That's what I'm right in the middle of doing right now. Working a 16 hour shift. Started at 10pm and it'll be over at 2pm...Good times.
Haven't written in a long time simply because who wants to listen to some disgruntled GI who hates the life he came back to, bitch about how full of rage he is most of the time? I mean really, who the hell would want to do that?
So what have I been doing? Working. I bought a house with my girlfriend and we moved in there. And that's about it. Oh, and I started going back to the shrink again to talk about my "issues" we'll see if he can make any headway. Because I certainly can't. They've got me taking Ambien and Wellbutrin for sleep and mood problems.
Sleep problems = I don't.
Mood problems = I have a piss poor attitude about life and I hate everything, and I'd just really like to pour gasoline over all of it and light it up.
Its been fun observing the assembly line that the VA is. Come in, sign in, wait your turn, tell your problems, sign the paper, pick up your medications.
Pretty simple process really and you're on your way out into the wild blue yonder with a fresh supply of government issued happy pills. I even manage to get pissed off because of the pills. I actually get mad at them because I resent the fact that I need to take them just to get close to being normal. Actually, normal isn't the word. I have to take them just to not be in a constant state of extreme rage. And yeah, I hate the fact that I need them just to do that.
Then there's the Ambien that they give me. Its nice, but not in the dose that they're giving me. They let me take a half a pill a night. Or actually in my case a day, because I work all night, and sometimes all day too. But half a pill won't do it. Now a whole pill, that works just fine. Knocks me out for the duration. I can even sleep through the dreams/nightmares on this shit. However, I am given enough to take a half every night, not a whole. Which means I've kinda got to pick and choose which 15 out of the next 30 nights I want to sleep, until I can get back to the psychiatrist and ask him for more. We'll see if he gives them to me or if he starts to think that I'm turning in to an addict. Which I probably would, if the VA would give me enough to pull that off.
Then there's my wonderful job which doesn't help any of this. I mean, I suppose this would be a bit easier if I had a regular, "normal" job. But I don't. I get locked in a cage for 8 hours per day with a bunch of child molesters, drug dealers, and other assorted animals. I'm pretty far down the seniority list so my days off normally suck. About the best I can usually do is get one day of the weekend off. Perhaps a Friday/Saturday or a Sunday/Monday. But an actual weekend is probably another 6-10 years away. Plus, every 3 months I have to change shifts, and change days off. With the random 16 hour day thrown in for good measure. Plus, I volunteered (big fucking mistake) for an extra duty that I thought at the time would help me get a different job (because when you do this, different and better become synonymous.) I normally end up working one day shift per week. So I get 4 midnight shifts and one, sometimes two day shifts. Oh yeah, this is going to be wonderful for my sleep and my mood. My circadian rhythm or whatever the fuck they call that is going to be shot to shit.
Now I'll bring up the end with the thing that pisses me off the most. The thing that drives me absolutely fucking bonkers. And unfortunately for me and everyone around me its something that I hear over and over from so many different people that it makes me sick. I hear it from my mom, my brother, my aunt, my cousins, some friends (if I have any left), and my girlfriend.
I swear to God they say it just to drive me nuts.
I'll bitch about something, anything. And invariably somewhere in there, they say "I understand"
Fuck you! You don't understand. You can't understand because you weren't there with me. Maybe I am bitching about something that's going on here but do you understand that my head and my heart are in Afghanistan? No, you don't fucking understand that shit because while I was hip deep in Taliban shit and Afghani sand you were bouncing around here doing whatever the fuck. You think that I'm whining about things going on here, when I'm actually whining about the fact that I'm not with my buddies which is where I belong. You think I get this mad over shit that happens here, I'm mad because I know that there's guys over there right now that are hitting an IED. They're getting lit up from the mountaintop. They're dealing with another fucking round of rockets at night. And I'm letting another day slip away when I do nothing of value.
But I'm supposed to be nice and polite about it. They don't mean anything by it. They're just trying to help. So I bottle it up the best I can. Which isn't very well since I spend about 85-90% of my time seething with rage and hate.
So now I'm stuck. I've got my rage on one side and my hate on the other. And the only thing that can yank me out from between them is that stupid fucking pill that I'll take when I get home in the morning...oh wait, I shan't be home till the afternoon.
People have asked me why I stopped writing. I stopped writing because you don't want to hear this shit anymore than I want to write it.
To hell with it, I'll be following it forthwith.
I love you Mom...