When you need to write something you need to write something. My wise words of the day. This song came up on my playlist and it made me reflect on an experience I had. I haven’t really talked about it to many. You see I have an unpopular opinion on this.
I don’t even know how to approach this subject. This particular time I am referring to, is a particular time while I was in boot camp and AIT. I’m not going to approach the entire subject of my time in the military because I am sure it will come up at another time.
I want to refer to the PTSD. It doesn’t just come from a deployment. It doesn’t always come from being alone in an environment away from anything you’ve ever known. It can also come from the conditioning process of stripping you of your humanity. It can come from taking your civility completely into non-existence. It comes from a lyric of a cadence. It come from a moment in formation, a mis-step, while being “caped.” IT comes from a flank while you’re hearing ” what’s the color of blood?” Everyone answers like they are winning a gold medal for synchronized death, chanting “Red, Red, Red!!!”
I should stop right here and set an expectation. I would re-enlist in a heart beat. Just because I had a certain experience doesn’t mean I’m not proud of what I attempted to accomplish. I signed up during Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. I enlisted and subjected myself to George W Bush as my Commander In Chief. I look back and remember how angry I was and now we are living in this fucking nightmare. We are proving the grass is not always greener on the other side. I now smile knowing Michelle Obama and former President George W Bush are laughing together at John McCain’s funeral. They are not blaming. They are teaching humanity of how to own your mistakes and and earn respect.
Where was I? What do we do? In sequential stupidity, “Kill, Kill, Kill!!!” I remember now. We were talking about PTSD. So forgive me as I sit here with my weed and want us all to show respect and to be kind to each other. This is just one aspect of my PTSD.
I haven’t touched a weapon since. I make up excuses because of the anxiety, because of the sounds. Drill weekends send me into another round of frenzy because the gates are only blocks away. Back to the word, “weapon.” When I say weapon I mean the metal power that carries death in its bullets.
As an MP, in AIT I was training on what locations we should be checking for IED’s. You know those compact pieces of hurt that destroy units and families within seconds. We were watching another slide show. You see IED’s were placed in teddy bears, pop cans, under, around, about, whatever prepositional phrase you choose, in the boat. The sounds of the clicking into place of our chambers; wiping our fingerprints off the murderers, the weapons.
Then there she was. The little girl in full dress. Her burka in place, holding onto every one of her hairs. The clicking of the chambers and then their is that photo of the beautiful little girl, her AK pointed at your face. The question posed on the screen, “Are you prepared to kill her to save yourself?”
Well are you? I’m so afraid o martial law being enacted. I’m afraid because not all of you will choose not to touch the weapon. I just ask you to stop and thing “who are you willing to kill, before you do?” Not everyone has had this experience. But this is just one of my PTSD’s.
“And I cant sleep because there’s a war zone in my head. – “PTSD- G Herbo, Chance the Rapper, Juice WRLD and Lil Uzi Vert. Listen above.
The Bee Keeper 