Back from the Abyss...

So my brain and I have been duking it out pretty badly lately.

It seems like every time I come close to getting a handle on my self and my life, good ole AssCrackIstan rears its ugly head and knocks me off track.

Basically, it breaks down like this. I'll be having a nice day, got a lot done at work, having a nice conversation with the princess while the baby is running around touching everything, even stuff I was unaware was in my house, and all of a sudden BAM, cut to Waza Khwa and a set of mortars are coming in, or going out, whichever, followed by the inevitable trip in my trusty MRAP which will get stuck in some pile of shit somewhere and then some asshole who wants his 72 virgins will come by to take a shot at the title.

Then it's downhill from there. I get angry. So I talk shitty to the princess. She didn't do anything at all, if anything she's been the most wonderful person on the face of the earth by dealing so graciously with all of my horseshit. Then I get in my head, and I stay there for a while. Anyone who has followed this blog for any amount of time knows that the last place I, or anyone else for that matter needs to spend any time is in my head.

This was so much easier in Chicago. No shit, I had a counselor who was awesome. He easily saw through my bullshit and got to the heart of things, and because of that I was much more well adjusted. I even think going to see him is part of why my writing dropped off so much. I didn't have anything I needed to say, I dumped it all on him as opposed to you dear reader.

Then there were the pills that the VA was gracious enough to provide me with. Don't take that as sarcasm, I really need them. I see how I am with them and can barely imagine what I'd be like without. But since I've moved to southern Illinois now there's a VA, so no problem with the pills, but there's no Vet Centers within 2 hours of this place. I'd have to go to a civilian shrink to do this here.

Sorry, I don't want to go to a civilian shrink. I don't want to go to some guy or gal who's practice is built on helping farmers deal with their anxieties about the rain this season, or whatever. That's not the point. I want someone who deals with guys like me. And unfortunately, that's just not going to happen here.

I mean, I should probably not piss and moan too much. First of all, it's not Afghanistan, I've got a job, a wife who loves me and puts up with most of my shit, a beautiful daughter who doesn't know much other than she loves her mommy and daddy, and for all intents and purposes I've got my shit together, not exactly wired tight, but together nonetheless.

So here's hoping I can find a shrink who knows what I'm going to be telling them. And here's hoping that they know how to see through my shit and ask those questions that lead me down the yellow brick road to what's actually the problem.

In any case, I'm going to try. Like I tell all my vet buddies who get down on themselves, and it's some advice that I should most likely take myself.

"We owe it to those who died to live well. They gave their lives so we could all be free, and the most insulting thing we could do is not take their gift."

I love you Mom...