This is my story, there are many like it, but this one is mine…

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My mistress War

My Mistress War

I will always think of her. Sometimes fondly. And sometimes with disgust and hate. When I wake up holding onto my wife, I think of her. In the quiet hours when I’m alone, it is her I am with.  She is always on my mind.  She is all I think about.

I miss her, and the way she smelled. When we were together I hardly slept. She would keep me up all night. And now, more with every passing day, it is during the darkest hours of the night that I lay awake thinking of the time we spent together.

Her hate kept me warm when I was cold. Her rage fueled me, drove me, and drove me crazy. Her screams still haunt me, something to never be unheard.

She made me a man. She took what innocent and childish ways that I had, and replaced them with a lust and desire for the forbidden. I still want her. I still need her. Nearly a decade after our first encounter, and I still feel her presence everywhere.

With her, I felt as though I was exactly who I was supposed to be. I always knew what I had to do. And life was simple. Not easy, but simple.

And then it was over. I knew I would never see her again but I could never have expected how lonely I would be without her. In nearly every room of my house there is some sort of memento to remind me of her. My body carries scars and tattoos for her. I close my eyes and I see her.  When I sit in silence I hear her screams.

I want her. Always. I need her. Never again.

She was my mistress, and will be always.

My mistress War…

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Being human is…

Fucking exhausting. For all of my waking moments, sans the precious ones with my wife, I pretend. I pretend to be interested, and to have emotions. I pretend to care about the little things. I pretend that, while at the grocery store, I’m shopping when I feel like I’m hunting. I have to pretend that sad things are sad. And things that make other people happy also make me happy. I have to pretend to be ignorant. Not so much about intelligence ( although I do ), but about the real world. Very few people have experienced or inhabit the real world. Most people live in the illusion of safety and comfort. But I know better. I know that we are all animals. And we break down into two categories:  Hunters and Prey. I know without a doubt what I am although I will continue to pretend to be domesticated. What are you?

Just a ghost.

Sitting at panera waiting for my order, I know there isn’t a person here that can actually relate to me. And I am OK with that. They see but do not see. They hear but do not listen. They exist on a different plain than I. I am a ghost that only passes into their world when I want to. I have become an expert at being no one to notice. But I notice everything. I see what is not in plain
sight. I hear meaning, not words.
Always the hunter. Never noticed. Always watching.

No rest for the Wicked

I can’t sleep.  Or more truthfully, I am afraid to fall asleep.  This is not a new phenomenon by any means.  I have been having nightmares/night terrors for over 8 years now.  But the last few weeks they have been unusually vivid.  I have been in the same building for the last two nights in my dreams.  Cold, grey, concrete, forgotten.  It is where I die.  I know this but I don’t know why/how I know this.  The events of the dreams aren’t particularly violent or terrifying.  It is just the feeling while I’m there.  And the feeling it leaves to cloak the rest of my day with.  Fuck.  I hate having something that I can’t win.  I fight that cannot be fought.  I know that within minutes of me falling asleep, I will be in my own hell.  I’m tired.  So tired so often, but so scared to sleep.  It’s strange.  I hardly every dream about the war anymore.  I still think about it daily, but my nightmares, typically, aren’t combat related.  I have no fucking clue where to even start fixing this.  I’ve done therapy, medicine, meditation, dream catchers, drugs, alcohol……..fucking nothing.  

The winds of change was but a breeze.

I guess I was wrong. I thought I was feeling the winds of a true change at my back, but it was only a breeze. It’s said that a zebra can’t change it’s stripes. Well, I suppose I should have known a wolf can’t change it’s hunger. I still walk amongst the sheep as a predator, stalking and waiting. I see what they do not. I’m hunting ghosts in a field transformed. Where I once creped
down streets, free to hunt, I now can only watch. My happy hunting ground taken away yet I remain the hunter. It was but a breeze. And I am constant.

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This is my Event Horizon

A metaphorical black hole stands before me.  To move on with this new life that I am actively choosing, I must first traverse the unknown and seemingly impossible.  I know where I want it to lead me.  I know where I want to end up.  But the journey I will not get to chose.  On the precipice of my event horizon I stand, slowly being drawn in willing or not.  A black hole swallows all that passes by, light, matter, even time itself is proven to not be the linear constant we have for so long perceived  it to be when it reaches a black hole.  

Like a Captain sailing his ship through uncharted waters expecting to, at any moment, fall off the edge of the earth, I will take my first step.  No answers or promises in sight, I will hold fast to hope.  A hope of better days to come.  A hope of peace.  A hope that somewhere along the journey through the blackness, my hate will be crushed, and I will emerge new.  

I have no idea what is to come, but I know what is behind me and that is where it should stay.  I have carried my demons, kicking and screaming, for too long now.  I no longer need them.  I will lay them down before I cross the plain that holds only questions.  I will not seek comfort in my old ways nor will I console myself any longer on matters I can not control.  I will grasp the tangible.  I will hold onto what I have and let the rest go.  I will remember, but I will no longer live in the past.  I’m moving on.

I’m moving on…. 

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Range Day

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It’s been years since I’ve been behind the trigger professionally and yet I still have this drive to keep my skills sharp. I, until recently, still frequented the range where I would run through “maintenance drills”. Speed reloads, moving and shooting, off-hand, close in tactical, tactical reloads, multiple target engagement, etc. Backwards and forwards. Inside and out. Anyways preparing for the next hunt. I’d run through drills with the SWAT team and critique everything in my head. They basically have their shit together, but as a unit, they lack the hunger. I’m used to being around bad motherfuckers. Professional gunfighters. Wolves amongst sheep. Now they’re gone. Now I have no enemy to fight. I think it’s time to hang up my guns and move on. But my hands, they remember the gun. And they won’t forget….

I Hope…..

I wake up covered in sweat, feeling as terrified as I’ve ever felt.  Another nightmare.  And I hope that it’s worth it.

I see how fucked up everything got, after everything we gave.  I hope they are worth it.

I miss my friends.  I hope I did everything I could.

I watch the sheep scurry bout there little worlds.  I hope they do something more than this.

I see a cross.  I hope He forgives me.

I see my face in the mirror.  I hope I forgive me.

It hurts.  And yet I hope.  Maybe for the wrong things, but it’s still hope….. 

…and they fucked it all up

Last night as I was going to bed I saw something scroll across my wifes facebook page.  I wasn’t creeping or anything, it is just our routine.  I hold her and she looks up funny pictures and shit on her phone and we get a laugh in before bed.  She was on her facebook page just scrolling through when she came to a post about how the city of Fallujah was back under terrorist control.  She tried to swipe it away before I saw it.  But it was too late.  I didn’t care what the article said, or more honestly, I already knew.  But still, it hurt.  All of the lives sacrificed for that stupid fucking city.  All of the blood and the tears and the fucking nightmares and limps and prosthetic that still haunt us to this day.  It hasn’t even been 10 years since we ran those shitheads out of the city.  Less than 3 years since it was handed over to the Iraqi military and police and they fucked it up.  So what was it for……….

 

Fuck.

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Just one of those days…

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Yeap. Here I am trying to sleep. All day I’ve felt exceptionally uneasy. I keep hearing things. But I don’t know if it’s real or not. Then out of nowhere I’m breathing super fast and my heart is racing. Fuck. It’s going to be one of those days again. I have no energy to do anything. But I can’t relax either. On top of that I’m supposed to take my wife out tonight. I hate this vulnerability bullshit. I hate feeling weak. But I’m trying to accept that I am sometimes. And that it is OK. Here’s to trying…..