are more about my mental health than they are about putting my soon to be ex-wife down. Suffice to say, I did in fact know what to expect. I knew which of my advances and thoughts would be rebuffed and how often. I knew what repercussions I would face for doing things I enjoyed such as drinking beer or watching hockey or hanging with friends once I got off work. I knew the consequences of all my actions and words, and while I was powerless to change these reactions in my mate, and unwilling to make the additional changes in myself, I found comfort in the reactions nonetheless. I had become merely “content,” and because I had been happy in the very distant past, and this contentment replaced my happiness so gradually and insidiously, I confused the two and allowed one to substitute for the other.
I loved my wife to the best of my ability. Everything I did was for her and the kids. I worked two jobs for 4 years so she could stay home. I joined the military because my school loans combined with our other joint debts threatened to pull us under and that was the fastest and most sensible solution. I deployed to a gods-forsaken country near the ass end of nowhere for 15 months away from everything and everyone that I loved for the sake of being able to better provide for my family. In my mind, I thought it would be obvious that everything I did was for “us” and not for “me.” In reality, I think it was obvious, but that it wasn’t enough for some reason.
Be that as it may, our relationship was not copacetic. We started as best friends but somehow over time became bitter rivals. Neither of us mentioned to the other that our needs were not being met in the ways that we felt they should have been. Each of us assumed that the love we had at the beginning was still somewhere down there, and that since marriage was always something requiring work, that our efforts at swallowing our own individual malcontent would be enough to help us get through another day, week or year and thus be closer to finding that loving happiness that we started with. Our lines of communication were completely broken.
Being the stoic person I am, believing in the sanctity of marriage and holding on to what memories I had of the younger fun loving version of my life, I would have languished in this situation for the rest of my life, constantly hanging on to the thread of hope that somehow we would get back to what we once were before. I didn’t even consciously see the problem before now. I understood Jeni’s side of it, and I don’t think she ever even considered that perhaps she wasn’t the only one who felt the way she did about our marriage, but I didn’t understand that I also should have wanted the relationship to end. Oddly enough, I didn’t. I was comfortable with what was “known” even if I couldn’t have honestly said I was as happy as I deserved to be. Could we have been happy again had there been communication and a desire on both parts to work it out? I believe so. Even at the point we got to where one of us finally realized what was going on and decided to walk away? Again, I believe we could have.
However, happiness for me is going to come via a different route, a different source, a different soul mate… eventually. I now have the freedoms to seek out someone with whom I wont have to be merely “content.” I can find someone who currently has the same drives, goals and outlook that I do on life. I can go find a person who is more physically and emotionally compatible with myself. I’m not terribly excited by the prospect of starting over, though I know I should be, but at least I know that I don’t have to settle for what has become comfortable any longer.
So now, to paraphrase Mr. Tom Petty, its “into the great wide open” I go. I don’t know shit about shit, I don’t know who I am going to learn about and try to love next, only that I don’t believe I have met her yet. I don’t know how I am going to be a pervasive presence in my children’s lives so that they never doubt that I am there for them and I love them. I don’t know where I will live, where I will work, what I will do for fun when and if I have the time. I don’t know anything at all about what the future is going to bring me. I find it quite humorous that my experiences here in the military have prepared me to face this uncertainty without an overabundance of fear and with virtually no trepidation. As much as I cant wait to get out of the Army, I have to admit that I have become a better, more mature, more responsible person because of it. I cant wait to put it behind me and start answering the aforementioned questions. This time, I will make an effort not to allow myself to slide into contentment in such a way that it seems as if being content is all there is to life. I intend to grasp and hang onto happiness with a fierceness unknown previously. Should be quite the ride.
Issues
I recently found that I have 2 primary issues that I have to get myself over in as expedient and orderly manner as possible. Since the two issues run counter to reason and logic and deal more with intuition and intangible needs, this should prove to be quite a grueling journey. There is no better time than now and no better place than the beginning, so let’s explore, shall we?
TRUST:
Trust: reliance; certainty based on past experience; allow without fear. Kind of a bleak picture painted so far based on the definition alone, isn’t it? To pick it apart, my certainty based on past experience is exactly that which I must overcome. Reliance on anyone other than myself seems to be quite impossible at this point, and to allow without fear is laughable, as my issue #2 will soon demonstrate. It is fairly well known that Nine Inch Nails is my favorite band, and that many of the lyrics within the music speak to me on a primal level. One of my favorite lyrics lately comes from the album Broken and goes “Put my faith in God, put my trust in you, now there’s nothing more fucked up I can do.”
I realize that I no longer trust. I don’t trust my bosses, I don’t trust my coworkers, I don’t trust God. I don’t trust people in general. I’m not entirely sure that I trust myself, though I like to think that I am the only one I do trust. When you have your foundation of faith shattered, when the bedrock you built upon turns to sandstone and crumbles, where do you begin to build anew? Do you trust marble to hold up the next age’s dreams and desires? Do you look for the perfect stone to withstand the time and trials that are sure to come? Or, do you accept the seeming fact that nothing lasts and just build upon the first convenient site that offers itself with no eye towards the future and no cares as to whether what you build will last? Neither option appeals to me at this point, as I don’t know that I am capable of building at the moment anyway, regardless of the foundation upon which I would begin.
For 10 years I shared everything with someone I considered to be my other half, my soul mate. She knew all my hopes and dreams, all my fears and failures, all my strengths, all my shortcomings. I knew hers as well, at least as well as she would allow me, which if you were to buy into the things she says now, wouldn’t be very well at all. So how does one go about recovering from such a devastating loss? I wonder if I would be well served to ask someone who has lost all their physical possessions to fire or flood. I wonder if the process for recovering the physical can be used on the emotional through some means of interpretation.
I realize that at some point I must learn to trust again, that I must take the chance, risk failure and disappointment if I am ever to be able to be happy again. I’ve never liked gambling. I don’t gamble in casinos, though I enjoy watching other people do so. I guess what it boils down to is my aversion to losing. I hate to lose. I prefer to find a sure thing and expend my energy on that. I’ve just learned that there is no “sure thing.” So I will eventually be forced to gamble. I’ve done so before, so I know it is possible, and for years I considered myself to be winning, or to at least not come out at a loss. Thinking my way through this mess, I see that Occam’s Razor is just about the only way to hope to resolve the issue. I will eventually have to boil the past down to sludge, take this sludge and use it to fill the cracks and holes in my ego, and start as if there were never a past to judge from. I will somehow have to learn from what mistakes have been made, but refrain from comparing future and past experiences.
Why is it that knowledge of what one must do cannot assist in the execution of needed tasks?
FEAR
Fear: be afraid or feel anxious or apprehensive about a possible or probable situation or event. Ah, so here is why the first issue is so compounded and convoluted! If fear is my secondary issue (and honestly, it might actually be the primary one, who am I to judge?), it makes TRUST all the more difficult to attain as well. Yes, I am afraid. I am afraid to allow someone else to know me, to open myself again to the kind of pain and bitterness that I have recently experienced. I am afraid to allow myself to have feelings and emotions that attach themselves to something or someone other than myself. Fear is not something that is easily dispatched or discounted. In very rare instances, reason might help one overcome fear at least in a limited capacity or for a limited time. On the whole, fear is irrational, sub-conscious, even if the resulting side effects can be felt with the conscious.
I had hoped to be able to think my way through this one as I typed, but nothing is coming to me. I don’t know how to deal with the fear, how to master it. I refuse to ignore it, that goes counter to my intuition that it must be faced and conquered, not denied and ignored. I could list my fears, but even in a mood of sharing, I feel that this list is far too personal.
An interesting thought… does my submission to my fears imply that I trust fear over myself? Is a trust in fear a beginning to trust elsewhere, or is it an oxymoron? When dealing with fear in the past, I generally concentrated on the goal and applied all my efforts to attaining what I was after instead of allowing the fear to paralyze me. Perhaps what I need is a goal to concentrate on, something to drive towards in spite of the fear and mistrust. What a crux! In order to have a worthy goal, I must trust that the end result is attainable. Since I have an issue with trust, my fear overrides my belief that such a goal exists in the first place. Without such a goal, I have no chance to overcome my fears. If I don’t overcome my fears, I cannot learn to trust again.
Lets try this again without the drama, if I am capable. My fear is not confined to myself. I fear that I can and will likely break anyone who tries to assist me to the same degree that I am currently broken. If I don’t allow myself to rediscover trust, this fear will defeat me before I can begin.
As much as it galls me, I am going to have to concede defeat for now. I have no choice but to admit that my outlook on life this month is greatly improved from 3 months ago, and perhaps 3 months from now it will have improved enough more for me to deal with these issues effectively. Until such time, I find some scant comfort in the fact that I can at least identify my issues. I hope that by identifying them, the possibility exists that I will recognize when they come into play in my life and avoid playing into their hands blindly. This is my life, this is my future, this is my potential happiness at stake here. I wont be a slave to anyone, not even to myself. I will not allow myself to be chained and constrained based on my past for any longer than I must. I will heal, damn it, and I will do so post haste.
TRUST:
Trust: reliance; certainty based on past experience; allow without fear. Kind of a bleak picture painted so far based on the definition alone, isn’t it? To pick it apart, my certainty based on past experience is exactly that which I must overcome. Reliance on anyone other than myself seems to be quite impossible at this point, and to allow without fear is laughable, as my issue #2 will soon demonstrate. It is fairly well known that Nine Inch Nails is my favorite band, and that many of the lyrics within the music speak to me on a primal level. One of my favorite lyrics lately comes from the album Broken and goes “Put my faith in God, put my trust in you, now there’s nothing more fucked up I can do.”
I realize that I no longer trust. I don’t trust my bosses, I don’t trust my coworkers, I don’t trust God. I don’t trust people in general. I’m not entirely sure that I trust myself, though I like to think that I am the only one I do trust. When you have your foundation of faith shattered, when the bedrock you built upon turns to sandstone and crumbles, where do you begin to build anew? Do you trust marble to hold up the next age’s dreams and desires? Do you look for the perfect stone to withstand the time and trials that are sure to come? Or, do you accept the seeming fact that nothing lasts and just build upon the first convenient site that offers itself with no eye towards the future and no cares as to whether what you build will last? Neither option appeals to me at this point, as I don’t know that I am capable of building at the moment anyway, regardless of the foundation upon which I would begin.
For 10 years I shared everything with someone I considered to be my other half, my soul mate. She knew all my hopes and dreams, all my fears and failures, all my strengths, all my shortcomings. I knew hers as well, at least as well as she would allow me, which if you were to buy into the things she says now, wouldn’t be very well at all. So how does one go about recovering from such a devastating loss? I wonder if I would be well served to ask someone who has lost all their physical possessions to fire or flood. I wonder if the process for recovering the physical can be used on the emotional through some means of interpretation.
I realize that at some point I must learn to trust again, that I must take the chance, risk failure and disappointment if I am ever to be able to be happy again. I’ve never liked gambling. I don’t gamble in casinos, though I enjoy watching other people do so. I guess what it boils down to is my aversion to losing. I hate to lose. I prefer to find a sure thing and expend my energy on that. I’ve just learned that there is no “sure thing.” So I will eventually be forced to gamble. I’ve done so before, so I know it is possible, and for years I considered myself to be winning, or to at least not come out at a loss. Thinking my way through this mess, I see that Occam’s Razor is just about the only way to hope to resolve the issue. I will eventually have to boil the past down to sludge, take this sludge and use it to fill the cracks and holes in my ego, and start as if there were never a past to judge from. I will somehow have to learn from what mistakes have been made, but refrain from comparing future and past experiences.
Why is it that knowledge of what one must do cannot assist in the execution of needed tasks?
FEAR
Fear: be afraid or feel anxious or apprehensive about a possible or probable situation or event. Ah, so here is why the first issue is so compounded and convoluted! If fear is my secondary issue (and honestly, it might actually be the primary one, who am I to judge?), it makes TRUST all the more difficult to attain as well. Yes, I am afraid. I am afraid to allow someone else to know me, to open myself again to the kind of pain and bitterness that I have recently experienced. I am afraid to allow myself to have feelings and emotions that attach themselves to something or someone other than myself. Fear is not something that is easily dispatched or discounted. In very rare instances, reason might help one overcome fear at least in a limited capacity or for a limited time. On the whole, fear is irrational, sub-conscious, even if the resulting side effects can be felt with the conscious.
I had hoped to be able to think my way through this one as I typed, but nothing is coming to me. I don’t know how to deal with the fear, how to master it. I refuse to ignore it, that goes counter to my intuition that it must be faced and conquered, not denied and ignored. I could list my fears, but even in a mood of sharing, I feel that this list is far too personal.
An interesting thought… does my submission to my fears imply that I trust fear over myself? Is a trust in fear a beginning to trust elsewhere, or is it an oxymoron? When dealing with fear in the past, I generally concentrated on the goal and applied all my efforts to attaining what I was after instead of allowing the fear to paralyze me. Perhaps what I need is a goal to concentrate on, something to drive towards in spite of the fear and mistrust. What a crux! In order to have a worthy goal, I must trust that the end result is attainable. Since I have an issue with trust, my fear overrides my belief that such a goal exists in the first place. Without such a goal, I have no chance to overcome my fears. If I don’t overcome my fears, I cannot learn to trust again.
Lets try this again without the drama, if I am capable. My fear is not confined to myself. I fear that I can and will likely break anyone who tries to assist me to the same degree that I am currently broken. If I don’t allow myself to rediscover trust, this fear will defeat me before I can begin.
As much as it galls me, I am going to have to concede defeat for now. I have no choice but to admit that my outlook on life this month is greatly improved from 3 months ago, and perhaps 3 months from now it will have improved enough more for me to deal with these issues effectively. Until such time, I find some scant comfort in the fact that I can at least identify my issues. I hope that by identifying them, the possibility exists that I will recognize when they come into play in my life and avoid playing into their hands blindly. This is my life, this is my future, this is my potential happiness at stake here. I wont be a slave to anyone, not even to myself. I will not allow myself to be chained and constrained based on my past for any longer than I must. I will heal, damn it, and I will do so post haste.
Home...
An angel asked me a question about the greatest gift I received from my parents, and made the assumption that the most obvious answer might be “love.” I’ve decided that it was another gift entirely, one that I completely took for granted and spit in the face of towards the end of my teenage years. One that is having a profound impact on my psyche at this time. The greatest gift that my parents provided was a solid and lasting ideal of what a home is supposed to be.
Home. There are a million clichés regarding this concept, each sharing one thing: they all capture a piece of the whole.
Home. It’s a place that one assumes will always be there waiting, unchanged, unaffected by the rigors, trials and difficulties of life. It is more than a place, though it certainly has a foundation in reality. It is also the point at which one hangs all ones hopes. The closet into which one shoves ones fears. It is the physical respite from which one builds their castles in the sky, molds their dreams into reality, fights their battles against the world at large. It is a collection of likeminded individuals working together towards some common goals. It is a base from which individual goals are possible, perhaps even reinforced through the support of other individuals working on different and just as personal goals. It’s the safe house, the place where you expect at worst to be left to your machinations and at best to be assisted in them even if in spirit alone.
Home. For many, it involves a place where you may watch your children grow, learn, laugh, love, fail, succeed, rebel and conform. It is the place where your children know they can return to get a reassuring word or hug or to learn some intangible fact of life through either their own experience or through lessons taught and told. It’s safe, secure. It’s not confined to a single building, but the building is a large part of what makes it what it is, what gives it flavor and personality. The rules of engagement within are well understood even if some are never stated out loud or put down in writing. The personalities within are familiar, comfortable and comforting no matter whether they agree with you or not, and perhaps it is the simple fact that even when they don’t agree with you they still support you that makes the largest impact.
Home. It moves from city to city, state to state with you. As long as all the pieces are together, the location in which they reside is not relevant. If there are enough parts there to make a whole, if there is enough love and support there to maintain yourself, it is home.
Home.
I’ve recently come to the realization that I don’t have a home anymore. I don’t have a place to go to receive the support and love and nurturing that sustained me for the greater part of my adult life. I know of plenty of buildings into which I will be welcomed. I know of plenty of arms just waiting to extend to me in a hug. I know of plenty of people who I am related to who support and respect me, even if they have a less than imperfect understanding of who and what I am, of who and what I have become over the course of the last decade or so.
Is it wrong of me to think that this is not enough? Is it wrong to be dissatisfied with what I have available because I compare it to what is lost? Do I wrong the people who are waiting and wanting to help by thinking that perhaps what they have to offer is not as good as what I had before, not as complete, not as rewarding? Am I really so ungrateful? I suppose I am.
Home. What will it be in the future? I imagine it to be half of what it should be, what it could have been. I imagine it to have many voids in it, a vacuum into which all of the goals that I had, all of the plans that I made, all of the things that I thought mattered have been consigned to their demise. I will not try to fill this void, it would be pointless. I will have to wait and see and try to heal enough of myself to begin anew. To rebuild at a different location that does not include the doubts that make this void possible. To reinvent myself as I know myself to be, not as the person who my soon to be ex-wife has painted me in order to ameliorate her own conscience.
I sit out here in my CHU, waiting on them to turn on the hygiene water so that I might bathe again, waiting on something to change. Waiting on day to turn to night and again into day, for the days to pass until I can come back to the states. I realize that I cannot say “until I come home” as I do not currently have one. I don’t have a place to store my few physical possessions, I do not have a place into which I need to put all the STUFF that I gave up in order to make the ex and the kids comfortable. 10 years worth of STUFF, appliances, furniture, clothing. My true concern lies in that if I don’t have a place into which I may put STUFF, then I also don’t have a place to bring my children to where they can feel any of the things that I did when I was young. The ex has already promised Seth that he will have two of everything, now that daddy doesn’t live with him anymore. He will have two houses, two toothbrushes and beds and sets of toys and clothes. I have no idea when I will be able to make good on this promise. I have no idea why she felt compelled to make it except that perhaps she didn’t care about the pressure it puts on me since she is keeping everything that Seth is currently used to having.
Home. That ideal which was so solid for me for so long has disappeared. The buildings in which I built my concept and from which I built my sky castles are gone. The environment I was always so happy to come back to at the end of a long day or week, the patter of small feet and high pitched voices crying “Daddy! Daddy!” when I came through the door, no matter the time of day. All of this is gone. Not changed, but gone.
Home. I know what it should be. I know what it can be. I even know what it will be. But I have no idea when it might be so again.
Home. There are a million clichés regarding this concept, each sharing one thing: they all capture a piece of the whole.
Home. It’s a place that one assumes will always be there waiting, unchanged, unaffected by the rigors, trials and difficulties of life. It is more than a place, though it certainly has a foundation in reality. It is also the point at which one hangs all ones hopes. The closet into which one shoves ones fears. It is the physical respite from which one builds their castles in the sky, molds their dreams into reality, fights their battles against the world at large. It is a collection of likeminded individuals working together towards some common goals. It is a base from which individual goals are possible, perhaps even reinforced through the support of other individuals working on different and just as personal goals. It’s the safe house, the place where you expect at worst to be left to your machinations and at best to be assisted in them even if in spirit alone.
Home. For many, it involves a place where you may watch your children grow, learn, laugh, love, fail, succeed, rebel and conform. It is the place where your children know they can return to get a reassuring word or hug or to learn some intangible fact of life through either their own experience or through lessons taught and told. It’s safe, secure. It’s not confined to a single building, but the building is a large part of what makes it what it is, what gives it flavor and personality. The rules of engagement within are well understood even if some are never stated out loud or put down in writing. The personalities within are familiar, comfortable and comforting no matter whether they agree with you or not, and perhaps it is the simple fact that even when they don’t agree with you they still support you that makes the largest impact.
Home. It moves from city to city, state to state with you. As long as all the pieces are together, the location in which they reside is not relevant. If there are enough parts there to make a whole, if there is enough love and support there to maintain yourself, it is home.
Home.
I’ve recently come to the realization that I don’t have a home anymore. I don’t have a place to go to receive the support and love and nurturing that sustained me for the greater part of my adult life. I know of plenty of buildings into which I will be welcomed. I know of plenty of arms just waiting to extend to me in a hug. I know of plenty of people who I am related to who support and respect me, even if they have a less than imperfect understanding of who and what I am, of who and what I have become over the course of the last decade or so.
Is it wrong of me to think that this is not enough? Is it wrong to be dissatisfied with what I have available because I compare it to what is lost? Do I wrong the people who are waiting and wanting to help by thinking that perhaps what they have to offer is not as good as what I had before, not as complete, not as rewarding? Am I really so ungrateful? I suppose I am.
Home. What will it be in the future? I imagine it to be half of what it should be, what it could have been. I imagine it to have many voids in it, a vacuum into which all of the goals that I had, all of the plans that I made, all of the things that I thought mattered have been consigned to their demise. I will not try to fill this void, it would be pointless. I will have to wait and see and try to heal enough of myself to begin anew. To rebuild at a different location that does not include the doubts that make this void possible. To reinvent myself as I know myself to be, not as the person who my soon to be ex-wife has painted me in order to ameliorate her own conscience.
I sit out here in my CHU, waiting on them to turn on the hygiene water so that I might bathe again, waiting on something to change. Waiting on day to turn to night and again into day, for the days to pass until I can come back to the states. I realize that I cannot say “until I come home” as I do not currently have one. I don’t have a place to store my few physical possessions, I do not have a place into which I need to put all the STUFF that I gave up in order to make the ex and the kids comfortable. 10 years worth of STUFF, appliances, furniture, clothing. My true concern lies in that if I don’t have a place into which I may put STUFF, then I also don’t have a place to bring my children to where they can feel any of the things that I did when I was young. The ex has already promised Seth that he will have two of everything, now that daddy doesn’t live with him anymore. He will have two houses, two toothbrushes and beds and sets of toys and clothes. I have no idea when I will be able to make good on this promise. I have no idea why she felt compelled to make it except that perhaps she didn’t care about the pressure it puts on me since she is keeping everything that Seth is currently used to having.
Home. That ideal which was so solid for me for so long has disappeared. The buildings in which I built my concept and from which I built my sky castles are gone. The environment I was always so happy to come back to at the end of a long day or week, the patter of small feet and high pitched voices crying “Daddy! Daddy!” when I came through the door, no matter the time of day. All of this is gone. Not changed, but gone.
Home. I know what it should be. I know what it can be. I even know what it will be. But I have no idea when it might be so again.
Through my eyes – Vision with Character if not color…
War… where to begin? I suppose this will be a train of consciousness type of rambling, since that is the only way to do this subject any justice, and the only way to bring the reader to anything even resembling comprehension of the reality or surrealistic aspects of the subject.
Every day is Tuesday. Since there is no weekend, that means it cant be Saturday or Sunday. Since Monday is the first day after the weekend, it cant be Monday. Since Wednesday marks the midpoint of the workweek, it cant be Wednesday. Since Thursday is the day before Friday, it cant be Thursday. Since Friday is the last workday before the weekend, it cant be Friday. Every day is Tuesday. Every day is exactly the same, and every day is Tuesday.
Every Tuesday, when you wake up, you know exactly what to expect from your day: surprises. They will be the same surprises, day after day, but to expect them would be to anticipate them, and you cant anticipate them, so your expectations are worthless in the extreme. Your hopes and your fears from day to day get confused. Some days you wonder if you are hoping you will or wont be mortared. Some days you are not sure if you already have been mortared and are only reliving the last few days of your life in memory as your synapses in your body expire in death. Most days it doesn’t matter anyway. You will go on, you will continue to be a soldier. You will watch the things and people you love the most go on with life in your absence and wonder if you were ever really PRESENT there to begin with, or if your memories are false. Are you only hanging on to what you wish things were like? Have you convinced yourself that things were that way because that is the way they were or only because that it the only way that the sacrifices you are making day by day make sense for you? Does it matter, in the end?
When you step out of your 10 foot by 10 foot trailer with no running water that you share with another soldier, you see the same things. Sandbags filled with grit, a sun that rises and sets in the same places every day, repeating its predictable path through the sky and never seeming to be directly overhead where it is not glaring in your eyes, causing you to squint, dust and dirt covering everything until you are sure that you see the world in the same way that everyone else does for the first time, devoid of any color other than “dirt.” You see the same ugly vehicles whose sole purpose is to take the fight wherever it needs to be. You walk the same paths, you pass the same people, you might even be lucky and take up physical training, which will offer the only difference in your daily life: which muscle group you are working that day, but even that becomes routine as you make the same cycle week after week, doing the same exercises and the same motions countless times through the months. You see the same squat buildings, built mostly of stone with sandbags piled where the windows once were. You see the same guard towers, overlooking the same farmers fields. You see the local Iraqi’s and wonder if they are farmers or insurgents, and cant for the life of you tell the difference.
Oh, and the people. So many different people from so many walks of life, so many cultures, so many backgrounds. The local nationals with their cautious looks of hope, mixed with the tinge of fear. A people who seems to say “SAVE ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!” as if the two were one and the same. Not knowing for sure whether they are one and the same, not knowing at all whether you will be allowed to do either, much less both. People who’s customs are both endearing and strange, familiar and foreign.
You will see a few thousand of your brothers and sisters in arms on any given day. They all look the same, though some of them have a few identifying traits that set them apart. Everyone of them putting on a brave face, everyone of them dedicated to the mission, dedicated to getting home alive and well. Everyone of them wondering if they will have someone or something to come home to, wondering, hoping, fearing that the changes that are made in their absence will leave them behind, if the changes they make here will do the same to those at home. Everyone has a smile and a kind or motivating word for you, and next to none of them believe what they are telling you, but each of them fervently hopes to come to believe it if they can just repeat it often enough to someone else. Thousands of people around you every day, each and every one of them alone, utterly, completely. Everyone feigns interest, asking the obligatory questions: How is your wife/family/children? How are you doing? Are you ok? Are you holding up? How are you today? You can see their brains disengage from their bodies as you begin your answer, they are already thinking about the next step in their own day, their own problems, their own hopes and fears. You can literally see their own doubts about the answers they might give to their own questions before you even begin your own answers.
Each soldier out here has a rough and hard look to them. We all give the appearance of having the determination to see our duty through to the end, and we all ask ourselves each day whether we will be able to meet the challenges, perform the actions, answer the call that our country will make of us that day. We are all determined to do so, no matter the cost to self, and we are all hopeful that we will do so, though none of us knows if we will or if we can.
There is a lot of strife here, both in the indigenous population and in the military population as well. You see medivacs carrying “casualties” to the hospitals from the field of battles and skirmishes or sites of IED’s. You see fighter jets screaming into the sky, contrails blue behind them, off to provide air support to one mission or another. You see STRYKER’s, HWMMV’s, tanks, APC’s and the meanest looking sonsabitches you can imagine riding them off post, outside the wire, out to track down the insurgents and try not to kill or maim any civilians in the process.
There are many questions and few answers. There are many rotes and roles, but few meaningful motives. There is much confusion despite the dogma that the Armed Forces presents you.
You hold on, day by day, to the idea that you are doing something honorable, that you are assisting those unable or unwilling to assist themselves, and you don’t stop to question why it is that you are the one who has to do it, you just make the commitment and see it through. This is what you signed up for.
Personally, I know the reasons I am here. I am here so that those I know and love will never have to be. I am here in the hopes that my children never are, in the hopes that my friends will NEVER know the sacrifices, the loneliness, the uncertainty that I am living through. Most of all, I am here because I love children, and I want to help secure a better life for them. Whether they are crack addicts babies or Wall Street Exec’s spawn, I want them to know the same freedoms I enjoyed as a child thanks to the countless Americans who have sacrificed their lives and their livelihoods for us all since the founding of this country. Whether they are children of the USA or not, especially if not.
I don’t know what else to say, Joy. After reading this, I haven’t begun to bring the hopelessness that this place brings to a person in any kind of light that it could be comprehensible, and perhaps that is a blessing to both of us. I make it through each day through sheer force of will alone, through whatever lies or half truths I have to tell myself to keep going, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep as much of my attention and concentration here as I can so that I can go home to nothing when I am done, in the hopes that I will be able to rebuild, that I will be able to provide the life that my innocent, sweet, loving children so deserve, and I try to bury my doubts as to my ability to accomplish that mission.
I truly wish I could have painted a better picture for you of life here in the desert, or at least an honest account that didn’t include so much negativity. I wish that I could make you see the palm trees that are so beautiful near the Tigress, even though that is where nearly every mortar attack comes from. I wish I could paint for you the smoke that constantly rolls by, choking you while you try to run in the morning for PT, smelling so bad you are almost sure someone set a bag of burning dogshit on your doorstep when you window unit AC/heater kicks on. I wish I could describe the blinding glare of the sun, but perhaps the wrinkles around my eyes will do that for me when next we have occasion to meet. I should have told you about the volleyball courts that are all over post, since sand is the one thing we have in inexhaustible supply around here, and the fun we occasionally have talking shit back and forth through the net as we play, many times having to postpone the game for a half hour or more because of a mortar attack. You should know that with all the challenges we face, we are not defeated physically, mentally or spiritually, even if we are disillusioned with life and cantankerous in the extreme because of the situations and places we find ourselves. I will show you pictures of the areas in Baghdad where I have been, and when you contrast them to the other places, it will appear gorgeous, and it really is, if you can get the photos from the sides of the buildings that are not ripped apart by mortars and bombs or riddled with 50-cal rounds.
I would love to share with you the joy and fierce pride that I have in my kids. I would love to share a positive outlook of life and the beauty that I know exists, the purity and cleanliness that I know is there for the taking, once I figure out how to integrate that back into my life again. I know I can do it, and I know I will do it, I just don’t know WHEN I will do it.
I am sorry this wound up so long, I don’t even know if you are still reading, but I guess it’s a case of being careful what you wish for. Give me a chance to write and I generally take it and run. I look forward to continuing our correspondence.
Lost in a crowd,
Adam
Every day is Tuesday. Since there is no weekend, that means it cant be Saturday or Sunday. Since Monday is the first day after the weekend, it cant be Monday. Since Wednesday marks the midpoint of the workweek, it cant be Wednesday. Since Thursday is the day before Friday, it cant be Thursday. Since Friday is the last workday before the weekend, it cant be Friday. Every day is Tuesday. Every day is exactly the same, and every day is Tuesday.
Every Tuesday, when you wake up, you know exactly what to expect from your day: surprises. They will be the same surprises, day after day, but to expect them would be to anticipate them, and you cant anticipate them, so your expectations are worthless in the extreme. Your hopes and your fears from day to day get confused. Some days you wonder if you are hoping you will or wont be mortared. Some days you are not sure if you already have been mortared and are only reliving the last few days of your life in memory as your synapses in your body expire in death. Most days it doesn’t matter anyway. You will go on, you will continue to be a soldier. You will watch the things and people you love the most go on with life in your absence and wonder if you were ever really PRESENT there to begin with, or if your memories are false. Are you only hanging on to what you wish things were like? Have you convinced yourself that things were that way because that is the way they were or only because that it the only way that the sacrifices you are making day by day make sense for you? Does it matter, in the end?
When you step out of your 10 foot by 10 foot trailer with no running water that you share with another soldier, you see the same things. Sandbags filled with grit, a sun that rises and sets in the same places every day, repeating its predictable path through the sky and never seeming to be directly overhead where it is not glaring in your eyes, causing you to squint, dust and dirt covering everything until you are sure that you see the world in the same way that everyone else does for the first time, devoid of any color other than “dirt.” You see the same ugly vehicles whose sole purpose is to take the fight wherever it needs to be. You walk the same paths, you pass the same people, you might even be lucky and take up physical training, which will offer the only difference in your daily life: which muscle group you are working that day, but even that becomes routine as you make the same cycle week after week, doing the same exercises and the same motions countless times through the months. You see the same squat buildings, built mostly of stone with sandbags piled where the windows once were. You see the same guard towers, overlooking the same farmers fields. You see the local Iraqi’s and wonder if they are farmers or insurgents, and cant for the life of you tell the difference.
Oh, and the people. So many different people from so many walks of life, so many cultures, so many backgrounds. The local nationals with their cautious looks of hope, mixed with the tinge of fear. A people who seems to say “SAVE ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!” as if the two were one and the same. Not knowing for sure whether they are one and the same, not knowing at all whether you will be allowed to do either, much less both. People who’s customs are both endearing and strange, familiar and foreign.
You will see a few thousand of your brothers and sisters in arms on any given day. They all look the same, though some of them have a few identifying traits that set them apart. Everyone of them putting on a brave face, everyone of them dedicated to the mission, dedicated to getting home alive and well. Everyone of them wondering if they will have someone or something to come home to, wondering, hoping, fearing that the changes that are made in their absence will leave them behind, if the changes they make here will do the same to those at home. Everyone has a smile and a kind or motivating word for you, and next to none of them believe what they are telling you, but each of them fervently hopes to come to believe it if they can just repeat it often enough to someone else. Thousands of people around you every day, each and every one of them alone, utterly, completely. Everyone feigns interest, asking the obligatory questions: How is your wife/family/children? How are you doing? Are you ok? Are you holding up? How are you today? You can see their brains disengage from their bodies as you begin your answer, they are already thinking about the next step in their own day, their own problems, their own hopes and fears. You can literally see their own doubts about the answers they might give to their own questions before you even begin your own answers.
Each soldier out here has a rough and hard look to them. We all give the appearance of having the determination to see our duty through to the end, and we all ask ourselves each day whether we will be able to meet the challenges, perform the actions, answer the call that our country will make of us that day. We are all determined to do so, no matter the cost to self, and we are all hopeful that we will do so, though none of us knows if we will or if we can.
There is a lot of strife here, both in the indigenous population and in the military population as well. You see medivacs carrying “casualties” to the hospitals from the field of battles and skirmishes or sites of IED’s. You see fighter jets screaming into the sky, contrails blue behind them, off to provide air support to one mission or another. You see STRYKER’s, HWMMV’s, tanks, APC’s and the meanest looking sonsabitches you can imagine riding them off post, outside the wire, out to track down the insurgents and try not to kill or maim any civilians in the process.
There are many questions and few answers. There are many rotes and roles, but few meaningful motives. There is much confusion despite the dogma that the Armed Forces presents you.
You hold on, day by day, to the idea that you are doing something honorable, that you are assisting those unable or unwilling to assist themselves, and you don’t stop to question why it is that you are the one who has to do it, you just make the commitment and see it through. This is what you signed up for.
Personally, I know the reasons I am here. I am here so that those I know and love will never have to be. I am here in the hopes that my children never are, in the hopes that my friends will NEVER know the sacrifices, the loneliness, the uncertainty that I am living through. Most of all, I am here because I love children, and I want to help secure a better life for them. Whether they are crack addicts babies or Wall Street Exec’s spawn, I want them to know the same freedoms I enjoyed as a child thanks to the countless Americans who have sacrificed their lives and their livelihoods for us all since the founding of this country. Whether they are children of the USA or not, especially if not.
I don’t know what else to say, Joy. After reading this, I haven’t begun to bring the hopelessness that this place brings to a person in any kind of light that it could be comprehensible, and perhaps that is a blessing to both of us. I make it through each day through sheer force of will alone, through whatever lies or half truths I have to tell myself to keep going, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep as much of my attention and concentration here as I can so that I can go home to nothing when I am done, in the hopes that I will be able to rebuild, that I will be able to provide the life that my innocent, sweet, loving children so deserve, and I try to bury my doubts as to my ability to accomplish that mission.
I truly wish I could have painted a better picture for you of life here in the desert, or at least an honest account that didn’t include so much negativity. I wish that I could make you see the palm trees that are so beautiful near the Tigress, even though that is where nearly every mortar attack comes from. I wish I could paint for you the smoke that constantly rolls by, choking you while you try to run in the morning for PT, smelling so bad you are almost sure someone set a bag of burning dogshit on your doorstep when you window unit AC/heater kicks on. I wish I could describe the blinding glare of the sun, but perhaps the wrinkles around my eyes will do that for me when next we have occasion to meet. I should have told you about the volleyball courts that are all over post, since sand is the one thing we have in inexhaustible supply around here, and the fun we occasionally have talking shit back and forth through the net as we play, many times having to postpone the game for a half hour or more because of a mortar attack. You should know that with all the challenges we face, we are not defeated physically, mentally or spiritually, even if we are disillusioned with life and cantankerous in the extreme because of the situations and places we find ourselves. I will show you pictures of the areas in Baghdad where I have been, and when you contrast them to the other places, it will appear gorgeous, and it really is, if you can get the photos from the sides of the buildings that are not ripped apart by mortars and bombs or riddled with 50-cal rounds.
I would love to share with you the joy and fierce pride that I have in my kids. I would love to share a positive outlook of life and the beauty that I know exists, the purity and cleanliness that I know is there for the taking, once I figure out how to integrate that back into my life again. I know I can do it, and I know I will do it, I just don’t know WHEN I will do it.
I am sorry this wound up so long, I don’t even know if you are still reading, but I guess it’s a case of being careful what you wish for. Give me a chance to write and I generally take it and run. I look forward to continuing our correspondence.
Lost in a crowd,
Adam
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