These words that I write, they keep me from total insanity. -Charles Bukowski

Dec 20, 2011

1%ers...

“Everybody wants to support the troops until they have to share in the hardship and sacrifice,” I said. “Then all of a sudden that bumper sticker or that flag pin doesn’t mean anything anymore.” (Quoted from this ARTICLE)

Just got me to thinking. Of course, we all know where that leads. Oh and by the way, I think I am going to take and put to full use this time I have at work on the midnight shift to start writing again. I've got the time so hopefully they've got the money.

There are so many things that, if you were able to see the world through my eyes, would make you want to either puke or laugh. First thing I'm going to talk about is the whole "sharing" thing.

Americans don't do it well. Think about it for a few. When was the last time your neighbor swung by to borrow some sugar? Or when was the last time you drug your snow blower across the street to hit the driveway of the guy that doesn't have one? Or when was the last time you actually did something for charity? I'm not trying to get you riled up or piss you off...well maybe I am but whatever. The fact is that Americans once WERE the most generous people in the world. Now there's a very select few of the population that elect to give of themselves for the greater good.

They're the real 1%ers. Fuck the bikers. Bikers are like hipsters and high schoolers to me. "We want to show how non conformist and special we are by getting together and all doing the same things and wearing the same clothes." Absolute fucking brilliance.

I'm talking about the military and the fact that only about 1% of the population has served in the US military. There's statistics on this somewhere but I'm not about to go and dig them up, this isn't a term paper. So if I'm off by a couple points here or there, I'll betcha I'm pretty damn close. One out of every 100. Line up 100 people aged 18-35 and only one will step forward. Well a few more would step forward but they'd be found wanting for medical or mental health or what have you.

In any case, I think we should go to a Starship Troopers style society. The right to vote and hold public office should be reserved to those of us who served. Everyone else has all their rights, save for those two. In this day and age, with the stupidity/ignorance/lack o' common sense factor rising exponentially, I don't think that this is particularly unreasonable. Obnoxiously, I have created a society that benefits me. But hey, its a start.

So back to the beginning of all of this blather. "Everybody wants to support the troops until they have to share in the hardship and sacrifice." Its the truth. I've bitched about this before but truthfully speaking, what has America and the Americans in it (other than service members and their families) been asked to sacrifice? What hardship have they been asked to endure?

Now I could go on and on but the idea is pretty simple. All the hardship, sacrifice, work, blood, sweat and tears of the past decade have been borne and paid by 1% of the population. Everyone else has spent the past decade either at the mall or in front of their Xbox.

So what do we do about it? I've been asked about the whole compulsory service thing in the past and I'm not a big fan. In my mind it breaks down like this. I don't want to have to deal with soldiers that don't want to be there. It was hard enough dealing with the volunteers. The ones that signed up are a big enough pain in the ass, I can't imagine what the ones who were forced to be there would be like.

That's out.

What could be done to push people to pick up their share of the slack and pull their fair share of the weight?

Take something from them.

And make them earn it back, or live without it.

You want to pick your leaders? Earn it.
You want to be a part of the political process? Earn it.
You want to run for office? Earn it.
You want to have a say? Earn it.
You don't want to be told what to do by those above you? Earn it.

Its a thought.

Later,

I love you Mom...

P.S. (December, 21, 2011): I was thinking about what I had written, actually I was reminded (politely) by my girlfriend, that not everyone can serve in the military. A point I alluded to in the previous post. Some people for whatever reason, be it a medical issue or otherwise just simply cannot serve, and it is through no fault of their own.

Well one thing that a lot of people don't understand is that I don't think these posts through before I write them. That would actually defeat the purpose of writing them for me. I write for therapy and to get shit off my chest. So you'll have to forgive me if my arguments seem knee jerk and poorly thought out...mostly because they are.

Some cannot serve in the military, fine. Everyone can serve the country. There's the US Army, US Marines, US Air Force, and US Navy, US Coast Guard, National Guard and Reserves, which are unavailable to some. So I say there should be an extra one. US National Service Corps. (or something like that) and they should be afforded all the same benefits accorded to the military. GI Bill, and all that good shit. The National Service Corps should be like a community college, they take everyone. Because with a component like that. I would like to see compulsory national service served by all kids in the US.

How about this, every single man and woman in the US (starting immediately) serves 3 years in some component of the National Service, military or otherwise and they are entitled to a 4 year college education courtesy of Ole' Uncle Sam. They'll be fed, housed, and paid (shit) for the duration of their service but when its over they've got a few years of maturity under their belt and they don't have to start their lives with a crushing student loan debt.

Think of the shit we could get done with a veritable army of dumb ass kids.

And rich kids gotta go too!!!

Dec 19, 2011

Another Day, another 16 hours...

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 understand"

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.

Later,

I love you Mom...

Aug 4, 2011

Everyone, CALM. THE. FUCK. DOWN. I got this...

The longer that I'm nuts, the more fun it becomes for me...

I know that's probably not the most healthy attitude in the world to have about my particular set of problems. But I just can't seem to help myself.

I swing back and forth, going from depressed to maniacally happy, to tired, to not being able to sleep for days. To taking a sleeping pill or 7 and sleeping for 14 hours and damn near missing work. I don't drink all that much, not because I'm averse to drinking, its mostly because I don't want to miss a minute of the lunacy!

Try explaining that to people! They'll probably want to have you committed. 

Try explaining half of what goes on in my head to anyone and after a few minutes they're going to decide that I'm so far off the deep end that I can't even see the bottom anymore. Which is pretty much fine with me.

Try explaining to people that the reason you hate the everyday mundane details of life is that you spent an entire year where pretty much every thought you had, every step you took, every word you uttered, every breath you drew, every bite you ate, could be your last. And not in the existential, modern day bullshit way that yeah I know everyone could be dead in the next moment but the fact is its not that likely. What I went through it was a distinct possibility and in the lion's share of my time a likely outcome.

Now people look at you cross-eyed when you tell them that you want to ride a bull. And that you want to run with the bulls in Spain. That you've generally got a psychotic need to follow in Ernest Hemingway's footsteps. Now he was a man if there ever was one.

Basically, it breaks down like this. I've spent all my time from the end of "that" until now trying to recapture that feeling. That state of mind. Its a wonderful thing. Every emotion was perfectly felt. The terror was perfect, the happiness was perfect, the calm was perfect, the longing was perfect, the sadness, the insanity, all of it...Perfect.

Slept like the dead.
Ate like a King.
Laughed like I was dying.
Loved like there wasn't another person in the world.
Thought, like a 9mm was about to find out if I could breath through my forehead.
Wrote like the page was my life and the ink was my blood.

And I don't understand why everyone seems to want me to stop trying to get those feelings back. I come back here to this soulless, lifeless, bloodless society and I wonder who's the crazy one?

Everything here is geared to increase comfort. Increase ease. Make your life easier. Compromise. Back down. Don't rock the boat. Don't make things hard. That's the mantra I keep hearing over and over again.

Get over these feelings you're having so you can get back to having a normal life. Hear that one all the fucking time. And I'm sick of it. I don't think that I'm the crazy one. I think you're the crazy one! You're the one who wants me to voluntarily give up my life and become another zombie. Go along to get along you tell me. Well I don't want to.

I want those perfect feelings back. Good or bad I felt those things from the top of my skull to the bottoms of my feet and from the base of my brain to the bottom floor of my soul. I want to run out into the world and find something, anything that will make me feel like that again. I want something, anything that will consume me to the point where I can be 100% in the moment. Something, anything that will remind me that I'm alive and that I may not be for much longer.

They say that I'm nuts because I embrace something as morbid as death. I don't embrace it, just so you know. I welcome it as a natural part of life. Something we're all going to do. Nothing to be afraid of, just the next rung in the ladder. Up or down, I haven't quite figured that part out yet. But I'm working on it. All it is to me is another chance to have those perfect feelings again...don't worry, I'm not going to rush it along.

Well, the prevailing wisdom here is that death is something to be avoided at all costs. With as much medical care as possible and as many pills as we can toss down your throat and on and on. Have you seen a hospice ward in a hospital? I have. Death is sweet mercy to those imprisoned there. I can only pray that when they shake off this mortal coil that they have that one moment of perfect feeling.

Over and over, I'm told that I have to compromise, that I have to moderate my thoughts and my actions to conform to the status quo that's been thrust upon me. I'm told that I can't live a good life thinking the way that I do.

The longer I'm nuts...the more certain I become that its you who is crazy.

So CALM. THE. FUCK. DOWN. I got this.

Later,

I love you Mom...

The 24 Inch Gauge...

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