Wednesday, August 09, 2006


The two weeks flew by. I didn’t even want to be there. I didn’t want anything I had before I left. Nothing was the same. Everyone still complained about the same shit that wasn’t even worth complaining about. I changed… not in a bad way but people didn’t want to recognize it. Home wasn’t home anymore. I didn’t want to explain how I felt to anyone… I didn’t even want to explore it within myself. I wanted to leave…I wanted to be back in Iraq. My friends asked me questions…I would start to tell them and about half way through they would just stare at me…so I gave up. They meant well but it was pointless. My mom and I argued daily about her drinking problem. She would get trashed and it never made any sense to me….how could someone still do that to themselves after seeing what it did to a person they loved? Did she want to end up in the hospital too? It drove me fucking crazy. One night, she was totally fucked and told me how my dad wanted my mom to have an abortion. She couldn’t get over it and in a way she wanted me to be angry at my dad. I wasn’t though…I was alive and that’s all that mattered to me. I also found out my dad had been married three times before he married my mom. That was news to me. I found divorce papers from the pervious marriages and the reason for divorce was, “inhumane and cruel treatment.” Man, my dad must have been a real asshole.
Its funny because you get back into the states and people are just doing their normal day- to-day shit…You’re just like, what the fuck? This war has absolutely no impact on these people.
I think Coldy Buzzell said it best in his book (My War: Killing Time in Iraq), “All these people driving on the freeway in their own vehicles, going about their everyday lives, listening to the radio, enjoying the sunshine, I was thinking to myself that this war in Iraq doesn’t affect these people at all. That fucked with me a little bit.” I was so thankful to walk on pavement, no carry around an M16, not have to get into a bunker when some annoying alarm would go off, eat tofu, wear civilian clothes, get into my car and drive when I wanted to, not stand at parade rest or attention while talking to someone, sleep in my own bed, see grass and trees, see kids that had shoes and clothes on, go to a show, sit on a couch and watch stupid TV shows, wake up when I wanted to…I was grateful for everything I had…good and bad. I got back on the plane the day after my 21st birthday. I was pretty relieved but I didn’t want to leave my mom. I knew what she’d be doing and I feared she would get sick. And then who would I have to come home to? She dropped me off at the airport. After I walked through all the security shit, I turned and waved to my mom…and then I started to cry. People were staring at me and I just wanted to fucking screaming. I was trying so hard to hold in my tears… I couldn’t cry the whole time I was home but now in the middle of the goddamn airport I’m crying. The best part was some lady walked up to me and said…”thank you for everything you’re doing.”


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Life at Anaconda was strange. It was like a surreal reality, with a Subway, Burger King, movie theater, basketball courts and an olympic sized pool. But there's something different there -- a feeling you won't return. The staff sergeant spoke of earlier. I saw him almost be blown away along with about 10 other Soldiers as rocket landed about 5 meters away from a blackhawk they'd just gotten off. The explosive device didn't go off. No one thought about how they almost died. That Staff Sergeant just wanted to get back before they sounded the alarm, so did I.
The funny thing is that some of us didn't want to leave because in Iraq you're problems are 1000s of miles away, hidden behind an ocean.
At the same time, you miss the ones you love. Pain -- both emotional and physical -- is an important part of the human experience.
The typical American cares little about the Soldier. They get their Starbucks, go to work and try to get laid on Friday. Wars are far away, and as long as gas stays under five dollars a gallon, we're all happy. The American dream is get drunk, spread your genes and add to the poor. We can create more sapps to die for old money's growth.
Sign right up for free college, good pay! Fight for you nation right! Defend freedom abroad. Live the dream.
"my only regret is I have but one life to give for my country," Nathan Hale, right.
Where are the Bush twins in this war on terror? Shouldn't their father want them to lay down their lives for the cause?

Oh yeah, you're writing has improved, Kate.

8/10/2006 11:50:00 AM  
Blogger Lois Lane said...

i remember these two officers were driving back to where we lived and a mortar went right over their vehicle. it didnt go off...but they got out of the car and grab a couple pieces of shrapnel. they jumped back in the car and went back to their rooms, so they didnt get stuck in a bunker. one of the LTCs had a ring made and put the shrapnel on it.
also there was this air force kid that had been at anaconda for about a week or so. a mortar landed right in front of him...he lost both of his legs. i guess its all about luck over there.

i really didnt want to come back here...and after being here for almost a year, i wish i could leave. the only thing holding me here is my mom. i want to take chances and make my own mistakes without someone giving me their opinion and telling me how ill fuck up. sometimes i think im missing an emotional gene or something. i'm anxious...its like im expecting something to happen...but nothing ever does. i sick of day-to-day bullshit. i feel so useless now.

i couldnt agree with you more.

thank you <3

8/11/2006 04:33:00 PM  

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