I feel much better after yesterday's torture. I don't expect anyone else to understand save for those that know of what I speak. How do we define ourselves as noble or vile based on thought and deed and how do we transcend these categories. I feel more of a pull to the '25 Acts' that I had before. I could feel how hungry I was for it as I questioned my own nature... the hunger to reach out and do something heroic. How very easy it is to die in a fight we believe in, to let loose those energies for good, to feel the strength in our arms as it weilds a holy sword.
I bring up lots of images here, for our feeling, our understanding, of what war is and how we fight it is made of such complicated and contradictory elements. There are so many things that are not truly thought out in our daily lives but of which have emotional energy to them. When we build the fire under a complex in our lives, those complexes are fueled by archetypes underneath them, and when energies collide... look out.
The trick is to not turn from the hurtful, to not hide from the pain and confusion, but to let it come and go of its own accord. You weather the storm. You can, if you insist, stand on the deck of the small boat and scream your curses out at the wind, or you can just huddle up with some ropes and wait it out. Don't try to steer through the storm... let it take you.
A danger is that storms can crash us on the rocks and we drown. Or they can bring you into a new harbor that you've never seen before, new lands, new sights... a deepening of the soul.
How does one ensure that the ship does not break upon the rocks? I do not know. But I think that the answer is somewhere in the notion that the person 'is' the ship and that the crashing is akin to the resistance to the storm... cease resistance and move with the current.
I do not know. But today the weather is fair. I feel calm, more centered. I can still feel the animal lurking behind the trees, ready to pounce. Is the danger in trying to leash the wild? I admit that I felt, at many times during yesterday, the pull of pacifism in that I did not want to feel the effect of violence upon me again. Yet this feels as wrong as violence itself. It isn't a middle way, to balance the two, as it is a third way that is both.
I think again of Aikido... a way of harmony and I ask for the eternal gods to continue their influence... I am not finished growing... I am open. My soul dilates.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Letter to the Editor
I had a rough day yesterday. I feel better today. I go to a coffee shop and sit down with a bottle of water, a coke in a glass bottle, and a mocha, and pick up the Letters to the Editor page of the paper. There is this...
So I cranked up my computer and sent in my own letter to the editor.... Michael Pilkington, of Northeast Portland, was quick to say "If I were a combat soldier and in this war zone against current enemies, this decision would give me one mandate: I do not take prisoners anymore, no matter what." (letter to the Editor, Wednesday, June 18).
Liberal policies imperil U.S.
I read with trepidation the Supreme Court ruling concerning the military prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, that they have a right to seek their freedom before a federal judge ("Court rules for Guantanamo prisoners," June 13).
Liberal elements in this country fail to see the peril that their "feel good" policies have on the very existence of this country. They fail to understand that the very people they would set free today would also be the ones to cut their liberal throats tomorrow, if they could. Justice Antonin Scalia said it correctly when he wrote in dissent to this decision, "The nation will live to regret what the court has done today."
If I were a combat soldier and in this war zone against current enemies, this decision would give me one mandate: I do not take prisoners anymore, no matter what.
MICHAEL PILKINGTON Northeast Portland
So I cranked up my computer and sent in my own letter to the editor.... Michael Pilkington, of Northeast Portland, was quick to say "If I were a combat soldier and in this war zone against current enemies, this decision would give me one mandate: I do not take prisoners anymore, no matter what." (letter to the Editor, Wednesday, June 18).
As a combat soldier I wish to gods that those who do not understand what it is to kill another human would shut-up for good and quit their sabre rattling when it we that must carry the sword. The taking of life is lead weight that you cant get out of your blood. Its obvious that those like Mr Pilkington do not truly understand what they are saying when such generalizing statements as this are made. Kill all enemy combatants? No matter what?
I can only shake my head in disbelief at the inexperienced, naive audacity of others who know not what war is to so carelessly thrust others into its chaotic play. It is my hope that we move away from the politics of fear and toward realizing that vision of the country we can feel in our marrow.
We are the good guys (at least I feel we are) and as such we ought to hold ourselves to high standards. That means giving trial to those in Gitmo. That means no water-boarding. That means not indiscriminately killing all combatants. That also means owning up to our mistakes of the past, opening up the scrutiny of them being wrong (and ourselves being mislead or not) and moving on.
I am a conservative in that I hold that those values that make America truly America are to be cherished and guarded and defended. I am liberal in that many of those ideals have not been adequately expressed yet and we've got a lot of change to go through in order to truly be that 'city on the hill'.
Semper Fi
Eddie Black
Portland, Oregon
Raw
I went for a walk in forest park today. I carried some black coffee and three books and a journal. Only the coffee was used.
Disclaimer. I've had two plates of shrimp pasta and 3/4 bottle of an Old Vine Zinfandel (the red stuff, not the pink stuff... friends don't let friends drink white zin) and I'm typing oddly. I'm a bit buzzed right now.
So I went walking. I was in a weird state. I went into the wood looking for the gods to speak to me. I found a log crossing a creek and I laid on top of it for a while and I eventually heard an owl hoot over and over again off in the distance... at noon. I thanked the gods for being (being) with me. How often have I been in the woods? Lots. How often have I heard an owl? Rare. How often during the day at noon?
I am numb right now. I can see how this is a desired state for someone escaping hurt. This might not be escape... it could be a breather. Every boxer needs that bell now and then to sit on the stool and spit the blood into the bucket.
I came upon a Pileated Woodpecker and I tried to snap some pictures of it on my iPhone. Someday I'm going to get a good camera. I had my GPS with me and was tracking down a geocache. Due to heavy tree cover the GPS had its compass backward now and then I did a lot of bushwacking. When I got to the right spot I found the cache in short order, signed it. It was the Poet-Tree cache. I left a little two line poem.... I can't remember what I wrote... but it was something of a homage to Ani DiFranco... "So much is around me, my soul dilates". Ani DiFranco is out of the question... but my gods... to meet someone like her... I could fall in love with a soul like that!
After walking to the cache I was surprised to find that I had hiked for five hours. I was hungry, tired, and ready to eat. I went back and forth from state to state... from calm acceptance of the world around me, to anguish. I was still hurting.
I drove back home, thinking of stopping at a bar, having a beer, and turining on the laptop to write a story that is brewing inside of me. I ended up in the Cedar Hils area and at the movie theater. Didn't see it coming but it seemed like I didn't want to think, didn't want to be with anyone, didn't want to deal with it all. So I went to a movie. Like I usually do I'll see whatever is playing. I had two choices... The Hulk or The Happening. I wasn't in the mood for suspense... so I went to the Hulk. I was still in a very weird state from my last entry... and I needed some escapism.
The Hulk wasn't it.
I wasn't thinking or I would not have picked a movie about violence hidden within our selves and the theme of carrying on without the support of others and fear of hurting people.
Fuck me.
I cried often during the movie. Many scenes got me hard and I had tears running down my face. The scenes had exactly what I was feeling. He had to leave her because he was scared of what he had inside of him. He didn't trust himself with her. He was afraid of his rage, of what he might do.
I left the movie in a worse state.
I stopped at a grocery store, bought some wine and some noodles, shrimp, cheese, and sauce. At the store I couldn't look at anyone. In the parking lot outside the movie theater I was walking to the truck and a guy walked by. When he was ten paces to my left, for no reason, he turned around and walked backwards. I felt it as a challenge and wanted to turn toward him and challenge him back. I could feel the twinge of desire to beat him within me. I muttered to myself, as I closed my eyes, to not even look at him, keep walking to the truck and don't look. Its nothing. At the store I turned on my iPhone onto some music and an acoustic (the B side version) of "Possession" by Sarah McLachlan came on my phones. It set the mood as I roamed the aisles looking for food. not really roamed... I barely shuffled. When I came upon somone I would scan the other direction, not daring to look in their direction. Since the fucking movie I had odd waves of emotion creep over me. At one point I was driving and growling and baring my teeth. What the fuck is up with this?????? In the store I felt alienated from everyone around me. I could sense their positions around me, like blips on the radar, but they seemed like moving statues to me... not human. Realizing this, noticing that I was unable to empathize with them, bothered me all the more. Emotions filled me. I had long gave up trying to understand them... I was hanging on for dear life.
Back home... I opened my door with a bag in my hand. The usual routine is always the same, my two beloved cats meet me and meow for attention. They are spoiled and I love them a lot. They go to bed with me everynight and wake me up every morning. This is the first time something different has happened. This time they looked at me from across the room as I opened the door and they ran for the bedroom and hid under the bed. I was breathing hard from emotions, gritting my teeth, feeling like a monster... and my two cats, who know no fear of me, ran.
I've always said animals are good judges of character. To see them run from me only for entering the room... hurt all the more. Am I a monster? Its the question that keeps coming up over and over. How easy it would be to do harm. There are few chains keeping that part of me down, it would seem. "We are what we think" goes the saying. I pondered this on my walk. A person could desire to eat sweets and to crash the diet, yet not actually do it. A person could have urges to cheat on his wife but not follow through... so we are not only what we think. We are, in large, what we do.
Hope.
Yet... what is a killer?
I am a killer.
There was a time when I talked with someone and boasted that I'd done all the sins in the book save for killing.
.....
What can I write? I've done them all. I feel no guilt for some of them. But killing? Killing the enemy is hard enough.. but non fighters?
I am afraid of myself. I have this quick reaction in me right now that is very near the surface... very near to come out. It feels as though it would not take much for me to really jump on someone and pound them. It isn't a question of strength... it is a question of the desire to hit those vulnerable points that really hurt, that can't heal... that I know about and that I, gods forbid, want to hit during a fight. 9 pounds of pressure to snap a neck, 7 pounds of pressure to break a clavicle, 3 pounds pressure to pierce the trachea, and an easy task to disable someone for life.
I am so afraid right now that I can't think. I've friends that love me that I want to call... but I don't. I feel as a leper, as something evil.
I know this is an emotional storm. As much as I desire everlasting peace (don't entertain the notion anymore) I tell myself that it'll end... just hang on and this too will pass. Eventually I'll be in calmer seas again and perhaps I can help others like me. Until then... I am hanging onto shadows and smoke.
Disclaimer. I've had two plates of shrimp pasta and 3/4 bottle of an Old Vine Zinfandel (the red stuff, not the pink stuff... friends don't let friends drink white zin) and I'm typing oddly. I'm a bit buzzed right now.
So I went walking. I was in a weird state. I went into the wood looking for the gods to speak to me. I found a log crossing a creek and I laid on top of it for a while and I eventually heard an owl hoot over and over again off in the distance... at noon. I thanked the gods for being (being) with me. How often have I been in the woods? Lots. How often have I heard an owl? Rare. How often during the day at noon?
I am numb right now. I can see how this is a desired state for someone escaping hurt. This might not be escape... it could be a breather. Every boxer needs that bell now and then to sit on the stool and spit the blood into the bucket.
I came upon a Pileated Woodpecker and I tried to snap some pictures of it on my iPhone. Someday I'm going to get a good camera. I had my GPS with me and was tracking down a geocache. Due to heavy tree cover the GPS had its compass backward now and then I did a lot of bushwacking. When I got to the right spot I found the cache in short order, signed it. It was the Poet-Tree cache. I left a little two line poem.... I can't remember what I wrote... but it was something of a homage to Ani DiFranco... "So much is around me, my soul dilates". Ani DiFranco is out of the question... but my gods... to meet someone like her... I could fall in love with a soul like that!
After walking to the cache I was surprised to find that I had hiked for five hours. I was hungry, tired, and ready to eat. I went back and forth from state to state... from calm acceptance of the world around me, to anguish. I was still hurting.
I drove back home, thinking of stopping at a bar, having a beer, and turining on the laptop to write a story that is brewing inside of me. I ended up in the Cedar Hils area and at the movie theater. Didn't see it coming but it seemed like I didn't want to think, didn't want to be with anyone, didn't want to deal with it all. So I went to a movie. Like I usually do I'll see whatever is playing. I had two choices... The Hulk or The Happening. I wasn't in the mood for suspense... so I went to the Hulk. I was still in a very weird state from my last entry... and I needed some escapism.
The Hulk wasn't it.
I wasn't thinking or I would not have picked a movie about violence hidden within our selves and the theme of carrying on without the support of others and fear of hurting people.
Fuck me.
I cried often during the movie. Many scenes got me hard and I had tears running down my face. The scenes had exactly what I was feeling. He had to leave her because he was scared of what he had inside of him. He didn't trust himself with her. He was afraid of his rage, of what he might do.
I left the movie in a worse state.
I stopped at a grocery store, bought some wine and some noodles, shrimp, cheese, and sauce. At the store I couldn't look at anyone. In the parking lot outside the movie theater I was walking to the truck and a guy walked by. When he was ten paces to my left, for no reason, he turned around and walked backwards. I felt it as a challenge and wanted to turn toward him and challenge him back. I could feel the twinge of desire to beat him within me. I muttered to myself, as I closed my eyes, to not even look at him, keep walking to the truck and don't look. Its nothing. At the store I turned on my iPhone onto some music and an acoustic (the B side version) of "Possession" by Sarah McLachlan came on my phones. It set the mood as I roamed the aisles looking for food. not really roamed... I barely shuffled. When I came upon somone I would scan the other direction, not daring to look in their direction. Since the fucking movie I had odd waves of emotion creep over me. At one point I was driving and growling and baring my teeth. What the fuck is up with this?????? In the store I felt alienated from everyone around me. I could sense their positions around me, like blips on the radar, but they seemed like moving statues to me... not human. Realizing this, noticing that I was unable to empathize with them, bothered me all the more. Emotions filled me. I had long gave up trying to understand them... I was hanging on for dear life.
Back home... I opened my door with a bag in my hand. The usual routine is always the same, my two beloved cats meet me and meow for attention. They are spoiled and I love them a lot. They go to bed with me everynight and wake me up every morning. This is the first time something different has happened. This time they looked at me from across the room as I opened the door and they ran for the bedroom and hid under the bed. I was breathing hard from emotions, gritting my teeth, feeling like a monster... and my two cats, who know no fear of me, ran.
I've always said animals are good judges of character. To see them run from me only for entering the room... hurt all the more. Am I a monster? Its the question that keeps coming up over and over. How easy it would be to do harm. There are few chains keeping that part of me down, it would seem. "We are what we think" goes the saying. I pondered this on my walk. A person could desire to eat sweets and to crash the diet, yet not actually do it. A person could have urges to cheat on his wife but not follow through... so we are not only what we think. We are, in large, what we do.
Hope.
Yet... what is a killer?
I am a killer.
There was a time when I talked with someone and boasted that I'd done all the sins in the book save for killing.
.....
What can I write? I've done them all. I feel no guilt for some of them. But killing? Killing the enemy is hard enough.. but non fighters?
I am afraid of myself. I have this quick reaction in me right now that is very near the surface... very near to come out. It feels as though it would not take much for me to really jump on someone and pound them. It isn't a question of strength... it is a question of the desire to hit those vulnerable points that really hurt, that can't heal... that I know about and that I, gods forbid, want to hit during a fight. 9 pounds of pressure to snap a neck, 7 pounds of pressure to break a clavicle, 3 pounds pressure to pierce the trachea, and an easy task to disable someone for life.
I am so afraid right now that I can't think. I've friends that love me that I want to call... but I don't. I feel as a leper, as something evil.
I know this is an emotional storm. As much as I desire everlasting peace (don't entertain the notion anymore) I tell myself that it'll end... just hang on and this too will pass. Eventually I'll be in calmer seas again and perhaps I can help others like me. Until then... I am hanging onto shadows and smoke.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
blood and anger
spots of blood... thick, fat, round splats of blood along the bar floor. It got my attention. I was doing my closing duties, wiping down the bar, moving in circles, and I noticed the blood on the floor, on the bar tap, on the espresso machine... fat and dark red. I looked at my left hand, the one with a large birthmark on it that bleeds easily when nicked and scratched. There was a solid line of blood on my finger. The other finger was covered in bandage and finger condom from a cut fifteen minutes prior and now I had another one.
Actuallyt it was a piece of glass stuck into my finger. It was small, the size of a 1/4 of a pencil eraser. I pulled it out with my teeth and the blood started to leak out good then. I went and bandaged myself up. We were closed and I was getting ready to leave the bar for home and a beer.
The day started out on the wrong foot. I was running late to work and that put me on edge. At work we got a pop and the servers were working their asses off. It was all I could do to keep up. There were questions of how they could assist me, what could they pour. I was in the weeds already and to be asked questions, when I am in a bad state of mind, only frustrates me more. I told everyone to talk elsewhere, not around me, and stay out of the bar (out of my way).
At the end of the rush I had a cup of coffee and some ice cream and let myself unwind a bit. It did me a world of good. However, near the end of the night I was getting more and more frustrated. The issue, as stupid an issue as there is, was on water glasses. I had a dishwasher full, two sinks full, the top filled to overflowing, and servers kept bringing me water glasses. I wash the bar glasses and enough water glasses to keep the bar stocked. Yet I was getting behind in other things because of washing so many fucking water glasses. When I asked several times the same servers would continue to bring me fucking water glasses. 1/2 the glasses washed are water glasses and I'm behind in everything now. The answer given to me by the servers was that they didn't want to 'walk all the way back to the kitchen' to take them back. Basically, fuck you that your are busy, I'm going to put them here anyway. That's what I heard. I got angrier and angrier. Still they came. I exploded and bitched even more, threatening to turn off the entire dishwasher and they could take all the fucking glassware to the back dishpit. I was argued with and I was already pissed off. I was told 'to get another job' if I couldn't do this one. This pissed me off more. I am the fastest bartender at the company. I was told it was a silly thing to get pissed off about. And while it I was arguing and getting pissed off, one of the waitstaff who is as competent as a one legged blind man, laughed at my anger and walked off.
I write all this out to show the pettiness of it all. For I realize it. Both sides are in the fault, me and the servers. Fine. But when that ##### laughed at me as I was getting amped up for a fight, something clicked in me. I wanted to hurt people... really, really, really hurt people badly. I'm not talking about a fistfight... I am talking to do serious damage. I wanted blood. I wanted the entire room of people to experience pain as much as I could dish it out. I was aware of many objects around me, at that time, that I could use to inflict pain, if not kill.
A coworker tried to calm me down and did a great job at it. He was just enough to calm me but not enough to get me angry at him. I was almost out of the room when I heard another laugh and I wanted to go back in. He helped me not to.
The casual person might say that, yes, I was angry and that I wanted to throw down. The casual person has no fucking idea. I did not write above that I wanted to punch a couple of people in the face and gloat over them, or to hit them and get them to shut up, or to punch them and therfore 'win' the argument. No. I wanted them to suffer. I wanted to really hurt them.
Writing that last paragraph scares me. If you don't see how it would, you do not understand how much I wanted to hurt them. I fought the urge to run out into the parking lot, just to get away from temptation. I wouldn't look at them and I tried to let it go as best as I could. My chest and arms felt like I had worked out and were tired and numb. I was petrified of what I had almost done. Could one more word directed at me had brougth me to put one of three sharp objects to my right hand into his and her face? Oh my god! I went up and away and called my therapist and couldn't leave a message. When the tone went off to leave my message, emotion rolled over me like an avalanche. I felt as though I were coming apart. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to fall to pieces. As I was on my third attempt to leave a message, she called and let me tell her what had happened. I told her how fearful I was of how close I had come to hurting someone. Could I have stopped myself? I felt as though I were on a wild animal with the poorest of reigns. The manager came looking for me... stuff needed to be done at the bar. I got off the phone and back to work.
As everyone left and I was alone with my thoughts I found it hard to breathe. I breathed in gasps... like I was holding my breath and remembered every now and then to breath. My mind, numb, went over what had happened. I was edgy all night and the right buttons had been pushed, the right factors, the laughter, the confrontation, it all, and I had almost lost it. I was so afraid of myself that I thought (still am) of leaving right then and driving away to someplace away from everyone. I thought of quitting my job because I was afraid of what I might do. I was then afraid that there wasn't any other jobs out there for recluses to not talk or deal with people that pay any money... and I would not be able to make my rent or truck payments. Who would hire me? I'm a crazy vet waiting to snap! What the fuck would I do?
Such a slippery slope to suicide. It doesn't have a lot of pull... but the thought did come to mind. Tired, weary, and very afraid of what I could do.... if one has a dangerous dog that bites people for no reason... you put it down... why should I be any different? In my back pocket I have some suicide hotline numbers that I give out to soldiers and their families. I know the confusion and such that they feel and I wanted to try to help them. I thought of my own needs at this time... how I wish there was another Eddie out there doing what I am doing that I could call. Who do the heroes call for help? I am no hero though.
I feel broken right now, like a lot of the big pieces were held together by tape and that tape finally came off and those big pieces fell down to the ground. I think of the other soldiers out there who might have felt something like what I am feeling and who did commit suicide. I grieve for them. I wish I could have been called by them. This thought propels me forward... to carry on... to move on and grow through this, to not give up... to be there for my comrades.
The next two days are off days for me. I am thinking of going hiking... far into the wilderness away from roads and people... to still myself and let myself fall apart onto the wild earth.
Right now I feel so very alone. I don't want to hurt. I don't want to be in that state where I want to hurt. Better to hurt yourself than another person... especially over something as stupid as water glasses. Right? This hurts.
I write all of this out so that others can read it. Maybe someone will be in a similar situation sometime and wonder, in absolute terror, how they could want to harm their wife or friend or whomever, and wonder if they are a bad person. No, my friend... you are not a bad person. You have something wired different in you that is ready for war, to respond at the blink of an eye to a threat from any direction, to kill quickly and decisively without hesitation. Once a river has cut its path through the hills, it is forever more an easy thing for water to follow that course. You are not alone in feeling this. You are not different from many others who have had to look more deeply into the abyss of darkness and death (for they are the ones delivering death to others) and have come away changed by it. I know it is easy to give up right now. I know it might sound like the safest bet, to throw in the towel. But you have to keep going, keep pushing, to see this storm through. You have your fellow solders, your family, and others, counting on you to make it through this. Don't give up. Call for help. Seek counselling. Do something. But don't give up. Don't.
Actuallyt it was a piece of glass stuck into my finger. It was small, the size of a 1/4 of a pencil eraser. I pulled it out with my teeth and the blood started to leak out good then. I went and bandaged myself up. We were closed and I was getting ready to leave the bar for home and a beer.
The day started out on the wrong foot. I was running late to work and that put me on edge. At work we got a pop and the servers were working their asses off. It was all I could do to keep up. There were questions of how they could assist me, what could they pour. I was in the weeds already and to be asked questions, when I am in a bad state of mind, only frustrates me more. I told everyone to talk elsewhere, not around me, and stay out of the bar (out of my way).
At the end of the rush I had a cup of coffee and some ice cream and let myself unwind a bit. It did me a world of good. However, near the end of the night I was getting more and more frustrated. The issue, as stupid an issue as there is, was on water glasses. I had a dishwasher full, two sinks full, the top filled to overflowing, and servers kept bringing me water glasses. I wash the bar glasses and enough water glasses to keep the bar stocked. Yet I was getting behind in other things because of washing so many fucking water glasses. When I asked several times the same servers would continue to bring me fucking water glasses. 1/2 the glasses washed are water glasses and I'm behind in everything now. The answer given to me by the servers was that they didn't want to 'walk all the way back to the kitchen' to take them back. Basically, fuck you that your are busy, I'm going to put them here anyway. That's what I heard. I got angrier and angrier. Still they came. I exploded and bitched even more, threatening to turn off the entire dishwasher and they could take all the fucking glassware to the back dishpit. I was argued with and I was already pissed off. I was told 'to get another job' if I couldn't do this one. This pissed me off more. I am the fastest bartender at the company. I was told it was a silly thing to get pissed off about. And while it I was arguing and getting pissed off, one of the waitstaff who is as competent as a one legged blind man, laughed at my anger and walked off.
I write all this out to show the pettiness of it all. For I realize it. Both sides are in the fault, me and the servers. Fine. But when that ##### laughed at me as I was getting amped up for a fight, something clicked in me. I wanted to hurt people... really, really, really hurt people badly. I'm not talking about a fistfight... I am talking to do serious damage. I wanted blood. I wanted the entire room of people to experience pain as much as I could dish it out. I was aware of many objects around me, at that time, that I could use to inflict pain, if not kill.
A coworker tried to calm me down and did a great job at it. He was just enough to calm me but not enough to get me angry at him. I was almost out of the room when I heard another laugh and I wanted to go back in. He helped me not to.
The casual person might say that, yes, I was angry and that I wanted to throw down. The casual person has no fucking idea. I did not write above that I wanted to punch a couple of people in the face and gloat over them, or to hit them and get them to shut up, or to punch them and therfore 'win' the argument. No. I wanted them to suffer. I wanted to really hurt them.
Writing that last paragraph scares me. If you don't see how it would, you do not understand how much I wanted to hurt them. I fought the urge to run out into the parking lot, just to get away from temptation. I wouldn't look at them and I tried to let it go as best as I could. My chest and arms felt like I had worked out and were tired and numb. I was petrified of what I had almost done. Could one more word directed at me had brougth me to put one of three sharp objects to my right hand into his and her face? Oh my god! I went up and away and called my therapist and couldn't leave a message. When the tone went off to leave my message, emotion rolled over me like an avalanche. I felt as though I were coming apart. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to fall to pieces. As I was on my third attempt to leave a message, she called and let me tell her what had happened. I told her how fearful I was of how close I had come to hurting someone. Could I have stopped myself? I felt as though I were on a wild animal with the poorest of reigns. The manager came looking for me... stuff needed to be done at the bar. I got off the phone and back to work.
As everyone left and I was alone with my thoughts I found it hard to breathe. I breathed in gasps... like I was holding my breath and remembered every now and then to breath. My mind, numb, went over what had happened. I was edgy all night and the right buttons had been pushed, the right factors, the laughter, the confrontation, it all, and I had almost lost it. I was so afraid of myself that I thought (still am) of leaving right then and driving away to someplace away from everyone. I thought of quitting my job because I was afraid of what I might do. I was then afraid that there wasn't any other jobs out there for recluses to not talk or deal with people that pay any money... and I would not be able to make my rent or truck payments. Who would hire me? I'm a crazy vet waiting to snap! What the fuck would I do?
Such a slippery slope to suicide. It doesn't have a lot of pull... but the thought did come to mind. Tired, weary, and very afraid of what I could do.... if one has a dangerous dog that bites people for no reason... you put it down... why should I be any different? In my back pocket I have some suicide hotline numbers that I give out to soldiers and their families. I know the confusion and such that they feel and I wanted to try to help them. I thought of my own needs at this time... how I wish there was another Eddie out there doing what I am doing that I could call. Who do the heroes call for help? I am no hero though.
I feel broken right now, like a lot of the big pieces were held together by tape and that tape finally came off and those big pieces fell down to the ground. I think of the other soldiers out there who might have felt something like what I am feeling and who did commit suicide. I grieve for them. I wish I could have been called by them. This thought propels me forward... to carry on... to move on and grow through this, to not give up... to be there for my comrades.
The next two days are off days for me. I am thinking of going hiking... far into the wilderness away from roads and people... to still myself and let myself fall apart onto the wild earth.
Right now I feel so very alone. I don't want to hurt. I don't want to be in that state where I want to hurt. Better to hurt yourself than another person... especially over something as stupid as water glasses. Right? This hurts.
I write all of this out so that others can read it. Maybe someone will be in a similar situation sometime and wonder, in absolute terror, how they could want to harm their wife or friend or whomever, and wonder if they are a bad person. No, my friend... you are not a bad person. You have something wired different in you that is ready for war, to respond at the blink of an eye to a threat from any direction, to kill quickly and decisively without hesitation. Once a river has cut its path through the hills, it is forever more an easy thing for water to follow that course. You are not alone in feeling this. You are not different from many others who have had to look more deeply into the abyss of darkness and death (for they are the ones delivering death to others) and have come away changed by it. I know it is easy to give up right now. I know it might sound like the safest bet, to throw in the towel. But you have to keep going, keep pushing, to see this storm through. You have your fellow solders, your family, and others, counting on you to make it through this. Don't give up. Call for help. Seek counselling. Do something. But don't give up. Don't.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Iraq revisited
This therapy session was supposed to talk about some other issues but instead I mentioned the fireworks going off near my truck as I drove down the street. Went down that road.
I'm tired right now. I had to get up very early after a late night and drive an hour and a half away to take a physical fitness test after I was feeling bad last night. Didn't go well. My eyes burn.
I'm not going to go into a blow by blow for the session. But I'll try to come up with some of the main points I thought of.
Part of the thing that due to part of what I've done in combat, or what I think I've done, give me a large sense of guilt. We were stationary and were attacked by insurgents in Baghdad. We responded. What is down the street is mental blur to me, I cannot remember it, but friends of mine tell me it was not pretty. In thinking about this guilt I said that I felt that I could not allow myselt to let go of the guilt, that it was some sort punishment that I am imposing on myself, my cross to bear. Whether my actions were real, or purely imagined, the guilt that I carry is heavy enough.
Another thought about this. I said, imagine that you have children and you wake up to realize that the night before you got drunk, blacked out, and you beat your kids severely and how sickening that would make you feel and also how questioning you would be about what sort of person you are, how good you are, etc... That is kind of how I feel, only I wasn't blacked out at the time I emptied a couple of clips. It isn't the enemy combatants that I feel guilty for... it is the busy street the combatants chose to attack us from.
I wondered if, since I am unwilling to let go of this guilt and think that I need to carry this around, if perhaps it could fuel something positive, something good in the world? My therapist remembered my idea for '25 Acts' where, according to one psychology study it takes 25 acts of heroic kindness to overcome one act of murder. I saw this idea as a healing route for myself... and it is funny... for as much as I've thought about it, I've done so for the means of helping other vets and didn't think much in my own healing.
I'm tired right now. I had to get up very early after a late night and drive an hour and a half away to take a physical fitness test after I was feeling bad last night. Didn't go well. My eyes burn.
I'm not going to go into a blow by blow for the session. But I'll try to come up with some of the main points I thought of.
Part of the thing that due to part of what I've done in combat, or what I think I've done, give me a large sense of guilt. We were stationary and were attacked by insurgents in Baghdad. We responded. What is down the street is mental blur to me, I cannot remember it, but friends of mine tell me it was not pretty. In thinking about this guilt I said that I felt that I could not allow myselt to let go of the guilt, that it was some sort punishment that I am imposing on myself, my cross to bear. Whether my actions were real, or purely imagined, the guilt that I carry is heavy enough.
Another thought about this. I said, imagine that you have children and you wake up to realize that the night before you got drunk, blacked out, and you beat your kids severely and how sickening that would make you feel and also how questioning you would be about what sort of person you are, how good you are, etc... That is kind of how I feel, only I wasn't blacked out at the time I emptied a couple of clips. It isn't the enemy combatants that I feel guilty for... it is the busy street the combatants chose to attack us from.
I wondered if, since I am unwilling to let go of this guilt and think that I need to carry this around, if perhaps it could fuel something positive, something good in the world? My therapist remembered my idea for '25 Acts' where, according to one psychology study it takes 25 acts of heroic kindness to overcome one act of murder. I saw this idea as a healing route for myself... and it is funny... for as much as I've thought about it, I've done so for the means of helping other vets and didn't think much in my own healing.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Deora Ar Mo Chroi
Deora Ar Mo Chroí
Irish Gaelic
Tears on My Heart
Ba dheas an lá go hoíche
Na glórtha binne i mo thaobh
'S aoibhneas i gach áit gan gruaim
Áthas ar mo chroí go deo
He-a-ro
He-a-o-ro
Má shiúlaim ó na laethe beo
An ghrian 's an ghealach ar mo chúl
Níl uaim ach smaointe ó mo shaoil
Deora ar mo chroí go brón
He-a-ro
He-a-ro
He-a-o-ro
It was beautiful all day [1]
The sweet voices by my side
And beauty without despair everywhere
Joy in my heart forever
He-a-ro
He-a-o-ro
If I walk from the alive days
The sun and the moon behind me [2]
I'll only need thoughts from my life
Tears sorrowfully on my heart
He-a-ro
He-a-ro
He-a-o-ro
Literally, "It was a beautiful day til night/nightfall".
Literally, "... on my back".
It has been a flurry of activity for me this morning. I crammed for a quiz in Astronomy this morning and took it and left, explaining to the prof that I was going to a panel of vets with a US Senator and didn't want to be late. The panel was good and I passed a handwritten business card to two people for possible opportunities helping vets in the future.
I left and walked with two vets, talking about working long hours and going to school and comparing envy of those students around us who have what seems like lives of less stress and concern. I saw three of the attendees from the roundtable, they from a community college, looking at the campus map. I offered to walk them to where they needed to go and that turned out to be abandoned and then I walked them to the new building and that turned out to be not used. There is, right now, no Veterans Center on campus.
In walking with them, however, we talked and compared notes and interests. At the end they gave me a card to contact them. They are giving resources, space, for a veterans center and need a personality to help affect change, to facilitate things, to move things, to start things, to help build a cohesive veteran group on campus and to help steer them to the resources (educational and mental health) that are available for them. I, in turn, am looking for an opportunity to put together my military experience with my concern for vets groups with my need to do a psychology practicum for PSU.
I just sent an email. Lets see if it is a good fit/opportunity. Right now it seems it would be.
I also emailed two professors asking for advice and possible advising. Both are amazing individuals and I could gain so much from their mentorship. I included a copy of my presentation on PTSD to everyone.
I was also just called by a reporter for the Oregonian who asked me some questions about my history in the military and my experience with the GI Bill.
Now I am sitting here and on my iPhone I am listening to some music and Enya's "Deora Ar Mo Chroi" comes over my headphones and I am transported back to Iraq. Before I bought an iPod I had a small MP3 player that held a dozen songs. One of the ones I had on it was this song. While down south of Baghdad with long hours every night on guard duty and long hours during the day on patrol, grabbing little sleep and so forth, I would put this song on repeat and fall asleep to it. I had no idea what it meant, it is in Gaelic, but it was soothing and calming and I understood it with my heart. It was a cherished means of peace in an unpeaceful place.
What is the source of the emotions that well up as I listen to this.. it is not nostalgia. I've felt this before in times of peace because underneath this peace is a sense of something... something like... sacrifice. Something along the lines of we know what happiness is if we've experienced fully what sorrow is and that when feeling the subsequent joy there is, in framing it, a rememberence of that darker time.
But that time wasn't that dark for me. I wasn't scared all the time. I was just not at peace. I've still not fully figured out what my experience has wrought within me, but it is a deepening and a gathering of complexity.
A useful analogy I used in therapy yesterday was that of a star. A star in a binary system (two stars orbiting each other) may get mass from another star over time. That mass in turn creates greater and greater density which in turn has greater gravity and this presses the mass closer together leading to greater density and so forth. When the magic number (I believe it is 1.4 solar mass, but I am neglecting my astronomy studies) is reached core collapses upon itself and rebounds out in a Super Nova! I am a potential supernova... I feel it... yet I do not have enough density yet and I move in many circles, read many things, seek many experiences, trying to add as much mass as possible to my core self, to increase its density. When that magic number is reached...
... my life will nolonger be my own. I am not afraid of turning my life over to service, to something larger than myself. I am on the edge of exploding... but not quite there yet.
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