A Diet of Alcohol and Cigarettes

The murder of 16 Afghanistan civilians by one US soldier has had me thinking lately. I am shocked that this has not happened sooner, and that it has not happened more often. Our military has been fighting a war for 10 years now. Most of that time we were fighting two wars.

While most Americans have stayed at home and said all the right things about supporting the troops and blah blah blah, the real issue of the mental toll on the combatants has not been addressed. I am not trying to say that the soldier is not responsible for his actions. I feel that he is fully responsible and should be killed for what he did. I am more concerned by the complete lack of discussion about what war will do to young men when they are exposed to it for a year on/year off rotation for a decade.

The fighting in these modern wars has not been as violent or deadly as a conventional war. The real issue with the mental problems of Iraq and Afghanistan comes from fighting an enemy that uses guerrilla tactics. The mental stress of living in an area and thinking that every citizen you see is out to kill you is what compounds the stress of war on soldiers today. This is why guerrilla warfare is successful. You remove the massive losses that an army normally faces and replace that with the doubt and fear of "Is today the day that the guy by the sheep stand blows me up?"

I do not have an answer for the mental beating that these recent wars have inflicted on the soldiers. The military does not have an answer either. They just bring us home, make us answer a few questions, and then feed us some pills if the bad thoughts do not go away. I would just like to see the issue being discussed more than it is. Starting a program to give returning vets a job is great. That will help a lot of guys out. A more important program would be a successful way to bring these Americans home and help them not want to blow their brains out. Right now the stigma behind seeking help is bad. Correcting that will take a serious overhaul of how the military handles mental illnesses from the top down. Some guys can't handle the thoughts/dreams/memories and kill themselves. Some of us lock away in our homes for a few months on a steady diet of alcohol and cigarettes until we meet a woman who is great enough to pull us out of the funk. Both options are shitty.

I can only hope that the war in Afghanistan can end soon and that we do not have to go through this again in my lifetime. I am certain that another war will pop up eventually, maybe sooner than later. Hopefully we can have a better grasp of how to deal with returning vets by then.

Who doesn't love a war poem??

Baghdad: 12-12-06

I carried him into the building’s entrance

Leaned him against the wall with his legs stretched out

I sat against the opposite wall

Our feet were touching

“Why did you have to do that?”

No response

“That was fucking stupid.”

No response

I reached into his pocket and grabbed his pack of smokes

I took a cigarette and extended my hand to him

No response

I yelled upstairs

“Hey Pat, you blew his brains out the back of his head.”

A response

“Fucking awesome!”

“He had a full pack of smokes too!”

A response

“Hells yeah, even better!”

Talking to the walls

My previous career, which seems like a lifetime ago, put me in a situation that has forced several friendships to end in death. Most days I think about the guys that are no longer here and move on. There has not been a day when they do not make an appearance in my head. Often it just puts a smile on my face as I think about a memory we formed. Some days they really hit me hard though. 

I realize this is something that will never change. I have a lot of dead friends. Some were killed in war. Others died once we got back to America. Either way it just sucks. Beth helps me deal with the loss more than any thing else. She is an amazing woman. She struggles with it sometimes because she does not know how to address the problem when she sees it hit me. Some days I just need a drink and a few minutes to move on. Other times I just listen to this song and mope around the house for a while.

Uncle Heath's Story Time!

I thought I would share a story about the day I thought I was going to die in a port-a-potty.

During my first deployment to Iraq I lived at a base that was mortared a lot. When I say "a lot" I realize that can be hard to completely understand. It was a small base. More like an over glorified outpost. Our base received mortar fire daily. We had people killed and injured by mortars. On Mother's Day in 2004 we were hit by more than 70 rounds. I do not know the exact number because eventually I just stopped counting. I know the full impact may still be lost on you, but the story must go on! 

One day I was sitting in a port-a-potty, what is now known as the coach's office, just taking care of business. At this point everyone there knew what the sound of an incoming mortar round was like. It is a sound that we will never forget. So I heard the incoming rounds. I opened the door to see if anyone was running around me, looking for some clue if the rounds were hitting close to our building and more importantly if they were hitting near my completely plastic bathroom. I propped the door open with my boot just in time to watch a round splash roughly 100 meters in front of me. It was decision time! I pulled up my pants and started running towards our building. Roughly ten steps out of the port-a-potty I stopped and made a mad dash back to shitter. I stood in the plastic bathroom thinking, "this will keep me safe." Then it dawned on me that I was hoping to avoid burning hot shrapnel while inside a plastic box. This entire process was done in a matter of seconds, of course. I then ran to our building and waited out the mortar rounds. 

After the rounds had stopped I caught a whiff of the mess that had made itself at home in my pants during all of this running. I then had to grab the baby wipes and a clean set of underwear and make the walk of shame back out to the port-a-potty that just a few minutes before I had expected to save my life.

The day ended well. No one was injured. I had to throw away a pair of underwear, but at least it all happened so you could read this fun story :)

4 Years Since the War Ended

It has been four years since my final return from Iraq. My life has taken some huge steps since that day. I have a wife that is amazing. I am going to college, which is something I never thought I would do. I have put on at least 50 pounds and I can now count the number of times I shave in a year on my fingers. The war and the thoughts that the war have inspired are still going strong in my head though. I do not talk to my war buddies as much as I did when we first got out of the Army. The passing of time has the same affect on bonds built in war as they do on every other friendship. I still stay in contact with a few of the guys. Some are just simple conversations on Facebook while there are a couple that I still remain in contact with over the phone. There are some guys that have died since then. That is a conversation for another time though. I have witnessed the same changes in my life take place in theirs also. War has a strange way of making the men that return home realize how completely fucked up the American way is. That is not to say that we all attack the same principles or ideas when we return home. Just that we come home to a nation that is concerned over problems that have absolutely zero bearing on every day life. Spending so much time in war thinking about coming home and the things that we want to do upon our return makes coming home to such trivial shit so painful. I did not care about politics while I was fighting a war for a politician. I just wanted to get my paycheck and make it back to Arkansas. Now I am so upset when I watch politicians try to force their beliefs on other through law that I want to slap a baby. I have seen this same change in my buddy, Sheets. Sheets and I used to spend every weekend together while we were in Texas. We never had a single conversation over politics or the news in general. We just played cards, listened to music, and drank until our bodies shut down. Watching him change has made me aware of the way my mind has evolved because of war. This is nothing new, I understand that. Vietnam vets came back and became activist. My generation of warriors are doing the same thing. I am not even sure what it means. I just know that I care now. I never thought I would. I do not care if someone gets married when it has no impact on my life. I do not care if someone makes a choice to have a child or not. I just care that people are allowed to make choices in their life without the involvement of the government or anyone else.

Moving on in the Social Networking World

I am starting a blog for a few reasons. Will I be writing anything that is so amazing that I feel the need to share it with the world? Nope. I am just wanting a place where I can post shit that I do not want to put on Facebook. This blog does not have some clever gimmick that will keep you interested. I am simply looking for a place where I can say "fuck" without having to look at someone's baby picture or read about the stupid games they are playing. Maybe I will brag about my kickass wife; maybe I will brag about my kickass self. Either way I will be having a good time. Hope you enjoy whatever you read.